by Jennie Finch
Alex sat down again, a tight smile on her face. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit jumpy this evening. It’s been a bit more exciting than usual, what with Alison’s stalker and bloody Brian and his treasure.’
Margie smiled, an easy, relaxed smile as she reached over to collect the plates.
‘I can imagine what is like,’ she said. ‘Up at Bristol we get students from the university coming in sometimes. Most times they is useless. Got no clue about talking to our lads and they get wound up by them a treat. Sometimes, though, there’s one as seemed to have a gift. Get the inmates talking, even get them thinking. One student, last year it was, she came and told us there was trouble coming on the wing. One of the men, he was gathering a lot of attention from the others. He was having an ‘undue influence’ – that’s how she put it. He’d not said nothing to her, and ‘tis all confidential in them sessions anyway, but that was what she made out, watching them.
‘Couple of the blokes on the wing, they laughed about it but she was right an’ one of ’em got hurt real bad when it all kicked off. Luckily some of the warders was more open and looking out for trouble so was prepared. You’d ’a’ thought they’d be grateful, seeing as it could ’a’ been a whole lot worse, but they all closed ranks on her. Went muttering around as if she’d set it up or something stupid. My senior, he says psychology ’ent natural. I heard him talking in the rest room one day and he called it a “dark art”. Seems people all over is just scared of what they don’t understand.’
Alex listened to Margie’s story, nodding at intervals.
‘There’s the other side to it,’ she said. ‘When you get it right then people start on about mind reading and nonsense like that. But a lot of the time it’s just educated guess-work or at best the most likely outcome. So then you get it wrong and you’re a fraud. If you’re lucky then no-one gets hurt but sometimes it can be a total disaster.’
‘That why you don’t want to help Dave?’ asked Lauren.
‘I do want to help Dave,’ snapped Alex. ‘I just don’t think I will be helping him by pretending I know anything about this Moth Man. I know a bit about that sort of offender – but so do you, Sue. And Margie, you’ve spent longer in the company of dangerous offenders than any of us.’
The tension around the table was broken by the ringing of a telephone bell and Alex scrambled to her feet to answer it. Whilst she was in the front room, Margie and Sue cleared the plates and prepared the pudding.
‘It’s only shop-bought,’ said Sue as she pulled an apple pie from the warm oven.
‘Sorry to say it but that’s preferable to you trying to make one,’ said Lauren wickedly.
Sue sniffed and sat down, pulling the custard jug out of reach.
‘Apologise,’ she said sternly.
Lauren groaned, stretching as far as she could but the jug eluded her.
She was spared the humiliation of replying when Alex called her through to the front room. ‘It’s Dave,’ said Alex handing over the phone before returning to the table.
‘Everything okay?’ Sue asked helping herself to pie.
Alex nodded rather absently.
‘I think so. Alison’s husband …’
‘Marc-with-a-C,’ said Sue.
Alex grinned at her. ‘Yeah, Marc-with-a-C came back and the man ran off. Dave sounded a bit shaken by it all though. This time the man broke in to the house.’ Her face became serious as she contemplated Alison’s ordeal. There had been some differences of opinions between them in the past but, as Lauren said, she didn’t wish any harm on the woman.
Lauren came trotting back through looking relieved.
‘Alison’s fine, Dave says. He won’t be back for a while though so if I could take you up on that lift …?’
Alex nodded wearily. ‘Of course. No problem.’
When Sue and Lauren were engaged in the kitchen, clearing away and washing up Margie leaned over the table and took Alex’s hand.
‘You are a good person to have around in a crisis I reckon. And a right good friend.’ She nodded towards the kitchen to emphasise her point.
Alex squeezed her hand in reply and managed a smile.
‘Is a shame about the wine,’ Margie continued thoughtfully. ‘Probably just as well I got another bottle.’
Alex’s smile was much more genuine this time.
‘Were you hoping to get me drunk?’ she said softly.
Margie’s eyes sparkled in the light of the lamps.
‘Can’t blame a girl for trying,’ she said.
Alex took a deep breath and stepped out into the unknown for the first time in many years.
‘I think you might be assuming I need all that much persuading,’ she said.
There was an instant’s silence as their eyes met but Sue hurried back into the room, seized the last of the serving plates, threw them an absent-minded smile and was gone again.
Alex swallowed nervously, aware that they were still holding hands. Margie disentangled her fingers gently, stroking Alex’s thumb with her own before sitting back slightly and picking up her half-empty wine glass.
‘I’ll go and give them a hand,’ she said taking a sip. ‘See if we can hurry them along a bit.’ She raised the glass in a mock toast as she disappeared through the door, leaving Alex alone at the table, her heart beating frantically. She imagined could feel Margie’s touch on her hand, warm and soft and gentle around her fingers. She was still sitting there, her eyes closed, when Lauren returned clutching her coat.
‘Thanks for this,’ said Lauren. ‘And dinner too. I like your friend,’ she added as she clambered into Alex’s dilapidated Citroën and giggled a little as the suspension filled, lifting the car as Alex turned the key. ‘Why you still running this old thing?’
Alex was lost for an answer, taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. She had been dreading Lauren meeting Margie, imagining all sorts of probing questions and intrusive speculation. Perversely, she was almost disappointed.
As Alex sped out along the main road towards Nether Stowey, Samuel was picking his way carefully and stealthily back along the tow path by the canal. The tin containing his clothes and the pink boots was buried safely in the old mine workings and in his running gear he was unlikely to raise much interest. The paths back had been deserted apart from one encounter with an old van near Huntworth Bridge. The vehicle sped up behind him too quickly for him to hide in the undergrowth but Samuel was not too concerned. He was jogging with his head down, his face partly hidden by the hood of his track suit and with the poor light it was unlikely he would be recognised, even if there were ever any call to identify him.
He was much more concerned over the loss of his razor. Checking and re-packing the tin before hiding it once more, he had discovered its absence. A flash of cold fury ran through him as he rummaged in the pockets of his Hinkleys, to no avail. The blade was gone and he could only hope it was dropped somewhere in thick foliage, away from prying eyes and eager policemen. He had been very careful, always handling it whilst wearing the cotton gloves so he had no worries about fingerprints but the fact he had not noticed it was gone troubled him deeply. The whole evening had been a disaster and Samuel was not used to failure. He didn’t like it and he wasn’t going to risk coming that close to being caught again.
Samuel had taken considerable care to disguise his nocturnal activities. His record – his criminal record – was a patchwork of minor offences, many of them ‘taken into consideration’. When younger, he had been more reckless and on several occasions found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time – or, ‘in suspicious circumstances’ as the police had put it. Pleading guilty to a whole raft of minor offences had allowed him to escape with relative impunity, though it had landed him with a record and, for the moment, the attention of the probation service.
Whilst he would have preferred to escape detection entirely, Samuel considered his reputation as a petty criminal useful on occasions. Having already been identified as a minor nuisance, an
opportunist and not too smart thief, he was unlikely to enter anyone’s thoughts when they were hunting for a serial sex offender.
He had little respect for most members of the criminal justice service. In his opinion they were slow, predictable and often lazy. The fact he had been rewarded with a lighter sentence for lying and accepting all those little offences just to get them off the unsolved list illustrated just what the authorities’ priorities were. He was considerably cleverer than the average policeman and he knew it. Still, he reflected as he jogged through the front door to the hostel a few minutes before curfew, he needed to be wary of Alex.
Her unexpected kindness had made a big impact on him, awakening a long-buried sense of obligation. Used to viewing most women as either stupid and therefore to be despised or desirable and therefore prey, Samuel now had a woman in his third category. Alex was a thinker, someone who did what she believed in. Alex just might be his intellectual equal and as such she deserved his respect.
Chapter Seventeen
Alex woke on the Monday feeling happier and more content than she had for years. Drawing back the bedroom curtains she looked out at a bright morning and smiled. In the kitchen she found herself humming, softly at first but then a bit louder to get above the noise of the kettle.
‘Good God, woman, are you mad?’ snapped Sue from the doorway.
‘It’s a lovely day,’ said Alex, gesturing to the door leading to their tiny garden. ‘You can hear the birds singing …’
‘Then they’re bloody mad too,’ Sue said. She picked up a beaker, added a teabag and emptied all of Alex’s hot water on top of it before sweeping out into the quiet of the dining room. Alex refilled the kettle, made herself some coffee and followed her, sitting down opposite at the table.
‘About the weekend …’ She began sipping her drink and keeping her attention fixed on a plate of slightly burnt toast in front of her.
‘Mmm,’ said Sue, reaching over and helping herself to breakfast. ‘This is burnt.’
‘Don’t eat it then,’ said Alex crossly.
‘It was fun,’ said Sue chewing contentedly. ‘Apart from the Alison part, obviously. We should do it more often.’
‘I’m hoping we can,’ said Alex. ‘Especially if Margie gets the job in Shepton Mallet. Um …’ She was uncomfortably aware of her face turning red.
‘You should,’ Sue continued, oblivious to her friend’s discomfort. ‘Do you good. I was getting worried you were turning into a work-obsessed hermit.’ She looked up from her empty plate and pulled a face.
‘Oh come on, how old are you? You’re blushing like a schoolgirl.’
‘No I’m not,’ said Alex, glowing even more. ‘It’s just – well, it’s hard sometimes … you never know what people might think or how they might react. It’s … difficult sometimes.’
Sue snorted impatiently.
‘Well, I’ve know from almost the first moment we met,’ she said dismissively. ‘And I suspect so does everyone else. It’s not a big deal you know. Just adds to your charm and mystique.’
There were tears in Alex’s eyes as she stared at Sue. ‘It is getting to be a big deal,’ she said softly. ‘This Clause 28 thing could be very nasty if they get it through parliament. There’s a lot of ugly stuff going on around here. Just ask Lauren about some of the things Jonny has to put up with.’
‘Well, they have to get back in first,’ said Sue. ‘The way it’s looking, we should finally get a change this time round. You wait – this time next week it will all be over.’
‘I hope so,’ said Alex. ‘I’m just sick of it all. I know people who’ve left the country they’re so scared.’
‘Seems a bit extreme,’ said Sue. ‘Anyway, fortunately the probation service has an anti-discrimination policy so you’ve nothing to worry about.’
Alex envied Sue her confidence. Some days, listening to the casual abuse swirling around the day centre, she doubted she could stand another week without leaping on to a chair and yelling the truth at the room. She wondered just what sort of a riot that would provoke.
On her arrival at work there was a message from the police station at Highpoint.
‘Is the Inspector,’ said Lauren. ‘He kept them two lads in all weekend and they’s off to court later today. Think he might want a word.’
Something was nagging at the back of Alex’s mind as she took the call. Something Brian said just before he emptied the butterfly bombs onto her desk. Frowning, she tried to recall the sequence of events. He’s said he’d found some kind of treasure, boasted he was going to sell it and then ….
‘Oh bugger,’ she muttered into the receiver.
‘I beg your pardon?’ came the outraged tones of the Highpoint Inspector.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Alex hurried on before she lost her train of thought.
‘I’ve only just remembered. When Brian came to see me on Friday he said there were “others”. He was going to sell the two bombs he’d found and then “the others”. Only he didn’t know they were bombs. It was purely innocent on his part.’
‘I’m not sure I agree with you entirely on that estimation,’ said the Inspector. ‘His actions were reckless and resulted in enormous inconvenience, not to mention expense, for the emergency services. He was almost certainly trespassing when he obtained these devices and that means he and his companion are guilty of theft.’
‘Did you hear what I said?’ asked Alex impatiently. ‘Brian claimed there were more of these damn things. He’s found them out on the Levels, digging in an old bottle pit. If he found them then someone else is likely to stumble over them and we might not be so lucky next time.’
There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the phone.
‘Well, in that case young Brian Morris had better cough up the location and pretty smartish too,’ said the Inspector.
‘Let me talk to him,’ said Alex. ‘I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.’ Without waiting for a reply, she put the phone down and turned to Lauren who was leaning on the counter and eying her curiously.
‘I’ve got to go down to the police station,’ she said. ‘If they get to him first then Brian is just dumb enough to tell them where the wretched bottle dump is. If I can speak to him then perhaps we can negotiate a caution or something. Oh don’t look at me like that,’ she added crossly. ‘It’s my job to help him – and poor dumb Charlie too. It’s not like they’ve really done anything wrong but the police seem determined to charge them with something for the inconvenience.’
Lauren sighed and slid off her high stool.
‘Alison’s not in, big surprise, so I’ll check the diary, see what I can do about your appointments. Go on, push off ’n’ save Brian and Charlie. Lord knows, someone’s got to.’
Alex grabbed her car keys from the counter, whirled round and crashed straight into Ricky who was heading for the desk, a scowl on his face.
‘Hey, watch it,’ he said, fending Alex off with one hand and brushing imaginary dirt off his court suit with the other.
‘Sorry,’ Alex called over her shoulder. At the door she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. ‘How’s the court duty going?’ she asked waspishly. ‘And I do hope your car was okay after last Friday.’ She was gone before Ricky could retaliate, almost tripping over her feet as she hurried across the car park. Ricky glared at her from the counter before turning and catching Lauren grinning at him from the office door. Snatching the court pack from the tray just behind the counter he pushed his way through the door to the stairs, heading for his office. Lauren could not be certain but she thought she heard him mutter something as he turned away. It sounded horribly like ‘Little freak’.
On her arrival at Highpoint police station Alex was escorted to an interview room where Brian was sitting at a table. Actually slumped over a table would be more accurate, Alex thought, as she opened the door and walked across the room. Brian lifted his head slightly, gave a grunt of recognition and closed his eyes once more. He looked decidedly the wor
se for his two nights in the police cells and it was obvious from the smell of him that he had not availed himself of the washing facilities, assuming they had been on offer, which Alex rather doubted.
Ignoring the odour of sweat and misery that surrounded him, Alex sat down opposite Brian.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
Brian stirred, groaning softly. ‘’Ent so good from where I’m sitting,’ he said.
‘Would you like something – a cup of tea?’ suggested Alex.
Brian lifted his head and nodded. ‘Wouldn’t mind,’ he said.
Alex got up and went to the door, tapping to indicate she needed it unlocked. It was opened suspiciously fast and the young constable standing outside nodded and hurried off to the canteen without a quibble. Well, thought Alex, they’re very eager to hear what he has to say.
Brian had levered himself up into a sitting position and was now leaning on his elbows, blinking at her hopefully.
‘You come to get me out?’ he asked.
Alex held up one hand and said softly, ‘I want you to listen carefully, Brian. Don’t talk just yet, okay?’
The young man shrugged, rubbing his eyes and scrubbing at his face. He was obviously exhausted and Alex wondered how long he had left sitting been in the interview room. Much brighter souls than Brian had started talking, just to get away from the bright light or on the promise of a place to lie down.
‘We’ll wait until your tea comes,’ she added. A few seconds later there was the sound of a key turning and the same young constable entered the room bearing a large mug. He put it down in front of Brian and left without a word, turning the lock noisily behind him.
Brian grabbed at the beaker and took a great gulp, letting out a gasp as the hot liquid hit the back of his mouth.
‘Gently,’ said Alex. ‘You’ll burn yourself.’
Brian nodded, his eyes watering a little as, with some reluctance, he put the tea down on the table.
‘Now, when you came to see me on Friday you said something about there being some more of the butterfly bombs. “The others”, you said.’
