by Jennie Finch
‘Moped?’ suggested Dave.
Lynas considered for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Would be heard,’ he said. ‘Anyway, they leave a smell behind from that bloody horrible fuel mix. And them treads is very marked for a moped but it ’ent all that deep so there’s not the weight you’d get.’
They stood in silence, watching as the photographers finished and the mould man stepped in to cast the tread as evidence.
‘Bike,’ said Dave suddenly. ‘Those – what do you call ’em – like trick bikes with the big springs. The sort the kids use all over the hills.’
Lynas blinked as a torch shone towards them before refocusing on the ground. ‘I think you’m maybe right,’ he said. ‘There was bike tracks all round Eleanor Bradshaw’s place out by Enmore too. Check for a match against BMX tyres first,’ he told the plaster tech before turning back to Dave. ‘Well done – we might just have something to go on, finally.’
The two detectives turned towards the windows and Dave hesitated, recalling something Alex had said last week. In the excitement and tension of the attack on Alison it had slipped his mind completely.
‘Sarge,’ he said softly. ‘That’s a new conservatory, right?’
It was so new there were still a couple of stickers from the glass makers on the windows.
‘All of the women, they were all sitting in conservatories. New conservatories, put up in the last six months or so. Maybe we should check, see if the same firm built them all.’
Lynas looked at the young detective admiringly. ‘Now that’s what I call good thinking,’ he said. ‘You see if anyone else inside can tell us anything useful about that whilst I’m doing the preliminary interview with our victim. And then I want you to get back to the station and follow up on this. Contact the other women and find out if they had the same builder.’
As Dave turned away he added, ‘Take the car – I’ll get a lift with the tech boys. And go back to Highpoint for this one. You might need to look in at the hospital.’
Alex woke, stiff and cold in the chair beside Lauren’s bed and for an instant couldn’t recall where she was. Then her eyes focussed on the still form and it all came rushing back. A dark shape emerged from the shadows by the door and resolved itself into Jonny, his face tight with worry and fatigue.
‘Thanks for staying,’ he said softly as he slumped into the other chair. ‘Where’s lover-boy gone?’
‘He got an emergency call from Taunton,’ said Alex. ‘I said I’d stay but I must have fallen asleep.’ She wiped her chin surreptitiously in case she had dribbled. ‘What time is it?’
Jonny squinted at his watch. ‘Gone midnight,’ he said. ‘I’ve been over to see Mum. She’s worried sick and it was all I could do, stopping her from rushing over. Nothing she can do, of course, but I promised to go back, let her know if there’s any change.’
Alex shook her head. ‘Well, I’ve been asleep but I think she’s about the same,’ she said sadly. ‘Do they know what caused her to collapse like that?’
Jonny scowled and suddenly his beautiful, open face became a mask of fury.
‘Was something close to a heart attack,’ he said. ‘She struggles with her breathing sometimes, ‘specially under stress. Seems she was running up and down them stairs at work, got her breathing all tangled up and she just collapsed. Seeing as she was still half a dozen steps up she done some damage, landing heavy like she did.’ He gave Alex an angry look over Lauren’s sleeping form. ‘Don’t suppose you know why she was doing that?’
Alex shook her head. ‘I think we need to ask Lauren,’ she said. She was saved from further questions by the appearance of Sue at the door to the little ward.
‘Only two at a time,’ said the nurse, rising from her chair and holding up her hand. ‘In fact, you really shouldn’t be here at all at this hour. We can make an exception for family members but I’m afraid the pair of you must go now. You can come back in the morning.’
‘Can they stay a few more minutes while I find a phone and let my Mum know how she is? Don’t want her waking up and finding she’s alone in a strange place,’ asked Jonny.
The nurse sniffed and started to speak. ‘I really don’t think she’s …’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Very well, five minutes. There’s a phone box just down the hall.’
Sue walked over to the bed and stood at the end. There were tears in her eyes, tears of anger.
‘This is that little bastard Ricky’s doing,’ she hissed. ‘Pauline said he had her running up and down the stairs just after he got in. Gordon hauled the little shit into the office this afternoon, along with Pauline. Do you know what he said?’
‘You’re getting a bit loud,’ Alex murmured. ‘Volume control …’
‘He said, “It’s not my fault if she can’t do the job. She shouldn’t be here if she’s not up to it”,’ hissed Sue.
Alex went cold with fury. ‘Whatever you do, don’t let Jonny hear that,’ she said. ‘Not yet anyway. He’s desperately upset and I dread to think what he’s do …’ She broke off as Jonny came back into the room.
‘What?’ he said, looking from one to the other.
‘Nothing,’ said Alex hastily. ‘I think I need to go Jonny. Can we bring you anything? Have you eaten?’
Jonny shook his head. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘You go and thank you so much for staying with her. I’ll call if there’s any news.’
Sue reached out and hugged him, much to his surprise.
‘Phone if you need anything,’ she said. ‘We’re just over the river.’
By the time they reached the door Jonny was sitting next to his sister, holding her right hand, oblivious to anything but Lauren.
The ringing of the telephone woke Alex the next morning and her first thought was something had happened at the hospital. Hurling herself down the stairs, she reached the door to the front room just as the sound stopped.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ she muttered. Then she heard Sue’s voice and peered in as her friend replaced the receiver.
‘What?’ Alex demanded. ‘Is it Lauren? What’s happened?’
Sue’s eyes were wide with shock as she stepped back into the dining room.
‘Sit down Alex. That was Dave.’ She held up her hand to forestall Alex’s cry. ‘It’s not Lauren, don’t worry. Dave was ringing to let you know they’ve arrested someone for the Moth Man attacks. It’s Brian Morris.’
Brian had taken a bit of a ribbing from Tom when he appeared at the cottage on Thursday night in his lovely new boots.
‘Where the hell you get them then?’ Tom asked, trying not to laugh.
‘Found ’em,’ said Brian. ‘Right smart, ’ent they.’
‘Excepting the colour,’ said Tom.
‘What you think Ada?’ he asked the next morning when they arrived to work on the new goat enclosure.
Ada looked at Brian and shook her head.
‘What’s wrong with ’em?’ Brian demanded. ‘Need a bit of a clean but I reckon they’ll come up smashing.’
‘Where you going to get polish to match round here?’ asked Ada.
‘Thought I’d maybe use some black on ’em, make ’em a bit darker,’ said Brian.
Tom and Ada exchanged glances and then Tom rose from the table.
‘Reckon I’ll be checking on them nets for covering the salad,’ he said and strolled out into the sunshine, leaving Ada glaring at his back.
‘Right, well now Brian. Let me see – what colour’s this then,’ she asked pulling the tea-cosy off the teapot.
Brian looked at her suspiciously but said, ‘Green of course. I ’ent blind.’
‘Hmm. So, them boots of your’n, they’s green too?’
‘Sort of grey-green, yes,’ said Brian peering down at his feet.
‘Sit down for a minute,’ said Ada. ‘I got a couple of bits of news for you, neither particularly good. First off, I think you is probably colour blind, at least a bit. That tea-cosy, that’s red, not green.’
Brian blinked at he
r but didn’t say a word.
‘Second off, them boots of your’n, they ain’t green, nor grey-green, nor green-grey. They’s pink.’
Brian gaped at her in horror, then down at the offending boots.
‘What’m I supposed to do then?’ he said. ‘I only got these. Chucked the others away, they was so far gone. I can’t be seen out in no pink shoes.’
Ada struggled to keep a straight face. What was it about the colour pink, she wondered. It couldn’t be aesthetic. After all, Brian couldn’t even see the colour.
‘Don’t know if putting black on them’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘Maybe if we could find some red …’
‘I’m off into Street early tomorrow,’ came Tom’s voice from the door. ‘Could take you with us an’ we could probably pick up some there. Only place I knows of with more shoe shops than pubs, is Street.’
‘That’s sorted then. Now, you here to chat or look after Pongo and help with the fence?’ said Ada briskly.
The rest of the day passed quickly and it was with a sigh of relief that Tom and Brian clambered into the van at the end of it.
‘Just time to pick up something for tea,’ said Tom as he started the engine.
Brian looked down at the grubby floor, trying not to visualise the real colour of his boots. He was really looking forward to getting some red polish and putting a bit of a shine on them.
The next morning they set off early. Brian sat in the van, bouncing on the seat across the rough ground. Occasionally he would slip his hand into his pocket to feel the crackle of a five pound note on his fingertips. Ada had pressed the money into his hand as he was leaving the cottage last night, cutting short his protest.
‘You been a great help here. Couldn’t have managed without you, to be honest. Don’t expect you to keep working for nothing and anyway, I bet red shoe polish is a sight more expensive than a tin of brown. Now be off – and don’t you mention this to Tom neither.’
For once he was not thinking of all the ‘natch’ he could get for a fiver. He was wondering if there’d be much left from the red polish and if he could maybe get some flowers or something for Ada. The casual care he received from her and Tom, the sense of being valued, was slowly chipping away at the false bravado he wore around his emotions. Brian was actually starting to think of a life beyond the next day. Maybe, with a bit of support, there might be a future for him that was not numbered in probation orders, lost days of drunkenness or ‘short, sharp shocks’.
After parting company with Tom he walked down the middle of the road, hands in his pockets. The bright shop fronts were looking a bit faded and there were a lot of racks selling bargain shoes lining the pavements. Brian was not the most experienced of shoppers but even he could tell there was a desperate air about the town. Too many red stickers, too many shop staff, too few customers, especially for a Saturday. He knew the place was in real trouble when, instead of the shop staff scowling at him when he stepped over the threshold, he was greeted politely by an assistant who, as soon as he produced the five pound note from his pocket, called him ‘Sir’.
After some discussion and a close examination of his pink boots he left with a jar of red colour-restoring polish, a new pair of laces and enough change to get a decent bunch of flowers for Ada. As he walked towards the florist Brian felt proud and happy, a young man with money he had earned in his pockets and a sense of what he might do with his life. As he smiled, the gap knocked in his front teeth was a reminder of some of his less sensible actions but nothing could take away the rush of happiness he experienced.
Nothing, until a sharp-eyed constable, not much older than Brian, spotted him striding down the road. The policeman’s eyes were drawn to Brian’s feet and the pink boots, now the focus of a county-wide alert. Grabbing the radio fixed to his pocket, he called in the sighting and set off after his quarry.
The florist was startled when a police van screeched to a halt outside her shop and three officers rushed in to seize the young man who had just purchased a rather large bouquet of flowers. As they grabbed him from behind, Brian struggled, trying to put his flowers back on the safety of the counter whilst protesting his innocence of any wrongdoing. In the ensuing melee Ada’s bouquet was dropped on the floor where it was trampled by three pairs of police boots. Brian was dragged, shouting and swearing into the back of the van, leaving the bemused florist to lift the crushed flowers and count Brian’s carefully husbanded change into the till.
In the back of the van, Brian was flat on the floor, a police size eleven boot on his back.
‘’Ent done nothing!’ Brian gasped, almost crying in fury. ‘What you doin’?’
‘Shut up you little pervert,’ snarled the officer in the front. ‘You wait ’til they get hold of you in Taunton. They’ll get the truth out of you, no mistake.’
‘Why we takin’ him all the way to Taunton?’ asked the officer in the back.
‘Special instructions,’ said the the officer in the front. ‘Seems he’s to be questioned by the detectives.’
In the Taunton station there was an air of subdued excitement when the call came through about the arrest. Sergeant Lynas and Dave Brown had done a lot of the work on the case and they were determined not to be pushed aside by more senior men, most of whom were eager for the glory a successful conclusion would bring. Dave was particularly anxious for he was coming to the end of his probationary period as acting detective and was not sure all his work in the background would be enough to get him confirmed in post.
Lynas hurried off to speak to the Inspector as soon as they heard the news and put the case for their involvement as forcefully as he could.
‘We’ve worked this for weeks,’ he said. ‘We know more details than anyone, we been to all the scenes. Come on, Sir. If anyone can catch him out, is us.’
The Inspector recognised the truth of this. Lynas was one of his best men and he had developed a lot of respect for Dave but he was aware of how important the first interview would be. After careful consideration he went for a compromise. The actual interview would be conducted by senior officers but Dave and Lynas would observe from behind one-way glass. It was not ideal from anyone’s point of view but he hoped to get the best result by involving both groups in the process.
Dave was torn between anger at being shut out of the Moth Man case and the rising anxiety over Lauren. His phone call to the hospital had elicited only a bland, generic reassurance and the promise to contact him should there be ‘any significant change’. Dave was dizzy with fatigue, worn out by the stress of Lauren’s accident and heartily sick of the whole business of chasing this elusive offender around the county. It was probably just as well he wasn’t going to be in the room, he thought. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to knock the little bastard’s teeth down his throat.
When he took his place in the observation room he leaned forwards, peered at the dishevelled figure of Brian Morris seated facing them and turned to his sergeant.
‘That’s not him.’
Lynas peered through the glass, slightly cloudy with the reflective coating on one side and shook his head.
‘Why’s that then?’
‘Look at him!’ said Dave. ‘He’s far too skinny and small to outrun anyone like the bloke near Newton. He’s not blond, he’s sort of mousey and as people never cease to remind me, our chap is a natural blond. And I know this guy. He’s a total loser and a pain in the arse but I can’t see him as a sexual predator. And he can’t even ride a bike properly. I know that because his probation officer made me teach him about three months ago. He’s rubbish at it, to be honest. No way could he manage the rides across the hills and out to some of the scenes.’
The Inspector had slipped into the room unobserved and cleared his throat as Dave finished. The two officers jumped to their feet, Dave blinking at his commanding officer nervously.
‘You make a good case,’ said the Inspector waving his hand to tell them to sit again. ‘However, he was wearing the boots worn by th
e intruder at North Newton. They are being checked now but they are the right size, the sole is distinctive and there are a number of matching abrasions. He also had some red shoe polish in his possession, presumably to disguise the colour. And despite your opinion of his skill in that area, we know he owns a bike of the right type and can ride it.’
Dave knew what he had to do now was keep quiet and listen to his superiors. ‘The hair, Sir,’ he said. Inside his head he was shouting, ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!’
The Inspector stared at him. ‘And?’
Dave swallowed nervously. He could feel Sergeant Lynas shifting carefully from one foot to another beside him. ‘The hair on the glass,’ he said. ‘It was blond. Brian Morris has brown hair. There’s no way those hairs came from him. Sir.’
His commanding officer studied Dave for an instant, then turned his eyes upwards, gazing at the grey ceiling as if searching for exactly the right words.
‘Very well, Acting Detective Brown,’ he said finally. ‘By your own admission you are acquainted with the suspect. In fact you have established some sort of rapport with him. I would suggest therefore you may take your place in the room and practise that good old fashioned skill known as “good cop, bad cop”. You will be the good cop, of course. I want to know where he was last week, where he was last night and why he was buying coloured polish to disguise those boots.’
Brian stared at Dave when he entered the room, then turned his head away.
‘Hi Brian,’ said Dave, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite the lad.
‘Bugger off,’ said Brian. ‘’En’t done nothing and en’t talking ’til I get my solicitor. I already been stitched up once by you lot an’ is not lettin’ it happen again.’ He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a glare.
‘That’s not very friendly,’ said Dave. ‘You’d better watch your tongue when my colleague gets here.’ He realised he had no idea who his ‘colleague’ was going to be – or even when they were going to arrive – but he ploughed on hopefully. ‘Just want to sort this out so you can be on your way. I’ m not convinced you had anything to do with these attacks, to be honest, but you were wearing the exact shoes used in last Friday’s incident. That’s pretty compelling evidence, you must admit.’
