by steve higgs
On the side that was not river I could see houses and garden fences perhaps fifty feet away through the trees. As I continued along the path the land to my left began to angle sharply upwards so that there was now a bank to scramble up. Between the trees the same brambles and weeds had tiny paths winding through where children presumable had adventures. At the top of the bank I could see more houses, the new brick work visible through only a few small gaps in the foliage. To my right between the path and the edge of the river there was an old wooden fence, the type made from roughly hewn branches held together with twisted steel wire. From its condition, it was probably decades old. There were bits missing, the wire was rusted completely in places and I could see that kids, or perhaps anglers had forced holes through to the bank here and there leaving some of the fence posts sticking out at odd angles.
I had to stop at one point because the fence had simply been levered up from the floor to permit access underneath it. The pointed end of the posts were mostly broken off or rotted away, but two were now jutting out perpendicular to the floor at a height of about five feet. They were not actually obstructing the path but to me there seemed a danger that a cyclist or someone not paying attention might walk into them. It was more likely they would get dirty in the process of disentangling themselves than actually get injured, but it struck me that the decent thing to do was make them safe.
This simple task proved not to be so simple though. Where the fence ran through the undergrowth it had been caught up in shrubs and no matter what I did I could not get the posts to face back downwards. I tried then to twist the fence so it went upwards instead but achieved nothing doing that either. So finally, I looked at whether I could just snap the two offending posts off. After five minutes of grunting I was starting to feel like a vandal myself, so I gave up. I used my handkerchief to clean off my hands as I walked away and inspected my clothing for chunks of dirt, thankfully finding none.
I walked another half mile and as I did the land to my left dropped back down again. I soon reached the Castle grounds and an ancient looking stone wall. The wall had almost boulder sized chunks of rock held together with equally ancient mortar. It had been vandalised and graffitied in places but was still pretty solid looking. It was five feet tall so I could comfortably see over it into the grounds of the Castle when trees and bushes the other side permitted.
I lost the dogs for a moment. They had mostly been trundling along in front of me quite happy to just be going for a walk, but were now nowhere to be seen. I stopped for a moment to listen. No sound from the undergrowth but before I needed to call for them both one and then the other reappeared a few metres ahead of me both emerging from under a bush.
I continued onwards looking through the trees as I went and spotted the groundsman’s cottage. I had probably glanced at it dozens of times before without even registering it. Now it meant something and I could see rose bushes at the front of the property where I was guessing he had been found.
The path dipped down a little making the drop to the water less than a foot. The two dogs were stood at the bank staring at some ducks idly paddling a few feet out in the river. They were wagging their tails, desperate to give chase. I would need to turn around soon and head back so that I was on time for my appointment with Mrs Winters and the other ladies.
I noticed then a small door in the old Castle wall. It had always been there, the stone around the door was shaped to form the aperture that the door filled. It was oak perhaps and looked both ancient and solid. At little more than four feet tall and two feet wide it was designed for small people and probably had a purpose a few hundred years ago. Around the base of the door there were vague footprints in the dirt and it was clear that the undergrowth, that must have partially obscured it had been torn away recently. I picked at a piece of ivy. The broken end was rough so had been ripped rather than cut suggesting the person doing it had not brought tools. I looked around a bit and a few feet down the path found a balled mass of ivy, bramble and other foliage that was now drying out and looking withered. It was perhaps a week or so old.
I went back to the door. There was a keyhole about half way up on the left-hand side. It was just a big hole in the wood so I had to crouch to look in the hole where I could just about make out the inner working of a metal lock. There were no spider webs or sign of other insect activity so it must have been used recently.
Did that mean anything? Maybe. I stood up again and looked over the top of the wall. On the other side were the same species of trees and plants I had seen so far. I checked left and right, placed my palms on top of the wall and levered myself up to get a better look.
Not far from the gate was another stone building. It was not very big, perhaps ten metres by ten metres and was almost completely obscured by trees and shrubs growing around it. I could just about make out the roof, which was pitched to form a centre apex and was made from a black slate. It was largely covered in lichen and had weeds and plants growing from it, but everything looked intact from my current angle.
I briefly considered going over the wall for a better look but time was getting on and there would be other opportunities should I feel the need. I did not know what I was looking for after all.
I dropped lightly back to the ground, called the dogs and headed back to the car.
Interviewing old ladies. Friday September 24th 1230hrs
Mrs Jean Winters lived at number 93 Leadbetter lane. It was in Allington which would once have been a small village a couple of miles from Maidstone, but was now absorbed into the City’s suburbs so that one could not really tell where one postcode ended and the next began. The house was a semidetached property in a cul-de-sac running parallel and one street over from the main road running through Allington.
The house was of 1930s design with a recessed front entrance, chequerboard path leading from the road to the door and many period features which undoubtedly had specific names I had never learned. The front garden was resplendent with clipped topiary in various neat globes and through the open ironwork of the latched gate I could see buxus clipped into low level box hedges bordering both sides of the narrow path. The front garden itself was large compared with my vision of similar properties, perhaps thirty feet or more. In all the house was quite charming.
I had parked directly in front of her house as there was a space there. The property had a drive but no garage and there was no car visible, which might mean that she had a husband that was out or that she no longer drove, or perhaps that she had never driven. I dismissed this as unimportant. As I moved to open my door two children dressed in their school uniform passed by heading from the rear of my car towards the front. I checked around me to see if there were any more and could see a few in the distance behind me. None were close though so I opened the door wide to get out.
I left the dogs on the passenger seat as I exited the car. The door to the house opened before I could take a second pace though and a cheery looking lady in her late sixties or early seventies appeared in the door way.
‘Mr Michaels?’ she asked, raising her voice slightly to make sure I heard her over the length of the path.
‘Yes indeed.’ I answered closing the distance and producing a business card. ‘Mrs Winters?’
‘Yes dear, the other ladies are in doors fixing some tea.’ she paused, which I thought odd until I followed her gaze back to my car and the two little noses pressed against the driver’s side window. ‘Are they Dachshunds?’ Mrs Winters took a step towards them as if to get a better view.
Bull barked at that point but before I could answer Mrs Winters spoke again ‘I used to have Dachshunds when my Percy was still alive. Oh, aren’t they adorable? You must bring them in.’
‘Very good, Mrs Winters.’ I fetched the two over excited idiots from the car, although fetched is a tenuous term. I opened the door a crack and they wedged their heads and then bodies through the hole, shot past me and then past Mrs Winters and into her house. Perhaps they could smell cake.
I plipped the car locked again and found myself alone in the street as Mrs Winters had already followed the dogs inside.
I let myself in and closed the door behind me.
Inside, the house was surprisingly modern in its décor and furnishings. Where I had expected perhaps oil paintings on the walls, or souvenirs and kick-knacks on shelfs there were none. The wallpaper was modern and very new looking. In the living room a minimalist approach had given the room an airy and spacious feel. The carpet was new or at least unmarked by the passage of feet, its soft woollen appearance matching the tan brown leather three-piece-suite elegantly. The curtains matched the theme also and to one corner of the room stood a brushed aluminium television cabinet with a Sky system and a fifty-inch flat-screen. I might have decorated exactly the same if it were my place.
I could hear the ladies bustling towards me from the kitchen and the familiar rattle of a tray laden with cups, saucers and the accompanying silverware.
The other two ladies were carbon copies of Mrs Winters, each of the three with grey hair neatly moulded to their heads and kept short, each was a little large at the hips but in a womanly, friendly-grandmother kind of way and each wore simple clothing that looked new, but bought from a shop that tailored to pensionable aged ladies.
Mrs Winters introduced them both in turn and instructed everyone to sit and make themselves comfortable. As she did so, Mrs Rebecca Masters poured the tea while Miss Rosemary Green handed the cups out and offered cake.
Being polite I took a piece of cake, but elected to leave it untouched for now rather than devour it and risk having a second slice forced upon me. I tried hard to avoid cake in general, as delightful though it is it provides very little by way of nutrition and just plain makes people fat.
Bull and Dozer were instructed to keep out and stay down for fear they would climb onto the ladies’ laps, spill tea and steal cake. They did look at me when I gave them their orders, but promptly ignored me as the ladies cooed and welcomed them onto the sofa. I kept a wary eye on them though, ready for cake thievery.
‘So, how may we help you Mr Michaels?’ asked Mrs Winters, taking a lead before I felt the need to.
‘As you know ladies I am investigating the Vampire murder case and it is important for me to create the most complete picture possible. This should just be a simple case of me asking a few questions and you answering where you can.’
The three ladies were looking at me expectantly, so I placed the cup and saucer on a side table adorned with a doily, reached down into my bag and produced a note book in which I had roughed out some questions I hoped to ask them. I started at the top.
‘What time did Rita leave here on the night in question?’
Jean was sat in the middle of the three-seater sofa with Rebecca to her right and Rosemary to her left. Rebecca and Rosemary both leaned forward so the three women could each see the other two.
‘I think it was about half past eleven, wasn’t it?’ asked Rebecca of the other two.
‘About that wouldn’t you say, Jean?’ asked Rosemary.
‘Yes, ladies. I think that is about right.’ stated Jean.
This pattern then continued with pretty much every question thereafter as I worked through my list. I would ask a question, the three would confer briefly and Jean would provide the answer. It was a bit like watching University Challenge where only the spokesperson could give the answer.
Nevertheless, I got to the end of my sheet and by then had jotted two pages of notes. None of it seemed to mean anything though. The ladies met every week on the same day and played Canasta, they had been doing so for years although they were not sure what to do now as they were missing their fourth player. They drank Sherry and wine and always met at Jean’s house because she had the nice card table. They would take it in turns to do food and I had collected a number of other meaningless and banal facts. Rita always walked home, her husband had been dead for six years and she lived alone as did they all, although Rosemary had never married she told me with a wink.
As I had scribbled notes the two dogs had made themselves very comfortable and had the look of two contented and very sleepy dogs nestled as they were, either side of Jean so the sofa went old lady, stupid dog, old lady, stupid dog, old lady. I was not fooled though for had a crumb of cake been offered to them they would have reacted faster than your average superhero.
The walk from Jean’s House to Rita’s Home was less than half a mile and took her only a few minutes. They had been very shocked and horrified to hear the news of course, but that was about all I got from them.
Tea drunk and cake eaten I packed my notepad and pen away, ushered the dogs towards the door and stopped to shake the ladies’ hands each in turn.
I thanked them one last time and went back outside to the car. A light drizzle had set in during the hour I had spent with them, so the dogs, who perpetually avoided any form of wetness, ran to the car and looked pointedly at me and then the door and then me until I arrived to scoop them inside.
As I pulled away I ran a quick mental calculation on whether I needed any groceries, decided I did and pointed the car towards Sainsbury’s. I was gathering information, but so far I was not making any of it join up or lead me anywhere.
It was odd to be without a paying case, but I doubted it would last very long. Oh well, it was Friday afternoon so I could enjoy not having a regular job, maybe get a bath and watch some TV. Tonight, I was out with the chaps for a beer.
Good times.
Pub O’clock. Friday September 24th 1846hrs
I showered and changed selecting caterpillar boots, jeans and a polo as suitable going to the pub attire. It was 1846hrs, a little early to be heading out and I needed to eat first. Bull and Dozer were sat watching TV on the sofa, but soon appeared in the kitchen when I rattled a few pots. Ever hopeful, like all the rest of their canine brethren, they forget each meal as soon as the last bite is swallowed and immediately revert to hungry.
I kept my cupboards stocked with healthy food because like so many people I found it all too easy to open a wrapper and start chomping something easy and less nutritious whenever my stomach demanded sustenance. I grew vegetables in my garden and made sure that I got my five-a-day whenever possible. I never, or at least rarely ate processed food and never had white carbs in the house. It was not so much that I was dreadfully vain about my appearance although I will admit that I want to look good but I was quite focused on being healthy and convinced that regular exercise and a nutritious diet made a person more focused, more capable and in many ways happier at a basic level. Of course, I do still drink alcohol and do still eat burgers or pies on occasion simply because they taste good.
What to eat then? An eternal conundrum. I had turkey mince in the fridge so dinner was brown rice with a turkey and vegetable chilli and lots of avocado pear diced into it at the end. Healthy, nutritious, filling and low in anything that might be considered fattening which is a good thing as I planned to put four or more pints of beer on top of it.
The dogs had wandered off when it became clear I was not fixing a second meal for them but reappeared as my spoon scrapped the bottom of the bowl for the last few morsels.
‘Sorry chaps. There is no way I am giving you chilli to finish. Especially you Dozer since you fart like a warthog with dysentery anyway.’ undeterred they continued to wag their tails until the bowl and the cooking pots went into the dishwasher. Disappointed they retreated to the lounge and slipped into the layers of covers on their bed leaving two little tails hanging out.
My phone rang. The screen claimed that Big Ben was calling. I had known Big Ben for years. He was my occasional back up on stake outs or whenever I expected trouble. We had met in Bosnia when he had been transferred into my section from another unit following an ‘incident’ (he hit someone he really should not have). Big Ben was… well, he was big. He stood six feet and seven inches tall and was mostly muscle. He was classically good looking, his ability to pick up women was leg
endary and I still didn’t really understand how he did it despite years of studying his technique. He was also a complete cad with women, had no belief in relationships and would expound his theories on the subject given even the slightest opportunity. He would brag that his knob would not fit into a pint pot (It did. I had seen it) and stated that he was constantly in danger of creating mini-versions of himself because women spontaneously ovulated when they saw him naked. Big Ben had both fitted in really well and not fitted in at all as far as the Army was concerned. He was big, and gregarious and liked to hit people, so lots of plus points there. However, on the negative side he had a habit of disagreeing with his officers and superiors and would hit them if they continued to disagree with his opinion. Had he been able to curb or channel his aggression he probably would have done quite well, but in the end, he didn’t need to as his parents were killed in a road traffic incident that proved to be caused by negligence on the part of a national haulage company and he received a substantial pay out. He promptly left the Army to pursue full time shagging; his words not mine. By blind serendipity we had grown up just a mile or so apart, albeit there was a couple of years between us, so might never have met were it not for the Army. Today Big Ben lived in a nice penthouse apartment overlooking the river Medway in the middle of Maidstone where he could predate on the ladies of the town. He didn’t work, as he didn’t need to, so filled his time with going to the gym and playing golf. Occasionally he helped me out because it gave him the chance to do something different and a slim chance that he might get to thump someone.
