The Death of the Elver Man

by Jennie Finch

  Alex studied the cottage for an instant. No smoke, but it was still early evening and mild. No lights either, but she was sure she’d caught a flicker of movement behind the dirt-encrusted window on the ground floor. Summoning her ‘brisk and efficient’ demeanour she stepped up to the front door and knocked. It opened with a soft creak as the rarely-used hinges grated together. The doorway was deep and the setting sun behind the house cast a shadow across her field of vision. Blinking her eyes she focussed on the figure in the doorway. Big, tall, dark-haired – there was something slightly familiar about him. There was also something – off was the best way she could describe it – something off and a bit menacing about him just standing there, a great lump in the doorway. She tightened her grip on her case as she looked up at him.

  ‘Mr Hinton? I’m Alex Hastings, from Highpoint Probation Office.’

  The figure paused and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse her entry, but then he moved back a step and jerked his head at her.

  ‘Better come in then,’ he said. Etiquette demanded she offer to shake hands, make a friendly gesture and smile but every ounce of instinct Alex possessed was shouting at her to make an excuse and leave. Instead she nodded, stepping into the dim, cold room, wanting to keep some distance between them.

  Hell, she was tiny, Derek thought. He could pick her up in one hand and throw her … He stopped abruptly, aware she was surveying the room with a cool, professional eye. Bloody fearless this one, he thought, as he stepped towards the solitary armchair and gestured towards it.

  ‘Sit down then. I’ll get a stool from the kitchen.’

  Alex perched herself on the edge of the chair and instinctively glanced behind her, checking the route to the door was clear. Even though he was a big man, he could probably move fast, very fast and almost silently, she thought. She pulled his file – such as it was – from her case and took out a pen ready to add her notes. Derek returned with his chair and placed it by the kitchen door, which he had closed behind him. He was close, she noted, but not close enough to appear obviously threatening. They glanced at one another and for a second their eyes met. The flat, almost reptilian look he gave her made Alex want to shiver. There was something very wrong here; she just couldn’t work out what it was.

  As their eyes met, Derek was taken aback by her directness, the hard, bold stare that seemed to be weighing him up and finding him wanting. He’d have to be careful, he thought. She was physically small but that didn’t make her any less of a threat. He’d met women like this before – they were as helpless as a bag of adders.

  He turned towards the empty hearth and said, ‘Do you want the fire on? It’s still a bit cold.’

  Alex shook her head and attempted a smile.

  ‘No, don’t put it on just for me. I’m fine thank you and I’ll not keep you long.’

  He nodded absently but kept his attention on the fireplace. She waited a moment and decided she’s better get on with it. It was dark in the room now, the sun to the back of the cottage offering no light to the east-facing windows. She peered at the notes in front of her and gave up. She’d just ask the most important questions and get out of there.

  ‘Sorry there’s no light,’ he said. ‘Can’t seem to get the circuit working properly, see. I’m using a couple of lamps but they’re out back.’

  Before she could stop herself she asked, ‘Why did you choose this place? It can’t be very comfortable. Surely they could have arranged something a bit better for you.’ She knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment she started. Hinton’s body tensed and his head swung round towards her, his features set into a glare.

  ‘That’s my business. I’m happy here for my own reasons and I’m a free man now.’

  Technically that wasn’t strictly true. Hinton was still on licence and as his supervising probation officer she was supposed to report to the police if she found him living in unsuitable conditions, but this was definitely not the time or the place to argue the point. She allowed her attention to wander back to the page in front of her as if unaware of his anger, a show of unconcern as she tried to step back from the little trap she had dug for herself. It was almost impossible to see the paper in front of her but she made some meaningless scribbles, her eyes focused on the movement of the pen.

  Derek cursed himself for being a clumsy, loudmouthed fool. He’d come close to losing his temper at the very first question. He watched Alex as she sat, so calm and composed making her notes. Damn the woman, did she have X-ray eyes or something? It was near pitch dark, yet she was still writing away. He took a deep breath and tried to let it out softly, gripping the edge of the wooden chair as he strove to calm himself.

  Alex stalled, making soft meaningless sounds of the ’um, a-ha’ variety as she tried to formulate a strategy that would get her out in one piece. He was sitting very still, watchful and tense she thought, like an animal ready to pounce. Play dumb, she decided. Play the ‘just a routine and I don’t really care’ role and take the first opportunity to leave.

  ‘As you say,’ she said as casually as she could. ‘Anyway, I just need to put something in to show we’ve made contact. Keep the forms up to date and the courts happy – you know how it is.’ She was becoming increasingly aware of an odour, faint but pungent, seeping round the room. She cleared her throat and tried a bright smile in his direction, all the while wondering just what it was making that smell.

  Derek was not fooled by the smile but he seized on the chance to cut the meeting short. He felt himself beginning to sweat and knew that in the light his face would be turning a tell-tale red with the strain. He played along – anything to get away from her. He sniffed, sure he could smell something from the kitchen, a wisp of ripe meat awaiting his knife.

  ‘Yeah, well I’m not plannin’ on staying long, see. Just stopping by then off to – well, you know. Fewer people hear that the better eh?’

  Alex nodded, scribbled again and said, ‘So you’ll be calling in to the office next week?’

  He’d not expected that. All parolees had to report to their probation officers for the length of their licence but he’d not been released on licence – Frank Mallory had. And now he was Frank Mallory, aka Andrew Hinton, until someone recognized him and then there’d be hell to pay. Well, what was the alternative? He couldn’t offer to pop into the police station – he was known to every copper within fifty miles. Yet he certainly didn’t want her back here again, poking around and looking in every corner with her sharp, bright eyes. When in doubt, lie.

  ‘I’m hoping to pick up a car the end of next week,’ he said. ‘Maybe I can call you and come in the week after?’ Three weeks should be enough time, he thought. He’d need to move on anyway once he’d finished his business here. He had a couple more meetings planned but he couldn’t hang around here too long, not knowing the coppers might pop by to see how dear old Frank was getting on.

  Alex nodded, secure in the knowledge he had no intention of reporting. Whoever he really was, whatever he’d done to get his release, he was about to skip.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, holding out an official card. ‘Here’s my number. Give me a call in the next few weeks and let me know how you’re getting on. If you could just sign here please.’ She held out the form, indicating the bottom of the page. Derek took the pen, signed and pushed the papers back towards her before leaning back with his arms folded. Alex bundled the whole lot into her case, rose and bumped into the chair as she turned to go. She stumbled and almost fell and her case fell open, papers and folders slipping on to the floor. She grabbed at the pile, ignoring the sardonic grin on Hinton’s face as he enjoyed her embarrassment. He made no move to help her, just sat there smirking as she flung the door open and stepped out into the cold, clean air. She’d not realized how close it had been in the cottage and she took several deep breaths as she hurried to her car. Flinging everything inside she flopped into the driver’s seat and turned the key just as the cottage door opened and Hinton barrelled across the yard t
owards her. She was overcome by panic, an unreasoning fear that threatened to overwhelm her. Desperately she tried the ignition, cursing the ingenious and eccentric suspension as she did so. Nothing happened of course. It took her aging model almost thirty seconds to inflate and free the safety system – plenty of time for him to reach the car and knock on the window. She stared at him through the glass, only too aware of her vulnerability, the dodgy locks on the passenger side and the fact she was about to make an utter fool of herself. His face was expressionless as he knocked again and she reluctantly wound the window down a fraction. She realized she could smell him, a thick, musky smell of sweat, dirt and – something else, something ripe and slightly rancid. He pushed an object through the gap at the top of the door and stepped back.

  ‘Here, you forgot your pen,’ he said, and then he smiled. It was a mocking smile, the grin of a hunter who scents their prey. The engine fired and she swung the car round, screeching off back down the road and off the Levels. Her hands shook as she gripped the wheel in a tense grasp. Now she realized why he seemed familiar. When he gave that smile he looked disturbingly like the ‘didicoy’ from Bristol.

  ‘Well that’s the thing, you see,’ said Alex. ‘He didn’t actually do anything’.

  Sitting at the dining table, safe in her own house, she began to feel rather foolish. What had Andrew Hinton done after all? He’d not refused her entry, he’d been polite and he’d even offered to put the fire on.

  ‘Maybe my family are right,’ she mumbled, ‘maybe I’m losing my nerve. It’s just …’ She struggled to describe exactly what had made her so uneasy – no, if she were honest, what had made her so afraid. She’s never been scared by a client before and she’s met some thoroughly unpleasant characters in the past few years but there was a sense of menace about this man that made her skin crawl. Most clients played along with the system. They might not really think it was helping or even want anything she could offer but it was better than the alternatives. The fact Alex could take them back to court and have them shipped off to prison was a great incentive to co-operation but she knew instinctively that was not the case here. There was something, something broken in this one. The only reason he’d not picked her up and snapped her in two was because he couldn’t be bothered. Had she pushed a bit harder she suspected she wouldn’t have escaped so easily.

  ‘Here,’ said Sue, pushing a glass towards her.

  Alex shook her head. ‘I don’t drink during the week,’ she said. ‘You know that.’

  Sue snorted and picked up an open bottle. ‘The week you’re having, it’s about time you started,’ she said, pouring a generous glass of wine.

  Alex managed a wry grin and took a sip. The wine slid down, soothing her fear and sending a gentle warmth outwards through her body. She drank again and leaned back in her chair with a sigh.

  ‘I know he’s a danger,’ she said. ‘He’ll skip, for sure and then he’ll be on the loose, free to do any damn horrible thing he wants but there’s nothing I can do about it. Can you imagine the police if I went along now. “Well, he looked at me in a funny way, his house smelt and he ran after me to give my pen back”. They’d laugh me out of station and with good reason.’

  Sue nodded, took a slug of her wine and put the glass down with a bang. ‘Well, while you were out socializing you missed another of Garry’s delightful surprise meetings,’ she said.

  ‘Oh? How the hell did he manage to fit that in? He was heading off somewhere else about three this afternoon. I know because he changed the time of my meeting. Not that I knew about the wretched thing in the first place,’ she added bitterly.

  ‘Alison?’ asked Sue.

  ‘Alison. So tell me, what was this get-together about?’ Alex drained her glass and did not protest when Sue filled it again.

  ‘He had a couple of Head Office bods round just after you left. Then a few minutes to five he had Pauline herd us all upstairs and launched into this presentation.’

  Alex waited but there was there was nothing more forthcoming.

  ‘Presentation about what?’ she asked finally.

  Sue shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He started on about stopping snot or something. It sounded disgusting so I just sort of tuned out for a lot of it.’

  ‘The new priorities,’ Alex said. ‘SNOP, SLOP and STOP.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Sue. ‘I remember now. Anyway, I wasn’t paying much attention until he got on to the stuff about the away-day.’ Sue picked up the bottle, upended it with a frown and rose from the table.

  ‘Away-day? What do you mean, away-day?’ said Alex.

  ‘Next month, in some hall somewhere. We’re all going, clerical and everyone,’ called Sue from the kitchen. ‘Ah, here we are.’ She appeared in the doorway flourishing a fresh bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

  ‘You’re a fount of information today,’ grumbled Alex. ‘A meeting for an indeterminate purpose, on an unspecified date, at an unspecified location and for an unspecified length of time. Oh please don’t let it be a residential!’

  Sue was wrestling with the cork but glanced up at the anguish in her friend’s voice.

  ‘Oh, yes there is that. It’s two days so we’re all staying overnight.’ The cork popped out of the bottle and Alex reached for her glass, holding it out for another refill.

  ‘Are you sure? You don’t normally drink this much in a whole evening.’

  ‘Shut up and fill it, you bringer of doom. Like you said, I’m having a pretty terrible week.’

  When Margie looked into Kevin’s cell that evening he was sitting on his bunk, scrunched up in the corner with his arms around his legs and his knees drawn up tight against his body.

  ‘Hey,’ she said softly.

  Kevin peeked out at her through his greasy hair but did not reply. Margie waited for a moment on the threshold and then stepped into the cell. Like most of the prison it smelt of feet, sweat and cheap aftershave, probably splashed around to cover the scent of illegal alcohol fermenting in a warm corner somewhere. It was amazing what they could produce from orange juice, sugar and any potato peelings they could smuggle out of the kitchen, Margie thought as she approached the figure huddled on the bed.

  ‘Just checking you’re alright,’ said Margie. She was careful to keep her voice level and neutral, as much to avoid undue attention from other prisoners as to keep the young man calm. Kevin tucked his head into his arms and muttered something she couldn’t make out. Giving a glance behind her to make sure it was safe, she stepped further into the room and was disturbed to see Kevin flinch.

  ‘Kevin – it is Kevin, right?’ She waited but there was no response. ‘Well, your P.O. asked me to drop by, see if there’s anything you need.’ There was still no reaction from Kevin but at least he’d stopped cowering away from her. Alex was right, thought Margie, there was something nasty going on here and she wasn’t letting it go. Not on her watch. Margie prided herself on doing the best job she could. She’d never lost a prisoner whist on duty, not from violence or suicide, but she recognized the signs and this was a very vulnerable inmate. In theory there was nothing she could do. He was on remand and should be safe, separated from the convicted criminals in the main population. He certainly didn’t belong with the ‘veeps’ – the ‘vulnerable prisoners’ who had their own wing. That elite group was a mix of drug dealers, sex offenders and members of the justice system – bent coppers, judges or ex prison officers, all of whom were at risk in the main population, or, in the case of the drug dealers, constituted a threat to others. Anyway, he was still not convicted, presumed innocent despite the fact he was locked up. There was nowhere for him to go except … she hesitated, knowing she was setting herself up for days of derision from the male officers. She looked at Kevin for a moment and sighed heavily as she reached out and took his elbow.

  ‘Up you get. You’re coming with me.’

  ‘The hospital? Why’s he in the hospital? Has something happened to him?’ Alex demanded when she got a call from the prison in the
morning. She felt dreadful – pounding head, red eyes, sick and slightly dizzy, the classic symptoms of a monster hangover for which she held Garry personally responsible. Too much wine last night, the pending ‘away-day’ and now this. She hoped she didn’t have to go back to Bristol because she suspected she was in no state to drive.

  ‘He’s all right, not injured or anything like that,’ said Margie’s voice on the other end of the phone. ‘I checked up on him and you’re right, I think he’s being picked on. He looked pretty dreadful and was in no state to watch out for himself, so I had a word with the duty doctor on the phone and got him signed into the hospital for a week. Give him a chance to rest a bit, maybe. Can’t be more though – he’ll have to go back on the wing in seven days and the best I can do then is put him on suicide watch. That’ll not improve his popularity with his cell mates neither.’

  Alex knew just how effective suicide watch was sometimes. Regular checks on prisoners thought to be leaning towards self-harm were designed to dissuade them as well as ensuring the officers knew what they were up to. Unfortunately the constant clanging of the hatch, every half-hour through the night, tended to result in broken sleep and frayed tempers, particularly amongst the non-suicidal cellmates. No, Kevin wasn’t necessarily suicidal but he was in danger from someone in the jail and they could bide their time and get to him during the day.

  Margie echoed her thoughts as she added, ‘Better try getting him out on bail. Maybe a hostel or something down near your way?’