by Jennie Finch
The Inspector nodded. ‘Just over the river from the pub, but done a while ago – couple of weeks or so.’
‘Well, the damage certainly seems to be remarkably similar. Was it both front tyres, do you know?’
The Inspector glanced questioningly at the corner where his sergeant stood consulting a notebook before nodding.
‘Both front tyres,’ he confirmed.
‘So we do seem to have a pattern, albeit a rather unusual one,’ said the pathologist, swivelling round to face the police. ‘Three attacks with a fishing knife, a Normark if Constable Brown is correct, and I believe he is. Two of these were fatalities, both from slashed throats, both members of the criminal fraternity. The third, an attempted murder, is on a police sergeant. In the same area as this attack we have two tyre slashings, one on the intended victim and one on a member of the public.’
‘A probation officer,’ the Sergeant interjected.
‘I didn’t know it was a probation officer,’ said the Inspector. ‘Is that relevant do you think?’
The pathologist smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s not my job to put it all together,’ he said. ‘I can tell you all these people almost certainly suffered at the hands of the same person and the tyres are very interesting. One stab to each tyre speaks of deliberation and control, not drunken vandalism. Whoever is doing this, they’re following some plan. You might want to keep an eye on this probation officer or at least warn him.’
‘Her,’ said the Sergeant, ‘warn her.’
‘Ah,’ said the pathologist. ‘Now that is interesting.’
Alex was fretting, pacing her room and glancing out of the window every few minutes. She had very few clients who attended regularly without being constantly chivvied and reminded, and even fewer who attended regularly and on time, so the unexplained absence of Simon, the ‘lorry boy’ from Petherton, was a cause for some anxiety. After about fifteen minutes she gave in and rang down to Alison in the office.
‘Oh, no, he’s not down here,’ said Alison brightly. ‘Hang on though, I’ll just check.’
There was a clunk as she dropped the phone on the counter and Alex waited, gritting her teeth in frustration. The waiting area was an open space, fully visible from the reception desk. There was nowhere for Simon to be unless he’d secreted himself under one of the chairs. She had a momentary vision of Alison lifting seat cushions and peering behind them and, despite herself, cracked a little smile. The phone was lifted again and she heard Alison’s adenoidal tones.
‘No, he’s not here. There’s a policeman to see you though.’
Slightly alarmed, Alex said, ‘Did he say what he wants?’
The phone went down again, jarring through Alex’s head, and after a brief pause she heard the faint tones of PC Brown. Maybe some news about the tyres, she thought.
‘Send him up will you?’ she said before Alison could convey her interpretation of events. ‘And call me the moment you hear anything about Simon. It’s not like him to be late.’
There was a knock on her office door and Constable Brown walked in looking unusually sombre. Alex waved him to a seat and offered him a cup of tea but he shook his head.
‘No thanks. I’m just on my way out to Taunton, to the Saggers, but I wanted to have a word with you first.
‘Saggers?’ asked Alex frowning.
‘Oh, sorry, Special Action Group HQ. I’d be in trouble if anyone heard me calling them ‘Saggers’, especially to a civilian, but to be honest they’re so full of themselves and strut around – they’ve really pissed a lot of us off. You won’t tell anyone will you?’ he added.
Alex assured him his secret was safe with her.
‘So, what brings you here?’ she said. ‘Is it to do with the tyres?’
The young PC nodded. ‘Well, yes but it’s a bit more than that.’ He explained about the knife wounds and the match between the tyre damage and a blade used in two murders and one attempted killing of a police officer. Alex was horrified and intrigued in almost equal measure. ‘So whoever cut my tyres killed William Boyd?’
‘Yeah, Big Bill,’ said PC Brown.
‘And they also killed another man and attacked the custody sergeant at the pub.’ Alex had a thought. ‘The other man wouldn’t happen to be this mysterious Elver Man, would he, the one Kevin Mallory was charged with?’
PC Brown looked uncomfortable. ‘I can’t confirm that,’ he said. ‘That’s not supposed to be common knowledge – always saying it is the case, of course, which I’m not,’ he added hastily.
Alex thought for a moment. ‘Why would whoever killed the Elver Man mess about with my car?’ she asked finally.
‘We don’t know yet,’ said Constable Brown, ‘but when we catch him I promise you we’ll find out.’
Alex nodded, not much comforted by this. She opened her mouth to tell him about the curtains and the pike’s head in the fridge but hesitated remembering her conversation with Sue. At that moment the phone rang. She snatched it up, expecting news of Simon, but instead it was Garry asking if she had a moment to spare some time that afternoon. Disappointed and a little apprehensive she replaced the receiver with a muttered apology.
‘I’m waiting for a client,’ she said. ‘He’s never late even though he walks all the way from Petherton. Well, runs really. He’s amazingly fit – puts me to shame.’
‘That wouldn’t be Simon Adams, the lorry boy?’ asked Constable Brown. Alex gave him a sharp look, ‘Why?’
‘Someone attacked him last night. Gave him a right good kicking by all accounts and left him on the pavement. He was lucky a passing motorist spotted him or he might have been out all night. I’m on my way over there later this afternoon to interview him.’
Kevin was looking out of the top window, wondering if he could get out of going with his mother to meet Alex at the day centre, when he saw a figure striding along the footpath, coming from the direction of Middlezoy. There was something familiar about him and Kevin leaned forward, pressing his nose to the glass to get a better look. The figure turned in to the front yard and Kevin jumped back out of sight as he recognized the florid features of Derek Johns. He slid across to the bedroom door and hurried down the stairs to warn his mother, but a hammering on the front door made him freeze like a trapped rabbit. He stood halfway down the staircase in his socks and boxers, afraid to move in either direction. There was silence for a moment and then the knocking began again, a steady pounding on the door which trembled in its reinforced frame but did not give way.
There was the sound of footsteps from the direction of the kitchen and Ada appeared, hurrying over to the foot of the stairs, looking up at Kevin with disapproval.
‘’Tis Derek Johns,’ he whispered, his voice coming out as a squeak. ‘I seen him, coming down the path but you was out back.’
Ada flapped her hand at him, waving him up the stairs. ‘What’d I tell you, parading around like that? You go put some clothes on now and leave this to me.’ She turned her back on her son who retreated up the stairs to peer down at Derek Johns’ head from the top window. Ada moved towards the door, running her eye over the bolts and locks as she did so. Everything was in place, just as she’d left it before going out into the garden. She stepped closer to the end of the hall and spoke calmly. ‘You just leave us be now Derek. We is nothing to do with you so you go back home.’
There was a pause in the knocking. ‘That you then Ada? You skulking and sneaking and hiding in there with that little runt of a son? Reckon you must be scared to show your face amongst decent folk.’
Ada stood very still, trying to make sense of all this. She had no idea what Derek Johns was talking about but she had worked out he was trying to rile her, to make her lose her temper and open the door. An angry, hostile man outside – that she could cope with. An angry, hostile man inside her house was another matter entirely and Ada wasn’t about to let that happen. There was a scuffling from above and Kevin peered round the landing rails.
‘What did he call me?’
he asked.
‘Don’t you mind. You go back upstairs and leave this to me,’ said Ada firmly, but Derek had heard their voices.
‘Why don’t you come out and face me, you little runt,’ he called, ‘or is you a coward like your Dad? Maybe you’s a grass too an’ that’s why they let you out. Is that it – you a grass like your worthless Dad?’
Kevin flew down the stairs and lunged for the door but Ada planted herself in the way, fending him off with both hands.
‘You stop and think now,’ she hissed. ‘He’s just trying to get you mad so you’ll open up and let him in. You want that snake in here with us?’
Kevin stopped pushing and stepped back shaking his head.
‘No,’ he said softly.
‘Right now, you go into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Make some tea and don’t you come back out ‘til I say so.’ She gave him a little shove. ‘Go on now.’
She waited until Kevin was out of sight before reaching into the drawer of the hall stand and pulling out the carving knife. Derek was getting increasingly impatient and began to kick at the door, but Ada had taken the precaution of adding a metal thresh and extra bracings and it held firm. Derek landed a particularly hard kick and the force reverberated through the house.
‘Shit! You bitch.’ He staggered back, clutching at his toes. ‘I almost broke my foot. You still there?’
Ada stood very still, waiting.
‘Answer me you old cow,’ yelled Derek, peering through the letterbox. He saw the knife at the last moment, as it snaked towards him, and jerked his head to one side. The movement saved his eyes and possibly his life as the blade sliced into the side of his cheek, emerging just below the bone to strike his right ear lobe. Derek leapt back with a shriek, slapping his hand to his damaged face as the knife vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He opened his mouth to shout but only blood came out. There was a rattling from the letterbox and the tip of the knife appeared, wriggled at him suggestively and disappeared inside once more. Derek staggered back, his head ringing from the force of the blow. The pain was unbelievable and as he shook his head to clear it blood sprayed through the wound in his cheek. Desperate to stop the bleeding he stumbled down the path and made off across the fields. His face was tearing and burning with every jolt and stumble but he did not dare be seen on the roads in this state.
Back in the cottage Ada heard the kitchen door open and a soft voice said, ‘Mum?’
‘’Tis all done now Kevin,’ she said, calmly wiping the knife blade on the inside of her apron before returning it to the drawer. ‘No need to be telling anyone about this neither. ’Tis our business, not no-one else’s. You get the tea ready – I’m gasping for a cup.’
‘What did he mean, about Dad?’ asked Kevin. Ada walked into the kitchen and ran her hands under the tap before sitting at the table and motioning him to pour the tea.
‘Well now, I reckon you old enough to know about your father,’ she said as she sipped the brew gratefully. ‘He was never much good as a husband or much as a man, but he was trying to do something right at last, I reckon. Shame is he messed that up too and seems he’s brought more trouble to this house. Still, he sent you a letter.’ Kevin’s head jerked up at this.
‘Just shows how much he knows about you,’ she added, ‘sending a letter. I suppose you want me to read it then?’
Kevin nodded, his eyes staring and mouth open as he waited to hear what his father might have to say to him after almost fifteen years.
Later that evening Kevin and Ada sat in the front room and Ada took out her box of photographs and pictures, laying them out on the low table for Kevin to see.
‘Let me see, this is your Grandma. Fierce woman she was, tried to do her best by us all but there was just too many of us – and my Dad, your Granddad, he was no help. Worse than useless he was. Here, that’s him,’ she said, poking a finger at a faded snapshot.
Kevin picked it up and stared at the figure lounging against a gate, an old crofter’s cottage in the distance. ‘Where’s that to then?’ he asked.
‘That’s where I was born and raised. ’Tis just down aways, across near them Roman works. Probably gone by now,’ Ada mused. ‘Dad never was one for keeping things in order and my Mum done her best, but was too much for her on her own.’ She glanced out of the window. ‘Is getting dark. Reckon you need to close up the greenhouse.’
Kevin rose to his feet obediently.
‘Oh, while you out, check the front door. Make sure that great oaf ain’t damaged nothing will yer?’ She sat for a while, turning over photographs and reading old faded postcards, the tiny specks of a past life. She began to order the pictures, setting them out as best she could to show the family line, when Kevin came back in and stood in front of her, holding out his hand wordlessly. She looked up from her task and glanced at the outstretched palm. Nestling in his open hand was an ear-ring, a single gold hoop, still attached to the lobe.
Chapter Thirteen
It was hard to concentrate with the sense of impending doom hanging over you, Alex thought, as she sat in the office on a gloriously sunny Saturday, ploughing grimly through a pile of outstanding Part B forms. Record keeping had never been her strong point but in her first few months Lauren had kept her mostly up to date, chivvying at her heels like a fox terrier.
‘You want to do them soon as you finish that bit of work,’ she said. ‘Don’t do no good just letting it all mount up. You end up coming in of a weekend and trying to catch up with masses of notes and all them odd bits of scribble. Is no way to do things properly.’
As usual, Lauren was correct. Despite the open windows, Alex was sweating and the heat was beginning to give her a headache. On the desk in front of her were piles of paper, drifts of notes and memos all sorted rather haphazardly into cases and clients. She stared at the whole mess for a moment and rubbed her eyes, screwing them up to admire the galaxy of red and orange dots that danced in her vision. When she opened them again the jumble was still there and she sighed, reached out and picked up a handful at random, flicking through them with a sinking heart. Simon, the lorry boy, ‘Cider’ Rosie (she shuddered), a reminder to contact Andrew Hinton, dated several months ago – she was in real trouble here and it was all her own fault.
After PC Brown’s visit she had made her way to Garry’s room, her mind full of questions and her attention definitely elsewhere. It was always a mistake to underestimate your boss and on this occasion she ran straight into an ambush with no warning and no defences. There was a small pile of folders on his desk, a selection of her case files, and she had barely sat down before Garry was going through them one by one highlighting their inadequacies in a disturbing amount of detail. She wondered briefly how he had got hold of her files in the first place – they were kept in a locked cabinet and she was as careful about that as she was about her house. Then she realized, Alison had a key and could easily have handed them over. It seemed typical of the woman not to warn her and Alex was torn between fury at her assistant’s betrayal and sick anger at the scathing appraisal to which she was being subjected. Somehow she managed to control herself, sitting in silence until Garry had run through her failings as a probation officer and the weaknesses in her working methods.
‘I’m disappointed more than anything,’ he said. ‘You are a highly intelligent and well-trained officer with considerable potential, but you do not seem to be reaching it at this time.’
She was taken aback by this rather backhanded compliment, but before she could marshal a response he continued.
‘There are some issues that must be addressed as a matter of urgency. Your records,’ here he waved a hand airily over the folders, ‘need to be brought up to date. I’m going to remove you from the court rota for a month to allow you some time for this. There are also some cases where, quite frankly, your response has been less than successful. Andrew Hinton, for example, seems to have simply disappeared. After your one visit, there is nothing.’
She leaned forwards to
try and explain the difficulties but he carried on. ‘I know Paul can be rather over-protective of his charges, but after a promising start young Brian Morris has also rather slipped off the radar and that is a cause for concern. And there are some prisoners overdue a visit, Billy Johns for one.’
He had her there. She had neglected some of her more difficult cases as well as allowing those on hold – those in prison like Newt, for example, who certainly weren’t going anywhere – to drift whilst she focussed on more immediate matters. He was right in most respects and she was not doing the best job she could, though she did feel he didn’t seem to give her any credit for what she had done, what she was doing right.
‘I wonder if this is the right environment for you,’ Garry mused, staring over her head at the sparkling blue sky visible from his windows. ‘Perhaps you would be more suited to a more, shall we say, urban environment.’ He raised an eyebrow rather archly and glanced at her before resuming. ‘I am aware your final appraisal is due at the end of this month.’
This was it, she thought, this was the end of all her hard work and years of struggling to qualify. He was going to fail her and she’d never get another chance.
‘I’m going to postpone the formal appraisal for three months,’ he said. ‘I feel I have been, perhaps, a little remiss in not ensuring you are more closely supervised. We will meet every week, check your records and see how you are progressing over that time. It is a two-way process of course.’ Here he gave one of his slightly creepy smiles. ‘I expect you will want to use my knowledge and experience to help you develop your practice.’
She suspected her smile was just as insincere as his as she agreed that would be most helpful. On the way back to her room she had to resist the urge to rush into the washroom and scrub every inch of visible flesh.
