Shades of Evil

by Shirley Wells

‘So you ran home to check?’ Max asked.

  ‘Yes. And, as you might guess, all was safe and secure. It’s just habit, isn’t it, locking the door, I mean? It’s such a subconscious act that you don’t remember if you’ve done it or not.’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ Max agreed.

  ‘The same thing happened the week before,’ Steve went on. ‘As I walked, I grew more and more convinced I’d forgotten to switch the cooker off. The hob, you know? I had visions of the house burning to the ground. Of course, when I got back all was safe.’ He smiled as he added, ‘I seem to be having more senior moments than my fair share at the moment.’

  ‘I have them all the time,’ Jill said.

  ‘I hear you sometimes collect tins and bottles while you’re out walking?’ Max said.

  ‘I do. I suppose that sounds silly, but the amount of litter that people leave around really annoys me. It’s not exactly difficult to take it home, is it? So yes, I sometimes take a couple of carrier bags and fill those up. Mind,’ he added, ‘when the council starts charging us by weight for our waste, I won’t be doing it.’

  ‘What else do you collect when you’re out?’ Max asked.

  ‘Collect? Why nothing.’ Again, his frown suddenly cleared. ‘Ah yes, sometimes I bring a bit of wood back.’ He nodded at the stove. ‘This thing eats wood so, if I find some lying around, I bring it back. Usually, it’s fallen branches, but you wouldn’t believe what I find out there. Someone had dumped a small table and four chairs once. God knows why. It would have been easier to take it to the tip. But there, people seem to take pleasure in dumping stuff. I chopped them up and brought them home.’

  ‘Chopped them up?’ Max queried.

  ‘I certainly did. I noticed them in the morning so, in the afternoon, I took a saw along and began bringing bits home. I couldn’t have carried them in one go,’ he explained.

  ‘So you sometimes take a saw with you?’ Max asked.

  ‘I don’t take it on the off chance.’ Steve smiled at the idea. ‘But if I see some wood lying around, I’ll take it with me the next time I go out.’

  ‘Can we see this saw?’ Max asked.

  ‘See it? Well, yes, of course you can. It’s in the shed.’ He got to his feet. ‘You’ll have to be careful how you walk, I’m afraid. As I said, I was trying to clear the path at the back.’

  They followed Steve through a huge kitchen that gleamed with gadgets to the back door. What he called a garden, Jill would have called a field. It was huge. By the house was a wooden store filled with logs. At the far end was a shed. There was also a greenhouse.

  ‘The shed is mainly a wood store,’ Steve explained at they approached it. ‘As I said, you wouldn’t believe how much wood we get through.’

  He took a small key from his pocket and undid the padlock. When he opened the doors, they saw, filling one side, a tall, neatly stacked pile of logs.

  ‘There’s my saw,’ he said, pointing.

  It was hanging on two hooks on the opposite side of the shed, along with three spades, a fork and various other garden tools.

  Max picked up one of the logs.

  ‘You didn’t use a saw on this,’ he said.

  ‘Good Lord, no. Sadly, I don’t find enough wood on my walks. I have to buy most of the wood. These logs came from the garden centre in Harrington. Two pounds a bag. Not bad value.’

  To Jill, who’d just paid three pounds for a bag of logs, it was excellent value.

  ‘Do they deliver?’ she asked Steve.

  ‘Yes, so long as it’s twenty bags or more.’

  As they walked back to the house, Jill made a mental note to put in an order. At least this visit hadn’t been a complete waste of her time.

  Chapter Six

  Ruth Carlisle would soon be celebrating, if that was the right word, her seventy-seventh birthday. These days, her age came as something of a shock and she found it hard to understand how the years had vanished. Sometimes, when she looked in a mirror, she would be momentarily taken by surprise to see a grey-haired, wrinkled woman staring back at her, but other than that, she didn’t give her age a second thought. Now, looking at her youngest son, she felt every one of those years hanging heavily. That in itself surprised her because it had always been Steve who made her laugh, who made her feel young.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked him.

  ‘Nothing. What could be wrong?’

  ‘If I knew that, I wouldn’t be asking.’

  ‘Really, I’m fine.’

  He wasn’t, she was convinced of that. She’d thought he looked distracted on Monday night. Last night, she’d been sure of it.

  Steve always came to them for his evening meal when Alison was working away. It wasn’t that he was incapable of cooking his own food, it was his way of keeping the family ties strong. As her other children had left the village, she was glad of that.

  He always brought his dog, Cally, with him, too. The dog was no trouble, though. As Frank often said, the animal was too lazy to be a problem.

  ‘Your dad will be here soon,’ she said as she carried on peeling potatoes for their meal.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Down on the allotments with Bill.’

  ‘In this weather? What on earth are they doing?’

  ‘They’re supposed to be planning next year’s flower show, but I expect they’re just putting the world to rights. Him and Bill took off with their flasks and some sandwiches. They have that old heater in the shed so they’ll be fine.’

  Ruth had been glad to see him go. She’d had a heart attack last year and, although it had been a mild one, he’d rarely spent a whole day out of the house since. Ruth had told him not to fuss and worry, but he still liked to keep a close check on her. It was a bit much at times.

  ‘Where’s Alison this week?’ she asked Steve.

  ‘At a sales conference in Leeds.’

  He picked up the evening paper where the photo of the dead girl almost filled the front page.

  ‘Something like that gives everyone a shock, doesn’t it?’ she said, shuddering to think of what the poor girl’s family must be going through. ‘I can’t believe it. I mean, a place like this.’

  ‘It’s dreadful,’ Steve agreed.

  He quietly thumbed through to the jobs pages and Ruth prayed that, today, there was something suitable for him.

  Ruth had four children and loved them dearly. She didn’t have a favourite, but she had to admit that Steve held a special place in her heart.

  Her firstborn, Toby, had been a demanding baby. Then Amy had come along and Ruth had never known two children fight more. They’d quarrelled from morning till night. When Louise, more delicate, had followed, things had settled down a little. All the same, Ruth’s hands had been full with the three of them and the last thing in the world she had wanted was another child.

  Steve had been a mistake and she’d panicked when she’d known she was carrying him, quite convinced that four children would have her locked away in the madhouse. Yet, from the moment he’d been born, his sunny nature and smiling face had captivated her.

  She’d thought there would be the obligatory tantrums when he was two or three, but no. Then she’d worried he would turn into the teenager from hell. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Steve hadn’t caused a moment’s anxiety all through his school years. He’d been average at his lessons, nothing more, but he’d been a laughing, happy boy who was always eager to please.

  How things change. Looking at him now as he hunched over the newspaper, she tried to remember the last time she’d seen him happy. Not for the last ten years. Nor the last twenty come to that.

  After school, instead of following the others to university, Steve had taken a job in a busy office. He’d been responsible for orders and deliveries, making sure bricks and timber were delivered on time. Then, because he soon knew the products inside out, and because he had a good way with people, he’d been invited to apply for a sales-man’s position. With an extra two thousand p
ounds a year and a company car on offer, he hadn’t thought twice about it.

  He’d kept that job until the company was taken over and several were made redundant. As far as Ruth remembered, he’d been out of work for less than a month and had walked straight into his last job. He’d seemed to enjoy it. A year ago, however, along with a lot of others in the industry, redundancy had claimed him again.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ she asked him as he turned the page.

  ‘Nothing I’m qualified for,’ he said. ‘And I expect they’d take one look at me and decide I was too old.’

  ‘Too old? At forty-seven? Nonsense!’

  The back door opened and Frank came in. He took off his thick coat, hung it on the back of the door, and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘They reckon more snow’s on its way, but it feels too cold.’ He gave Ruth a quick kiss.

  ‘What do you know then, Steve?’ he asked.

  ‘Not a lot, Dad. You?’

  ‘No more than that.’

  ‘Steve reckons he’s too old to get a decent job,’ Ruth said. ‘What nonsense is that?’

  ‘You can retrain, can’t you?’ Frank suggested.

  ‘As what?’

  ‘I don’t know. A plumber or a sparky. The country’s crying out for good tradesmen.’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know. I do know I’ll have to do something soon, though. I can’t live off Alison for the rest of my days.’

  Ruth wondered if that’s why he seemed so distracted. Maybe he and Alison had argued about money. They wouldn’t be the first couple to do that.

  There was little said as they sat at the table to eat. Steve, like his dad, preferred to concentrate on his food rather than make conversation. Today, though, he was pushing potatoes round his plate.

  ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Ruth asked him.

  ‘Sorry, Mum, I had a big chunk of cake before I got here.’

  She didn’t believe him. While Frank spoke of the weather and plans he had for the allotment, Steve, slowly but surely, cleared his plate. Ruth knew the effort it had taken, though.

  ‘I’ll help with the washing-up, Mum, and then I’ll be off,’ he said, rising to his feet.

  ‘Anything planned?’

  ‘My computer’s playing up. I updated some software and it hasn’t been right since. I need to sort that out.’

  Ruth had never owned a computer and never wanted to. She hadn’t a clue how they worked or what anyone would want one for, but she guessed Steve was making an excuse to get away. Whether he admitted it or not, her son had things on his mind.

  ‘It’s a poor do when a man can’t tell his mother what’s bothering him,’ she said, plunging her hands into the hot soapy water.

  ‘There’s nothing bothering me, Mum. Really, I’m fine.’

  ‘And I’m a monkey’s uncle,’ she retorted.

  He took a tea towel from the top drawer. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Mum, I promise you.’

  Ruth continued to worry.

  Chapter Seven

  It was almost nine o’clock that evening when Max picked up his jacket and left his office.

  Paddy was manning the desk, a phone to his ear and half a sandwich in front of him. While he listened, he was doodling on a notepad.

  ‘We’ll send someone round tomorrow,’ he promised as he ended the call.

  ‘Busy?’ Max asked him.

  ‘Just the usual. You off to the Green Man then?’

  ‘Nope, I’m off home.’ Max frowned. ‘Why? What’s going on at the Green Man?’

  ‘Sam’s engagement celebration.’

  Now Paddy mentioned it, Max could remember the invite. He could imagine the state his officers would be in when the morning rolled round, too. There always seemed to be something to celebrate. Last week, they’d been wetting Colin’s baby’s head and the Green Man hadn’t closed till gone three.

  For a brief moment, Max thought of joining them, but he dismissed the idea and trudged through the slush to his car. He needed to see if his sons still recognized him.

  Then again, it was his job to motivate the team. They’d worked long frustrating hours lately, looking into the disappearance of Yasmin Smith and, now with Lauren Cole’s murder on their doorstep, would be working a lot more. An hour spent with them might do everyone good.

  Besides, his kids were happy enough and had a far better social life than he did. It wasn’t too long till Christmas and, for the first time that Max could remember, he’d be spending almost a fortnight at home with them. With his kids and his dad.

  He was trying not to think too much about his father’s visit because he knew it would be difficult.

  Max had got the phone call on 4 April, almost eight months ago now. He’d raced to the hospital and to his mother’s bedside and had spent the next hour holding her hand and willing her to pull through.

  Then he’d remembered other stroke victims he’d seen and heard about, and he’d known that she wouldn’t want to ‘pull through’. She would have needed to learn to speak and eat all over again. She would have hated it. They all would.

  Eventually, he’d left his father at her bedside and stepped outside to speak to his brother.

  ‘He blames himself,’ Dave said.

  Max knew that. Their father had left for a day trip to London to catch up with ex-colleagues. When he’d walked out of the door to catch the train, Margaret Trentham had been sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast with the morning paper open beside her. When he’d returned shortly after ten that night, she’d still been there, the paper still open, her breakfast cold before her. She’d been slumped over the table unconscious for most of his fifteen-hour absence. She was sixty-seven years old.

  Despite the odds, she lay in her hospital bed for three long days before Max got the next phone call.

  ‘She’s gone,’ Dave had said simply.

  Shrugging off his memories and putting all thoughts of his father’s impending visit from his mind, Max headed towards the lights of the Green Man.

  The best, and probably the only good thing about the pub was that it was close to headquarters. And it was well-heated, Max decided as he stepped inside.

  This evening, it was packed, mostly with coppers. Jill was standing at the bar chatting to DS Grace Warne, and Max fought his way over to them.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you here, guv,’ Grace said, her face flushed from heat, embarrassment or alcohol.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see most of the team here, either,’ he replied, looking around him and wondering who would be fit to drive in the morning.

  ‘Yeah, well. Most have only dropped in for a quick one. I’ll, um, go and remind them about the morning briefing.’

  Grace left them and Max watched her for a few moments. He guessed her colleagues were being warned of his presence rather than reminded about the early briefing.

  Jill was holding a glass of orange juice which meant she was driving. Trying out her four-by-four no doubt.

  ‘Have you had any ideas?’ he asked her, shouting above the din. ‘I mean about the phone calls, about someone who might bear a grudge?’

  ‘None. I honestly can’t think of anyone, which is why I’m assuming it’s kids.’

  But kids didn’t string up cats. Not unless they wanted to be psychopaths when they grew up.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Anything new come up?’

  ‘Nothing.’ And wasn’t that the truth? ‘What I can’t understand is how anyone could be in Kelton Bridge, carrying a bloody axe of all things, without the whole damn village knowing about it.’

  ‘A backpack? Lots of people walk in the hills. No one would think twice if they saw someone in walking gear. Or a four-by-four,’ she added. ‘Marvellous vehicles. You can fit everything in the back and get from A to B in no time.’

  Max smiled at that. ‘I take it you’re still impressed with your purchase then?’

  ‘I love it. I don’t know why I didn’t get one years ago.’

 
They were joined by Clive White and, immediately, Max sensed the tension in the air. Clive and Jill nodded at each other, and mumbled quick greetings. Much like two boxers might face each other in the ring.

  Like everyone else, Clive looked as if he’d had a few drinks before Max arrived. That was his choice, though. Sadly. It grieved Max to think of good coppers idling away their time at home when they could be of use out in the field. And, despite what Jill thought, Clive was a damn good copper.

  ‘How long till you’re back with us?’ Max asked him.

  ‘Not long I hope. You’ll have to ask Jill,’ he added, winking at her.

  Max saw the way her lips tightened at that wink.

  ‘You’re up for review in six weeks,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Six weeks?’ Max couldn’t believe it. Hell’s teeth, that was ridiculous. Clive was as fit as any of them. That was the trouble with this culture of counselling. Why people couldn’t be allowed to get on with the job, he had no idea.

  But he wasn’t having another row with Jill about that. It was ridiculous, but unfortunately, it was her decision.

  ‘’Fraid so,’ Clive said. ‘And it can’t pass quickly enough. I’m bored rigid. I’ve practically decorated the whole house.’

  Clive was young and energetic, a keen, enthusiastic copper. He’d been tailing a stolen car that had mounted the pavement and killed a pedestrian. While Max acknowledged that it was a tragedy no one should have to witness, he couldn’t understand that keeping Clive away from a job he loved was beneficial to anyone.

  ‘Six weeks is nothing,’ Jill was saying. ‘And just think, you’ll be at home for Christmas.’

  ‘Oh, great.’ Clive groaned with laughter. ‘If there’s one thing I hate, it’s Christmas.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Max said. ‘A total waste of time and money.’

  ‘Bah humbug to both of you then,’ Jill put in. ‘I won’t invite either of you to my Christmas party.’

  ‘You having a party?’ It was the first Max had heard about it.

  ‘I might.’

  The barmaid had finally noticed Max. ‘A pint of Black Sheep, please. Jill? Clive?’

  ‘I’ll have a pint of the same, please,’ Clive said.