by George Rufus
"Yeah, funny how we aren't that popular at the moment isn't it. You'd think we'd be welcome in every home as potential life savers against the 'Terror of Tavistock' as per today's headlines."
"Don't knock it, last weeks were worst. If this carries on the only tourists we'll manage to attract down here, will be vampire slayers, big cat hunters and crime writers."
Feeling the tenuous link might lead to further questioning on his new and surprising love life, Rob offered a quick stop to buy a decent take out coffee, paid by him.
As he waited in the queue at the pasty house, he texted Tess back to accept the offer of supper, if that was really what was on offer. He was amazed at how easy he was falling into whatever this relationship was. If he was being snared into a deeper relationship by the sex, he could always withdraw. He just had to keep his mind focused on the boys, his job, this bloody fiasco of cases and keep his sanity. But perhaps, this unexpected diversion would help, he hadn't sensed any disappointment in his performance by Tess. In fact she had initiated another occasion for them to get together. He'd play along and just keep his head above water and not let it go too far. He wasn't totally sure what Tess was expecting but he was clear on what he could offer and he would walk away if it became too much.
Chapter Seventeen
Roy's reaction to the police visit had surprised his young assistant. He spent every day in the company of this gentle, calm and private man and he was not himself lately. For the rest of that day, Roy was jumpy and preoccupied. It bothered him and he wished he could ask why, but he wouldn't. He had his own thoughts and plans to focus on. He had been silent as usual throughout the police's visit and they had only really been interested in talking to Roy about the the old school Land rover. His use of Roy's caddy van had not been questioned and he had felt strangely calm and distanced from their visit. Since the death of his father, then Freda and the old busybody Agnes, he had felt an invincible strength and power. It was a fete de complete. He would finish all that he had to do. He had no fear that he would be stopped because he had paid so dearly in his younger years, he had the right to do this. He would then move on and no one would be the wiser because he would never kill again. His score board would be empty and the normal, happy life he sunbathed in, on quiet moments would start.
There was just one name left. Trust had never been his to have. Every person who should have cared, supported and looked after him, had shat on him. Any attachments that should have been natural were warped and violated. The lack of any bonds never allowing him the luxury of being able to turn to another for a shred of humanity or understanding. Except once, he had sought solace out of utter desperation with someone who had thrust a false lifeline out to him.
He often sat at the back of the congregation during services at the church because he needed company and he needed a break from the constant roaming he had to do to get out of the house. The church offered shelter from bad weather and he enjoyed the singing. Individual regulars annoyed him, particularly those who stared at him as if to say that he wasn't welcome in their sacred place. But he chose to ignore them, keep his eyes to the ground and hope he would be left alone.
On a regular basis as a teenager the vicar would catch his eye and just smile, as if sensing his need just to sit quietly. He was probably just glad to have a teenager in the place the bring up the average age of regular attenders.
On one such visit, after a particularly vicious attack by his father the night before, the vicar had approached him and actually spoken to him. Suggesting that if there was ever the need, he would gladly be there for a confidential chat. He had hurriedly left the church, but remembered the words, which after another bout of cruel rage by his father felt almost like an act of intuitive kindness on behalf of the vicar. There were no physical tell tail signs of the abuse he suffered, as his father was careful where he struck. Perhaps the vicar had picked up on his lack lustre demeanour, but for whatever reason, it had struck a chord with him on that day. The church remained a place of safety and some anonymity until the do good vicar took his parishioning duties one step too far and without any thought for the repercussions to someone already in a vulnerable situation.
Him.
It had been early one evening, his father and he were sat in silence, eating the usual Monday night curry made from the previous day's roast, when the doorbell had rung. His father had continued to chew his food in the same monotonous cud style he always did. He sat there immediately rigid, not knowing what to do at this highly unusual event. Part of him fearing that if he left the table he would be scolded but if he ignored he could also be in trouble.
“Get that boy! Can't you see I am eating. I have been working all day."
As soon as he got nearer to the patterned frosted glass of the front door, he had frozen. He could clearly see the dog collar of the vicar's shirt against the grey shirt and black trousers. He had stood there, rigid with fear. The vicar might go, if he hadn't seen him through the glass. He could lie and say he hadn't got to the door on time. Anything, but let the aftermath of what the vicar might say, enter into the house. He had done nothing wrong, but his father would not believe he had idled time away. What the vicar might say could be biblical in its aftermath for the boy. The church had been a safe haven, he did not expect it to hunt him out and crucify him. He needed deliverance and he needed it now.
Too late, the doorbell rang again.
"Answer the fucking door, will you. Why can't a man enjoy his food in peace these days." His father yelled menacingly.
He marched into the hallway, at exactly the same time the vicar turned to smile at the quaking young boy on the other side of the doorway.
What was said, what wasn't said, didn't matter. When the vicar left with his pious preachings at parenting aired and no regard for the young boy facing the floor with a dread that was palpable to anyone with a human bone in their body. Words did not matter. He was beaten, berated and slept the night on the cold floor in the old scullery attached to the kitchen. He could not walk for fear his spine would fragment if he called it to perform. He could not talk due to his split lips or see from one eye that was completely closed over. His father had not been careful,of where he had punched and kicked this time. There would be no school or going out until the marks were gone.
The reckless procrastinations of the vicar had hung like nooses in the air, ready to, lynch him after his father had stood in silent rage listening to how his son had spent time in the church seeking solace within Gods walls. The vicar then had the temerity to suggest how the bonding of father and son could be joyously strengthened by regular participation in services. Each single word was a bullet that would be fired and a punch thrown. Waiting for the ammunition to stop being loaded into his father’s arsenal, was an out of body time experience, rather like Jesus' slow ascent to the hill where he knew he was to be crucified.
Did he stop to question of the fear he must have read in the boy's body language.? The downcast eyes? The silence with which the sales talk to boost congregation numbers had been received.
Of course not. He was a man of no or little integrity. A man out to promote his cause that had no time for sensitivity. Had his years of preaching high up in that pulpit made him forget that some mere mortals below had brutal lives in this world. Had the years of reading biblical stories lead him to rhetorical deafness. How stupid could someone in such a trusted position be.
He had never been back in the church again. Indeed that vicar had moved on to a smaller parish. He had read in the Tavy Times where he was and it was still fairly local. Now it was time for the vicar to understand how painful chastisement could be. Time for the vicar to pay penance.
Chapter Eighteen
Kate's afternoon off for a hospital appointment during the furore of activity, was completely unexpected and unheard off. Rob reflected on the fact that she had seemed a bit out of sorts on and off. He hoped she was okay, surprised and slightly hurt that she hadn't taken him into his confidence.
It was Saturday night and with the boys both at sleepovers at their mates, Rob was sprucing himself up for his dinner at Tess'. He tried not to anticipate how the evening might go, but didn't mind if they didn't get to the food, already fired up by how physical and intimate the relationship was already.
As he drove from Lamerton towards Quither, he pulled up at the crossroads and admired the amazing scenery stretching out before him, made even more dramatic by the late setting sun creating a fuscia burnt backdrop. Most people would think pink sky at night shepherds delight, predicting a beautiful late Indian summer's day tomorrow, but right now the whole mood of the area was dragged down and wallowing in an unpleasant fog of violence.
As he drove towards Quither, a hamlet of houses only fifteen minutes from his own, he tried to create sense of the complicated web of information they had gathered and to once again pick out any obvious threads they had missed.
Freda viciously attacked on a random wild camping trip, no known enemies, no one to witness her attacks and a boyfriend with a short fuse but no real evidence to tie him in. Except no one else could collaborate anything he said.
His friend, out driving alone the same night. Again no reason to attack her. No real time to lie in wait, kill, then take her body to the reservoir and to still attend to the call he had to do.His wife had backed up the time he left the house and when he'd returned.
Young Andrea Sellars disappearance was the very same night. Roughly the same area, both out near or on the moor,same sex, relatively same age, different cause of death and no obvious motive for her being targeted either. Cause of death harder to establish as her body had been out in the elements longer and decomposition underway.
The killing of the pensioner was the hardest to fathom. Was it the act of a madman or as the press had fuelled, a previous lifer from the infamous Dartmoor prison back to put terror in the locals.
Whoever, they had carried out an obscenely torturous attack on a seventy year woman while she was fully conscious, until, according to the pathologist her heart had given out. Along with the shock and bleeding to death, she had no chance. This was no trophy collection either, the hacked of remains of her ears and tongue were left lying on her blood saturated bed spread. Why she had been left with her eyes intact was a question the whole force had argued about. They had at some stage been taped over and the it had obviously the tape had at some point in the execution been ripped off. Rob held to the belief, it was so she could see her attacker. So she would realise who had come for her. There was a considerable strength of feeling that this was nothing to do with the other killings, but a coincidence. Maybe the other earlier reported incident of Freda Adolphson, had triggered a revenge attack in someone else.
It was with this thought, he draw up outside the converted barn at Quither, He was surprised to see quite a few cars outside on her spacious parking area. He felt even more deflated when the front door was opened by the wife of another mate. He realised he was more than a little disappointed that this was not an intimate supper with Tess, but a crowded dinner party.
He immediately tried to rally himself before allowing Nicky, to kiss him on the cheek and take his coat. He followed her into the huge, long kitchen dining area where a crowd of twelve others were noisily chatting.
“I am playing unofficial host," explained Nicky, wife of a local building merchant, "As Tess is having a nightmare with her starter. I didn't realise you two were acquainted. Let me get you a drink."
She took the wine and carefully chosen flowers, he had brought, unceremoniously dumped them on the side cabinet and yelled to her husband, Chris, to get a beer for him. He moved towards the kitchen end, where a very flustered and red faced Tess was grappling with a tray of hot ramekins, hosting tiny cheese soufflés ready to be placed on starter plates.
"Hi," he shuffled awkwardly towards her cheek to embrace her.
"Don't just stand there, please. " she pleaded. "Grab a few and help me place them around the table. Then let's get people sat. By the way you are really late."
He did as he was told, feeling quite told off and more than a little rejected. As he ushered a few familiar faces to sit, Nicky urged the rest more coerce fully. Tess fussed around with wine and condiments before sitting down too.
He found himself sandwiched between Tess' neighbour Izzy and Chris, Nicky's husband. The extremely well spoken neighbour, an attractive woman in her late forties spent a few minutes introducing herself to them and a further twenty minutes doing a hard sell on her husbands new internet business, he was trying to establish from home since they had moved down from London. Switching off and eating his cheese soufflé, his eyes wandered down the table to where Tess was sat. He noticed how attractive she was in a clingy red dress, that left little to the imagination about her great figure, he also noticed with a stab of jealousy how animated and focused she appeared to be on the guy sat next to her. He didn't know the man, but he guessed he was of a similar age. He was well dressed, equally animated and it was obvious that he and Tess knew each other.
After a break in the conversation with the dull woman to his left, he managed to catch up with Chris on how the building trade was affecting his building supply yards.
“There’s been a real pick up at last mate. I am actually thinking of opening another yard down in Liskeard."
“Good for you."
“Well the rate Nicky spends it, I need to keep expanding. How you faring these days, it can't be easy with the kids and the silly hours you coppers keep?"
"We're coping thanks. The boys are great. Will started Secondary this term, so he's a bit more independent. I don't know everyone else here tonight, do you?"
He almost bit off his tongue as he asked, feeling pathetic for putting out his feelers about the mystery man at Tess' side. He wasn't going to be any the wiser though, as Izzy, to his left regained her interest in chatting to him after learning he was in the local police. Luckily after fending off her interest on the recent murders, she turned her interest to sounding out Chris on the best deals he could offer on garden sleepers.
Not wanting to destroy her networking and pretty fed up with sitting between her and Chris' conversation across him, he politely offered to move one seat down during the main course.
He found himself at the end of the table and while he ate, gazing unwittingly back towards Tess', who was still engrossed in conversation with the mystery man and being quite tactile.
He drowned his wine glass, ploughed through the pudding and resolved not to be bothered. He was however disappointed because he had enjoyed the attention Tess had given him, it had slightly melted his resolve about future relationships and he wanted to be alone with her. He was taken aback by how much and by how much he couldn't really be bothered to make small talk.
After coffee and a brief conversation with Chris about the Exeter Chiefs and their recent success, he made his apologies and headed for the door. He felt rude not saying goodbye to Tess, but asked Nicky to thank her. He couldn't actually face her himself as he felt like a schoolboy stood up on a date. He felt a churlish bad humour at not having her all to himself and he wasn't sure he could hide it. He slipped out the front door and drove home in a pathetic silence, annoyed at himself. He couldn't even be bothered to listen to his favourite late night radio show. He needed the quiet to tell himself he was a prat. There had been no relationship. It had just been sex. A minor flirtation that had passed. She was an attractive woman. She had moved on, found someone else to move in with. He didn't have the time or inclination to be upset about it. Or that was what he told himself, as he stomped up the steps to the front door and slammed it shut.
Chapter Nineteen
The vast amount of broken bones and internal damage suffered by Andrea Sellars lead to the conclusion that she had been struck at speed by a vehicle, the injuries were so extensive that the pathologist believed the vehicle would have had bull bars, of a very distinct type, travelling at a high speed or significantly damaged if not. All gara
ges were being asked to report repairs of an appropriate sort within a certain radius, as well as other raid blocks and public pleas being sent out.
Rob was like a bear with a sore head as he tried to co ordinate very vehicle sighting and road block logging along the Tavy to Sourton Road, once again. Kate came in late looking rough and as he was trying to explain developments, suddenly left the room.
She re- entered looking pasty-faced, wiping her mouth, he looked up and the penny dropped. He had seen that look before. In fact, twice before.
“Thanks for telling me Kate, was I the last to be informed?"
“Sorry Rob. It wasn't planned and I know the timing stinks but I am sure I will be over this stage soon, " she humbly apologised.
"Don't be daft, it's fantastic news. No more piss ups at the pub then?"
“Absolutely not. My body is now a temple for the purity of my offspring," Kate said ceremoniously.
“I guess I will be teamed up with someone else and you"ll be on desk duty for the foreseeable future then," he said, trying to sound nonchalantly, but obviously bothered and quite put out.
“I am only in the early stages and hardly incapacitated. So I'll be around a bit longer." Kate reassured him. She knew he appreciated their sound working relationship, especially after the turbulent last few years and wanted him to feel at ease.
“Guess you won't be wanting a station coffee, now you've become so health conscious," he goaded.
“Actually, it is a craving," she smiled back, as he walked towards the machine.
As he waited for the tepid water to fill the first styrofoam cup and dissolve the sticky granular instant coffee his phone bleeped.
A text from Tess. His heart raced a little more than he liked. He made himself wait a minute later until the second cup was in place for the warm water, just to reassure himself he wasn't desperate and definitely in control.
