by George Rufus
It simply read." Hi, missed your company on Saturday. It would be good to catch up soon."
He didn't quite know how to react. He knew he had been more than a little happy to receive the text. He had felt a giddy skip to see her number appear, though he hadn't added her name as a contact yet. He didn't however trust that she wasn't playing with him. Did the other guy, she was obviously flirting with, let her down. Was he her back up plan? Why did that even matter? Wasn't it only casual? A mutually agreeable, no strings attached type thing. Why the hell was he getting so hung up on it? Where was the cool, non-attached approach he had talked himself into in the first place?
He left the text without replying and went back to his desk. As he entered the office, all hell had let loose, as news of another body had been announced.
A kennel housing hunt hounds had been unable to tear their dogs away from the door of an unused outbuilding up near Pew Tor. When the dogs were under control, the lad who worked at the kennels had notified the owners by phone, in case some animals were nesting or trapped inside. The owner had dropped in that evening, only to find the place besieged by flies and smelling so badly that he had investigated further. After tracing the smell and the area where flies were apparently nesting and the most concentrated, he found a heavy tarpaulin covering what appeared to be a dead grossly decomposed form riddled with maggots. The man had immediately rung in the report, after vomiting heavily and was barely able to describe exactly what the wriggling mass of insects fighting over the form looked like.
The place became the centre of mass activity within an hour, with familiar teams already used in the other body finds reassembled, but not in a rejoiced reunion manner. The sombre meeting of those exhuming remains, those about to deliver bad news and those who had already seen the effect of another body found in suspicious circumstances was a chilling affair. The professionals moved around in an organise, robotic fashion as if going through another compulsory drill with the accompaniment of a foul sickening odour and sight that made it so much more than a rehearsal.
The body was in a heavily decomposed state and so there would be a delay in identification, needing dental records to help. The removal of the body after careful preservation of the scene, that hadn't already been disturbed by the owner, was taking a significant period of time, although there were feel hopes that the plastic tarpaulin used to cover the body would bring forth some evidence.
All expectations were it being identified as the missing school teacher. No one wished for this, but if it wasn't it meant another casualty on top of the steadily rising number over the past three weeks.
The desperation to have at least one case solved or a firm arrest was so palpable that Rob and most of his colleagues were all aware that if anything, investigations needed to stay calmer and slower so errors due to hysteria were avoided.
The chief had called all the investigating officers together the next morning, to move slowly through each and every current lead.
Chapter Twenty.
Steve shook hands with the garage owner and pocketed the cash he had received for his truck. He had made a surprising commitment to his wife to stick to regular hours working at the garage and sell his breakdown truck, as long as she and the boys moved back home. His questioning by the police in connection with the disappearance and murder of Freda had shaken their marriage. She had moved in with her parents and this was the necessary peace offering he needed to make to get her back.
He looked rough, with dark marks under his eyes through weeks of poor sleeping, Charlotte had been taken aback at how he had changed. She believed it was the shock of her and the boys moving out to her parents. To a lesser degree, she realised he was also probably shaken at being questioned over Ian's girlfriend's death. But she was also astonished at just how contrite and desperate he was to sort matters out. Without her saying anything, he had sold his beloved truck, given up the gym and was staying in at nights to help her with the kids. Her mum always said, don't count your blessings too soon, but at that moment she was counting hers.
"We are bloody missing something!" Rob said in an exasperated way for the fifteenth time that afternoon.
"I still think we are looking too hard at them all and not seeing each act individually, chimed Kate.
“Last night I had visions of the killer of Freda leaving in such haste, that like a bad American movie he or she had run over Andrea during their escape."
Rob was silent.
“I said like a bad.." Kate repeated.
“I heard what you said. But perhaps that's not the only reason why someone would be tearing down that road at breakneck speed. What if, they were trying to get a job done and get home before they were rollicked by their stressed wife for being out late." He reached for the phone.
“Are you thinking what I think you are thinking? We've already examined his truck after the initial Freda investigations,"
"But how hard were we looking and where. Did the bull bars and front get as much of a thorough scrutiny as the cabin and back?"
"Rob it was fairly spotless except for the usual. Are you sure you are not clutching at straws?"
"Gotta start with some new ideas or re visit old ones."
"Okay, fair dues. Why don't we go down and talk to the force vehicle examiner. He is Exeter based at the moment. It will be a welcome break and a chance to catch up en route?"
Rob didn't object to a distraction but wasn't sure about the chatting, so immediately put on the radio as he drove. He wanted time to think about the text from Tess. He was also only too aware that with a lunatic killer still out there on the loose, he needed to tighten up on the independence he had started to give the boys. It was a difficult balancing act with work, their school and club commitments but he was also losing sleep over their safety at the moment. His ex-wife had started making noises about them living with her, now she was more settled with her new partner. He was one hundred per cent sure, this would be the beginning of a custody battle. He wanted the boys to stay settled in their current schools, surrounded by their familiar friends and in the only home they had ever known. But he also knew how the courts worked and how his job and anti social hours could seriously work against him. There was no way he would even get shared custody as it wouldn't work with schools and distance.
He was so deep in thought, he was completely unaware of Kate sitting with her head hovering over a plastic bag quietly retching.
"Rob, I need to stop and get some water at the services," she gulped, while trying to wipe her mouth at the same time.
"What?" He said irritably.
“Water Rob? H2O! " she replied sarcastically.
“Sorry! Shit, you alright?"
" Never friggin better. What do you think! I am chucking my guts up twenty four seven in the name of procreation and being completely ignored by a miserable git of a partner who has a face like a slapped arse, as my dad used to say!"
“No need to be tetchy."
“Well bloody hell Rob, I came out for a laugh and a breather away from the station of doom only to be stuck in traffic with you and gloom!"
“Okay, you've made your point. The aroma of puke isn't that enjoyable, you know."
“I vote we stop for a burger and fires, that will help with the smell."
“Totally gross. How do women do that? Puke, then want to eat. Michelle used to do exactly the same!"
The conversation came to a stop at the mention of his ex-wife, but he did indicate to come off at the next turning, not far from Exeter, where they could buy fast food and water. Rob also decided to fill up the car. While he was trying to fathom out the pay at the pump machine, his text bleeped.
Kate picked it up, but with no name only a number couldn't relay who it was to him. She read out the number and he mumbled he'd get it later and it wasn't important.
"Christ, Rob man of intrigue. First the gloom and doom ride, now the blushing and farting routine again."
" I have no idea what you are going on about," he
cheerfully replied, trying to lighten the mood between them," It must be your raging hormones. Why do women over think everything!"
They drove on in companionable silence, while Kate ate a large burger meal. Rob had flicked on his text when she had nipped to the toilet earlier.
The text was from Tess and simply said, ‘Are you ignoring me?"
Chapter Twenty One
It was a crisp Sunday morning. There was a cacophony of music, a combination of alto and soprano voices and the organ, as the church service hit full speed. Outside a group of shady looking characters in scruffy looking track suit bottoms and sweat shirts with conspicuity bibs, were clearing weeds while trying to inconspicuously smoke, in the grave yard.
He watched them from a bench across the road, in the children's play park.
He noted their resentment at their punishment being repaid in such a public way. He watched how their embarrassment was laughed out by taking the piss out of the church congregations effort at a difficult hymn.
They had to pay their dues, he understood that. Absolutely. But he acknowledged their dislike of it being so public. He had suffered so many times in public, but he had suffered ritual degradation in private. Would they rather be in prison? They should fear more the brutal retribution a that went on during custodial sentences. He was considering their dilemma, when it suddenly became far more interesting, as the congregation spilled out into the weak sunshine via the main front door, the vicar abandoned his normal goodbyes and went hastily around the back to check on the work being undertaken in the graveyard.
As a man of God who should have been well averse with forgiveness and repentance, he seemed highly suspicious of the men and their care in their duties. Still adorned in his Sunday regale, he fussed over checking every gravestone where the men had cleared weeds, as if checking for damage or theft.
One young man in his twenties, bent over the base of a particularly ornate marble edifice depicting a cherub sounding out to heaven, tried hard to ignore the vicar breathing down his neck for some while. The man's increasing agitation, was amusing to watch. He wondered how long it would take for him to react verbally or physically to the watchful eye of the dogged clergyman.
Not that long.
" Is there something wrong?" He finally asked, turning round to see why the vicar was stood over him, as he bent down.
"Just checking, young man, we don't want to accidentally damage such a fine grave do we?" answered the vicar in an officiating tone, not suitable to calming any situation.
" We ain't are we? It’s me that's clearing all the crap away, so if you give me a bit of space."
"Perhaps, he fancies you Paul?” chirped in a nearby fellow worker, a little too loud, at which the vicar stormed off, presumably to look for their supervisor.
"Thanks for that,” the young man said, whilst glancing about to see if any more grief was coming his way.
Sure enough, the vicar returned in a highly agitated manner, a few minutes later with a scruffy overweight man, who he was relating his complaints to. The young man was pulled over and the vicar relayed his concerns and his shock at being spoken to in such a manner on a Sunday, in his own churchyard. He even went as far as to point out a small chip in the corner of the cherub statue, nowhere near where the young man had been weeding, and querying whether he was responsible.
At this point, the young man in question, lost his rag at the injustice and stormed off to the nearby parked minibus, telling the vicar he'd be better suited to being a banker.
He watched it all from the safety of his bench. Perfect, a local young offender mouthing off, in front of a dozen witnesses and all aimed at the next person on his list. The young offender had been given such a Christian name, like himself. He was labelled with the name of his father's father. He had never met him, but he had seen a photo of the statuesque, solid built man who had according to his own dad ' taught him right from wrong' with all his might. He had beaten and bullied his own son, much smaller in stature in the same way he had been brutalised. No doubt. To be named after him was another cross he had had to bear. When his father hurt him, he wondered how much easier it was because of his name. Who had chosen the name? In whose twisted mind did the idea come from? A gentle boy who defeated a giant. Was that some kind of sick task he had been set to perform from the day of naming. Well he had. He had burnt his father to death and no one had suspected. In fact he had been given glib sympathy, food parcels and his first temporary job on the back of the act. God moves in mysterious ways indeed. As soon as his new life began and he was settled in a new place, he would change his name by deed poll. He had a new name picked to fit the new him. Like a rebirth, his new start with all his past behind him, deserved a new name. He allowed himself a delicious flash of a scene from his further to play out in his head. He closed his eyes, he felt the warm sunshine on his skin and saw himself clearly in a garden with a young child playing with a puppy. There was a very pretty fresh faced young woman rocking another child in her arms and smiling at him. He shuddered momentarily with the rich tingling feeling that passed through his body, only brought back to reality by the vicar loudly and gratingly laughing allowed in a falsely joking way with a parishioner.
The vicar was the same self-centred, arrogant do gooder, That day that he had come to his home, on a mission of so called Christianity, had resulted in him being whipped like a disobedient dog. The scars across his back and backside were still there to this day. He had thought long and hard about how the vicar should pay back what he to. It had to involve pain, suffering and an act of humility. He had to be treated like an animal too. In a perverse way, he knew he was going to enjoy collecting this debt more than the others. Perhaps it was because it ended his crusade and released him into his new life. Perhaps it was because he despised all the vicar stood for.
Perhaps it was because he was enjoying the killing spree he had embarked upon and was getting braver and more driven. But he could stop. He would be a new person living a different life.
Wouldn't he?
Chapter Twenty two.
Rob emerged from the supermarket into the car park trying to avoid as much of the torrential downpour as he could and collided straight into another trolley. To his dismay, he apologised without making eye contact and had already started to move away towards his car, when he realised it was Tessa. Likewise she had moved off, but gave him a backward glance. He went to recover his shock and smile back, but too late, as she had disappeared between the rows of cars and was out of sight.
He threw his shopping in the boot, put his trolley in the nearby collection bay and dived for cover in his car.
"Bugger!" He said out loud. He withdrew his mobile from his shirt pocket, willing it to have battery and no water damage. After giving it a wipe and plugging it in to the car charger, he sat with the engine running and thought about the last two texts he had received and ignored. It felt like crunch time, he either used the trolley crash as an excuse to make contact or not. Did he really need any more complications in his life right now. Work was ridiculous and he could see no let-up in the foreseeable future. Kate's up and coming maternity leave, had unsettled him a bit. He'd have his routines upset and who knows who he'd be working with. The boys were getting more needy in terms of organisation and his ex-wife was breathing down his back about contact.
He put the car in gear and left his decision to text for another time. Too much to think about right now and no simple answer. Best left.
Roy was distracted and agitated again. Snappy and short tempered. Not himself at all.
"Get in lad," he shouted, raising his voice above the noise of the rain hitting the iron roof of the maintenance shed ." We need to take this stuff to the tip before I sort out the pitches for the matches this afternoon. Bloody stupid making kids play in this weather, if you ask me. With any luck someone will have the sense to call it off".
Sensing the older man's agitation, he offered to do the tip run alone, while Roy stayed to see to the pitche
s. When he had packed up Roy's van with the old computer stuff, broken school printers, old tools and other grounds stuff that couldn't be burnt, he headed to the tip. Glancing down at the petrol gauge, he luckily saw it very low on the empty zone and diverted towards the super market petrol station which was on the same road.
As he waited at the roundabout, he noticed the police officer in the car who had visited the school. He studied his face, wondering just how he was feeling about the hysteria in Tavy over the murders. He almost wished, from the severe look on the man's face, he could tell him not to worry as it would all be over soon and there was no need to be working so hard. There was danger to anyone he cared about. Everyone was safe, it was only him collecting his dues and then he'd be off. No one that mattered would be hurt. The furore would die down and everyone could get back to living their normal lives. It would be nice to see the town square and the Pannier Market back to its normal hustle and bustle, rather than the frenzied police and market circus it was at the moment. It was so annoying too how long it took to get anywhere with the increased traffic. The neurotic parents at the school were so painful about security and their children's safety that his locking up duties had trebled. They didn't even have anything to worry about but he played along with all, to appease his employers.
He headed for the tip, slightly surprised that they were dumping a computer, as electrical equipment like that was normally collected by some organisation for recycling or charity.
He waited in line at the tip and watched with agitation at just how much stuff people dumped. How much money was wasted and how thoughtless people were. Why didn't they mend, recycle or do without. He hated waste, probably due to his frugal lifestyle as a child. He had treasured even the smallest luxury. Never once had he lost or misplaced the one faded, crumpled picture of his mum he had found. Until the day it had fallen from his pocket when he was being attacked by his father, who had then ripped it to shreds in front of him. Her face was a hazy memory, so he had invented more to fill the void. She always smelt of his favourite flowers, roses and never wore make up, but had a fresh faced appearance, with just a few freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hair was fair, shiny and bouncily clean, it moved around on her shoulders as she moved. She always smiled and listened intently, with the kindest green eyes that soaked up his presence when he thought back. She was the opposite to his father's everything. His greasy, oiled slick backed hair, stooped shoulders and piercing light grey eyes that filled a room with dread and a heavy doom, never left him, despite his death. He wondered if he found her, if she could be a part of his new life he had planned. There need be no recriminations, just a new beginning. She would be so glad he had looked for her. She would be so grateful she had another chance to be a part of his life. A grandmother to his children. He was excited at how the future would map out. He would be sad to leave Roy but he was not part of the plan and neither was the West Country. He was heading up the coast. He had planned on going to Portsmouth, another big naval town, just to see if that is where his mother had relocated. He had no problem with moving around until he found the perfect place to settle.
