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HE (The Dartmoor Thrillers)

Page 11

by George Rufus


  The police could find no real motives for anyone to have murdered Agnes with such violence except that neighbours where she had lived for the last ten years described her as a busybody, with few friends, no family and not much in the way of conversation. Further back than that she had moved after a neighbours house had burned down and the occupier had died. But that was not any unusual circumstances and the neighbour the other side had since died of old age. The bloody boot mark was so universal, that investigations into sales of the boot made it a fruitless task and it had been abandoned. With the increase in Internet sales by most people how could one widely sourced boot be tracked down to one person.

  David Hardy was again rather a loner but potentially had a longer list of those he could have upset. He was not popular with the children or teachers where he had taught. He was seen as lazy and unsympathetic to the pupils by colleagues. The pupils he taught found him uninspiring, sarcastic and not on their level. But no one was standing out as having hated him to the point that they would bury him alive. The other problem for the police was how far back did they go in their trails. The number of children he had taught and the amount of staff that had left meant they had endless lists of potential witnesses to talk to. They were struggling to find any incidents of such monumental hatred that a potential suspect was in the frame. So far they had gone back five years and were now revisiting the lists to see if they had missed any links to the other killings.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  He had handed in his two week notice at the school, as per his contract. Which meant he was under pressure to finish collecting his dues. It was the only way he could face Roy at work now, he had decided, if there was a clear timeline and he could count down the days to being gone.

  He had not told Roy outright, but the old man had broached the subject at lunch on the same day he had handed in his letter of resignation to the head of the school.

  "I will miss you lad, though I don't blame you, it's a big old world and you are young enough to enjoy it," sighed Roy over his shepherd's pie.

  Inwardly he cringed at Roy's every word. He felt hyper vigilant to Roy's every movement, in case he made a move towards him. He no longer trusted him, he couldn't bear to be near him, but he also wanted to keep up appearances as normal. He had bagged up the remains of the laptop and taken it to the tip along with another school run of stuff. He could not unsee what he had seen and he certainly did not want to dwell on it. He had just two weeks to go and he was determined to see his plan for the vicar through. He just had to keep things as normal as possible. There had been no suspicions over his father's death, he had walked away free. He gained strength from that thought. He believed the police were no nearer to solving the other well publicised deaths. He smiled inwardly at the confession of Steve, Ian's friend to the manslaughter of the missing schoolgirl and he couldn't believe his luck at how quickly and consistently Ian was being hung, drawn and quartered in public over Freda's demise. It had worked out far better than he had anticipated. Recent photos of Ian and reports on his mental and physical health made him rejoice in the dues he was paying back. Ian now knew what it felt like to really suffer in public and private. He had repaid his debt to him. He didn't care what happened next.

  Sunday was one of those brilliantly sunny warm late September days that feel like such a bonus, with onset of autumn and shorter daylight hours. Rob and his boys, had enjoyed a relatively stress free weekend having some real quality time. The investigating team was now far bigger and at last some time off for exhausted officers was back. Kate was on the mend it seemed after the scare of potential miscarriage. She wouldn't be back at work for the foreseeable future as she was on bed rest and her husband was seeing she kept to by installing his own mother in the house to wait on her hand and foot. Knowing Kate's thoughts on her mother in law, Rob chuckled as he drove to Lifton to the Barbecue, at how long it would be before war world three broke out. Kate would soon wish she was bad at work.

  Chris and Nicky had a fabulous garden and an adjoining field, with plenty of space for the hoards of children invited, to run around in. As well as their own two sons, there was Jackie's two sons and daughter and a host of others who all knew each other from school, clubs or previous get togethers.

  His boys ran off to join a group of boys kicking a ball about at the bottom of the field. Rob wandered over to the brick built Barbecue that was Chris' pride and joy, to join in the male ritual of admiring the pieces of meat about to be cooked, the layout of the Barbecue and the extensive range of cooking implements Chris had acquired for his birthday. He was in deep conversation, in a throng of five mates, when he felt the distinct rubbing of his left buttock by a hand. He swung around to see Tess nonchalantly standing there, her hand removed and innocently back by her side.

  " Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, “she demurely apologised." Nicky sent me down to check if there were drinks needed?"

  She smiled at everyone engagingly, without any preferential treatment to Rob and with no indication of the fact she had just groped his arse. He almost felt he had imagined it, she put on such a convincing act.

  She listened to requests for drinks and promised to be back shortly. Rob stood in a complete quandary. He wanted to follow her and ask her why she was there. He didn't want to be seen following her. He also had no desire for his boys to meet her in this way, not that he really understood why because there wasn't a relationship was there? Was she in his life or not? Did she even need to meet the boys. Would she want to? Was this the right venue? Questions were whizzing around in his head twenty to the dozen, so that he completely missed the joke that had been told and when everyone else was roaring aloud, he stood there silently feeling completely out of sorts.

  He decided to wander up and see if there was the chance to have a discreet word, but when he entered the kitchen he found Nicky and Jackie preparing salads and no sign of Tess.

  " Hi Rob, good to see you, “Nicky puckered up and gave him a huge kiss on his cheek. " You have just missed Tess, she is outside with a tray of drinks for you boys". By the way she giggled, Rob guessed her lunchtime gin and tonic was going down well. He avoided leaving the room to look for Tess in case it further fuelled expectations. He diverted the conversation back to the football match earlier in the week, wishing he hadn't when a palpable silence descended between Nicky and Jackie. He excused himself wondering what the problem was and re-joined the men at the end of the garden. He spotted Tess, though her back was to him, chatting another group of women sitting at tables overlooking a fantastic view down through the valley. As he rejoined the men, there was a howl of pain from the lower field and Neil and Jackie's son Joe came tearing up the field, to report that Rob's youngest son Aaron had been tackled badly. Rob jogged down to see Aaron holding his ankle and grimacing. He hastily picked him up, calming him down and offering to have a good look when they were sat somewhere away from all the other children who were fuelling his anxieties.

  Nicky told Rob to sit Aaron in the lounge with his foot up on the stool while she got an ice pack and had a good look herself. Aaron clearly enjoyed the fuss and attention he was getting from Nicky, so Rob left them to it, particularly as his son seemed to have calmed down considerably and would no doubt be running around again shortly. He wandered upstairs to use the toilet and as he put out his hand to undo the latch on the cottage style bathroom door, it was opened from the inside and there stood Tess.

  She smiled put her fingers on his lips, telling him to be quiet and pulled him inside. At first he was just too embarrassed at her actions, worried at the thought someone might come up the stairs and see them. But as soon as she pushed him back up against the door and locked it, her hands wandering along the inside of his thighs towards his crotch and her mouth lingering tauntingly on his, he didn't attempt to remonstrate. She left her hand exactly where every pulsating part of his body seemed to working from, running her fingers along the underside of his penis along the shaft, which was stretching and hardening, frust
rated by its confined space. Her tongue had parted his lips and between playful but hard bites her tongue flicked in and out his mouth, driving him crazy. His thumb could feel how erect her nipples were through her summery, thin blouse, while his other hand cupped her buttock. Her hand now travelled to the zip on his shorts and she was was working herself tantalisingly down his body with her mouth slightly open, when a hand touched the latch from the other side of the door, followed by a woman's voice announcing , "Sorry, didn't realise this one's occupied."

  He paused for breath and listened as the footsteps descended downstairs. By which point Tess, walked over to the mirror, readjusted her hair and blouse and without a word, pulled opened the door and left.

  Rob was speechless. He couldn't leave the room for the whole world would see just how turned on he was and so he locked the door and sat down on the toilet waiting for his bodily parts to calm down. He was glad he had run in to her, excited at her spontaneity but also feeling a little used. It was obvious what she wanted, he was happy to oblige, but wasn't he also left wanting a little more than the occasional grope?

  After five minutes, he ventured back downstairs to check on Aaron, only to find him limping about in the garden, while chomping enthusiastically on a burger in a bun Nicky had fetched for him.

  “Thanks Nicky, he looks fine now," Rob yelled over to her, as he walked down to the actual Barbecue to chat to Neil and Chris.

  “Where have you been mate, you've missed out on all the beef skirt?" Neil asked.

  “Bit of a dodgy stomach from last night's curry?" Rob lied, to defend his length of stay in the bathroom.

  "Better steer clear of the chilli style burgers then," laughed Neil.

  Rob took a harmless looking sausage in a roll and asked how plans were going with Chris' new building depot he was opening.

  "Great, looking to start recruiting soon. But I have hit a dilemma over a suitable manager." He professed.

  "What's the problem?" Rob asked.

  “The best guy for the job from one of my other sites, who is keen and I trust him implicitly, just might be the problem with the other blokes."

  "Why?"

  Chris choked slightly on his burger, realised he might go somewhere that might cause Rob embarrassment and apologetically carried on.

  “He’s gay and open about it. Trouble is it makes the blokes uncomfortable around him. Not sure how they'd feel actually working under him, if you pardon the expression."

  Both Neil and Chris tittered, eyeing Rob to see his reaction, he good heartedly joined in.

  "Things will never change if people don't move things forward and change attitudes I guess," Rob said big heartedly. " In the work place, people need to move on."

  At this point both Jackie and Nicky and wandered over, listening in on the dialogue.

  "I agree,” Jackie said.

  “Come on Jacks, that's not what you said at the footie match on Wednesday," Nicky teased.

  “Oh, the old guy you mean. The one at the school. Yeah but wasn't there more than being gay involved?"

  “Are you talking about Roy McGrath?" asked Neil.

  "Yes"

  “Nothing dodgy there, nice fella, just never married and people spread nasty rumours I seem to remember. Bloody good with engines, nothing he couldn't fix. He is wasted working up at that school."

  “Now I feel bad," Jackie repented. “Just shows you shouldn't listen to rumours."

  “Exactly, very dangerous," Rob said firmly. “Anyone who does, might believe the rumours that my wife let this Adonis of a man for a short ugly Welsh bird."

  He said it with such seriousness, that they all stared in disbelief, until he cracked a big smile and they all laughed out loud.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  He had already been out at night on several preliminary visits to work out if any surveillance cameras outside and in the buildings, would be a problem. He remembered being there years ago with his father and witnessing the horrific process of slaughter. His father had said it would help him 'grow a pair’,another excuse to terrify his young son. The smell of fear had remained in the lining of his nostrils way above the smell of faeces, urine and blood. The confused, petrified bleating of the animals as they pleaded for clemency had imprinted themselves inside his audible memory like a CD of live horror recordings. The startling red pools of blood, its sticky foul consistency splashed across the dull concrete floors was also forever etched into his brain. Every animal unloaded had a death sentence. Every animal he cried out silently, to be saved. He didn't dare voice aloud his feelings or his father would have made him witness more.

  He knew then it was an easy place to break into, his father had said some weird animal rights activists had done so with ease. But that was ten years ago and he had returned to check out if it was possible on three occasions. There were cameras on the outside gate but they were there for effect. There was no night watchman, basically after the foreman locked up; it was left until it opened early the next morning for the next shipment of animals to arrive.

  He had already found a place in the perimeter fence to get through and check out potential entry points to the inside and he knew exactly how to get easy access. He was amazed just how straightforward it would be. The equipment he needed he'd located or he could improvise. The electrical hoists were noisy, he remembered that, so he would use them manually.

  He knew where the vicar would be and when on that Sunday evening. It seemed a fitting day of the week for him to meet his maker and to repent his sins. The vicar always locked up after the even song and ambled back through the graveyard and down a long narrow, overgrown path that lead to the other side of the village where the vicarage was. He lived alone and no one would report him missing, until at least the next day or when his body was found by the next shift at the abattoir.

  His van was parked in a lay-by that had tall trees and overgrown bushes and undergrowth. Behind this was the narrow church path. He waited in the bushes, waiting for the vicar to lock up, which he did at the same time every Sunday. He waited quietly and patiently, like a man about to perform last rites for a dying man.The path had very little lighting as the street lamps on the main road strangled them with their heavy depth of leaf cover. He breathed slowly in and out, ensuring he breathed deeply enough to saturate his lungs to full capacity and to keep himself focused and calm. As he heard footsteps come towards him, he battled to keep his breathing regular with the the rush of adrenalin that was fighting through his veins. He held himself erect, against a tall chestnut tree, as the vicar strode along Death Valley and passed him, he swung out and smacked him decisively across the back of the head with the large metal cross he had borrowed overnight from the schools chapel. Attention to detail was everything in this last part of his debt collection. It was swung with enough force to stun, not to kill. The vicar fell. He waited to ensure no one was coming and then picked his sleeping victim up under the arm pits and dragged him back through to the lay-by. He again waited to ensure no one was about and then dragged the vicar to the open back doors of the van and pulled him in roughly, so he lying on a large plastic sheet. He pulled the doors to and put tape across the vicar's mouth, a hefty chain tightly around his ankles and around his wrists. He then removed his coat which had blood stains from the man’s bleeding head wound and drove off towards the vicar's final destination. He visualised again the day the vicar had called at the house, the beating and suffering he had endured and placed them mentally against the list of suffering he had devised for the vicar's last and finest hour on this earth. Satisfied with the balance sheet, that the correct dues would be paid, he drove on.

  As he pulled up in the back road that lead down to the side of the abattoir, away from the main entrance, he reminded himself that after tonight he would be free from collecting his debts and ready to begin the life he had planned for himself. He felt nothing at first, then a slight disappointment at how dull it might be. He rallied himself back to the task at hand, running through the ord
er of events. He double checked that there were no headlights indicative of other vehicles about and left the car to retrieve a large industrial sized wheelie bin from behind undergrowth. He had stored it there weeks ago on one of his preliminary visits, after it had been left out by the abattoir on a refuse collection day. With a final glance around, he hauled the comatose body of the vicar out of the van, warped in his plastic shroud and threw him unceremoniously into the bin. As he did the man started to stir and attempt to move, so he closed the lid. Locking up the van, he pushed the bin thorough a parting in the greenery and towards the broken part of the perimeter railings he had found two weeks before.

  Even in the fresh cooling evening air, the stench of death and misery hit his nostrils before the side door was opened. He used the crowbar stashed behind some dis guarded machinery to break open the door which was an old wooden frame and door. He gagged as he pushed the wheelie bin through, as the heavily disinfected air felt thick but not dense enough to knock out the vile symphony of corpse detritus. A cannibal’s mezzo of decaying offal, flesh, blood and internal organs had created a smell that gave him an immediate flashback to his father. It was the smell of his father when he arrived home from work. It was the odour that clung to his overalls and the smell that reminded him of the first time his father had buggered him, aged ten, after grinding the dirty overalls in his face before he was held down over the kitchen table.

  He stood there in a reverie of relived terror, until the movements inside the bin awoke him. He pulled the snood around his neck, up over his nose and closed his eyes in an attempt to refocus. He envisaged the consumed and frightened animals he had seen arrive here and became in tune with their pain, to help him put his plan into action. Using only the emergency lighting, he pushed the bin down the arrival ramps where the beasts were all unloaded and into the lairage. At this point, he opened the lid to the bin and peered inside. He had tipped the vicar in feet first, so he was now sat and staring straight back at him, though dazed and blinking to adjust his eyes to the weak light. As the vicar tried to mumble some further sermon or plea through the tape, he tipped the whole bin over, leaving the man half in the plastic and half of him in the foul smelling fluid on the floor. The man was obviously choking on his own vomit, as he watched some of it escape through his nostrils and he was fighting to regain some breath.

 

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