A Village Not So Green (John Harper Series Book 1)

by Edward Holmes

  “Who? Oh right you mean Stevie, yeah he’s off more than a light switch,” the young lad said his namebadge the wrong way around.

  John nodded he was intrigued by the gossip that the manager had alluded to earlier that week. Before he could ask anything further another customer barged past him to the counter. John glared at the man and noticed that the cashier did the same. Once he left John went back, “What’s his problem?”

  “He’s a massive tosser. We have officially nicknamed him the rudest man in the world. Not the most original but it serves its purpose.”

  “Hope I don’t end up with one of those.”

  “You’ve not got one yet but only a few are honoured by the awesomeness of out naming ceremony such as Welsh Douche and half-a-haircut. That bloke definitely deserves it, so rude, no surprise his son Sean turned into such a prick,” there was a lot of feeling in his words.

  John looked around and said just a little quieter, “Sounds like you’ve had a run in with him in the past?”

  “His son’s a proper sted head. Like his dad he’s a bloody dwarf but bulked up on steroids. The boy even started stalking one of my friends and he ended up getting his just desserts,” the cashier’s eyes went back to his stitching.

  “Seems like someone to avoid then.”

  “Nah he’s a pussy but you can’t miss him. Tiny t-shirts and a bad tan are his go to look and he usually hangs out across the road. Just one of the many people in this village who claims benefits mulching off people that actually work.”

  “There are enough of them around. If that family is so bad why don’t you just bar them from coming in here. I’ve been in enough bookies to know that it doesn’t take much to ban people.”

  Shrugging the young man looked up, “Not my call.”

  “Anyway thanks sure I’ll see you later,” John said raising his bets as he walked out and to the newsagent. He bought a paper from a young brunette girl in the newsagent, nodding to Billy who was stacking the crossword magazines but the large man seemed not to notice.

  With no satellite television in the cottage John made his way to the Hollingswood Arms. The pub was completely different to the two he had already been in the village. It was more modern with white decor and black tiled flooring. It went for more of a minimalist approach but looked a little worn. The white walls showed signs of marking around the skirting boards and the leather couches had small holes in the corners and fraying on the back. John walked to the black marble bar and looked around for staff. A number of bottles were arranged decoratively behind the bar but none were particularly exclusive or special. He got the distinct impression that this place was trying too hard. Finally a barman appeared and gave John his drink, a pint of strong German lager.

  Sitting down in front of one of the flat-screen televisions, John settled in to watch the Englishmen. If he had known that he would be off this week he would have booked tickets and gone to watch them. An hour later two young men arrived and it did not take his years of deductive reasoning to spot the son of the rude customer. True to the description the youth had a tight bright pink t-shirt on and a large diamond in his right ear.

  John shook his head dismissively and looked back to the television. When lunch brought a stoppage to the cricket he ordered a steak and chips. He was halfway through finishing his meal when Lewis walked in. The young man waved at him and came over, “Nice to see you again detective.”

  “How’s things son?”

  “Good good, just been working on my dissertation. I know it is a bit of an imposition but do you mind checking over my work when I finish it?” the young man asked not meeting the detective’s gaze.

  “No not at all.”

  Lewis smiled and took a seat opposite the detective, “Thank you sir, it means a lot to have an experienced eye over my work. Funny you’re in here, this pub has a grizzly history.”

  “What do you mean?” John asked as he ate the last of his peppercorn steak, which was disappointingly not the medium he had requested.

  “I take it you have heard about the Bennett murder in the village?”

  “Yeah someone mentioned it to me the other day. Something about never finding the body.”

  Lewis nodded, “Yeah it was a big case convicting him without the actual body. My dad worked on it and was part of the team that caught Martin Wills. They actually arrested him right here. Back in the day this place was owned by him and they reckon that it was here that he killed her.”

  “How did they come to that conclusion then?” John asked leaning back and sipping on his pint, his eyes momentarily flicking towards the screen.

  “Well the victim worked here as a barmaid. She was supposed to leave the pub and meet her friends in town but never arrived. Rumour has it he killed her in the cellar and put her in the barrels till he had the opportunity to move her.”

  John let out a little laugh, “Love to know how he fitted her into them. Did anyone notice any difference in the pint?”

  “I doubt it. Most of them drink the processed chemical crap anyway, it is the cheapest thing. It was my father who found minute traces of her blood behind the bar and the girl’s earring,” Lewis said nonchalantly as he idly playing with the tea-light candle on the table, “After that they searched his car they had enough to arrest him since there was more blood in the boot.”

  “Didn’t he try and defend himself?”

  “Yeah his excuse was he gave her a lift and she had a nosebleed that’s why there was blood there.”

  John nodded as he finished his drink, “Plausible but absolutely ridiculous.”

  “That’s why he got a life sentence.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “It is one of the worst things imaginable for her mother and the village but after he got released he came back to Hollingswood.”

  “This Martin Wills fella is back here?” John said leaning back in his chair.

  “Oh yeah he’s been living back at his mum’s house for the past couple of years. He’s become something of a recluse he even goes so far as to get his shopping delivered to the house. It caused uproar back in the day.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “What makes it horrendous for everyone is that since Wills never revealed where he put the body her mother became fixated on finding her. Marjorie Bennett still wanders the streets, everyday. Having him back here led to her having another breakdown,” Lewis’s eyes flickered to the bar, “Anyway would you like another drink?”

  “Yeah go on,” John enjoyed the company of anyone who bought him free drinks. With the cricket yet to start again he decided to use the restroom. As he went past he noticed Lewis chatting away to a pretty brunette barmaid. After relieving himself John went back to his chair, Lewis was still at the bar, the bodybuilder however did not look happy at all as he sat in a booth by the window glaring at the couple. John rolled his eyes at the thought of youthful love triangles and went back to enjoying the sport on television.

  Chapter Ten

  John spent the rest of the day in the Hollingswood Arms but decided for the second day’s worth of cricket he would have to go elsewhere. The problem he experienced as the day had drawn on was one of his pet peeves, that of children in public houses. He could appreciate that it was also a restaurant and that some parents would not be able to find someone to look after their offspring but letting them run around a bar screeching had made things unbearable for him to enjoy the simple delights of international sport.

  Since the Bird I’th Hand had sport, a good stock of beer and much more delectable food on offer he decided on sitting there for the day. What he had not expected however was a funereal wake being held there. He had noticed earlier when he had been on his morning jog that there was a service being held at the old church opposite his preferred pub. There had only been a few mourners then as well as the staff from the mortuary setting up flower arrangements, but as he approached up the hill he saw a number of cars along the main road causing problems for traffic. He had
somehow coincided his visit with the funeral services of one of the most beloved of local citizens. Not wanting to interfere with the mourning process, John turned and made his way back down the hill and stopped at the local library.

  He was surprised that there was still a library in such a village, considering the stinging cutbacks that local governments had made on what was regarded as a waste of resources. However the library had not survived unscathed, if the outside was any indication with paint peeling from the wooden siding. John still went inside so as not to judge the building on its covering. Inside it was warm and stifling and as he passed the turnstile John was aware that he was alone as a user. Two librarians, both female, sat behind the counter and smiled at him. Both were approaching retirement and seemed surprised by the sight of a stranger in their place of work.

  John felt awkward intruding on their peaceful literary home but was left to his own devices as he wandered around the shelves. It was only a small building and the selections were sparse but, the lovely smell of old books filled the air but as he neared the far corner he could detect a hint of a damp scent. His fingers briefly brushed the spines of volumes and on occasion he pulled a tome out to read the back extracts, careful to replace them in order once he was through.

  Most of the books were for younger readers but there was a specific reason for coming into the library. He could have searched for anything he wanted on the internet but it was as much his own preference as a lack of information as to why he was in the library. Even with the digital age and greater freedom of information, not everything was online. John had tried a couple of searches to that end about the area and he was surprised that there had been a couple of forums about the Hollingswood murder. Rumours and conjecture ran rampant on the web, which was why John was happy to see a slightly soiled copy of Hollingswood Homicide by Jack Cooper.

  The book was supposed to be an exposé of the murder of Janine Bennett and the goings on of the village. The front cover was of the black and white police photo of Martin Wills, a tall slender man with a pencil thin moustache and a grave face, a slight grin evident. The back cover had a small picture of Janine Bennett, an attractive brunette. It had sold well in the area but had only had a limited run and finding a copy was near impossible. John was not willing to spend money on what was a very tenuous hunch. Sitting down in one of the few adult sized chairs he checked the front page, noting how it had been stamped repeatedly but had not been checked out for over three years and began reading the book. Most of it was about the village and a timeline of the disappearance but there was a section on Martin Wills and his family and relationships. There was mention of Wills as growing up in the village and a class photo of him at school. Mercifully the class was small as fitting the era and a date on the bottom corresponded with information he had already. Martin Wills had gone to school with Harry Bailey; not the most surprising of results in a small village but it did show a connection.

  John sat there for a good hour and a half finishing the book and then making a couple of notes in the small Moleskine pad that he carried. Another of the photos showed Wills in his pub laughing with his arm around two men, both of them named. The one on the right was balding at the time with a thick square jaw and beady eyes, the book identified him as Phil Knowles. The second on the left was younger than the two. His face was turned slightly away from the camera as he looked at the other two men but it was evident he was more handsome than them. John wrote down the name George Fleming and stood stretching his legs, sunlight bathing the desk area where he had taken up residence. The large windows offering plenty of natural light which had not been kind to the books in that area, which were now faded.

  He walked to the counter and smiled to one of the ladies who had struggled to her feet to serve him. She was small and rounded but with an air of genuine helpfulness, “Hi I wonder if I can check this book out?”

  “We have a week waiting period before you can take any books out I’m afraid. You’ll also have to register in this area as well,” the woman responded looking fondly down at the book in question.

  “Oh right, well that is a shame, I guess I’ll have to come back to read it.”

  “It is a good read that one, Henrietta and I have read every book in here probably and that is definitely one of our favourites. Hollingswood doesn’t usually get a mention in local histories but that murder put us on the map,” the librarian said with just a little too much glee for such a morbid action.

  John grinned but there was a flicker of movement from his eyebrows. He had met many people like the woman before him; those who enjoyed the grizzly thought of murder but after years and the countless bodies he had seen in stages of decomposition and from various methods of death the subject sickened him, “I must admit the author does paint a good picture of this village.”

  “Mr Cooper was one of the first journalists here after Janine went missing. He fell in love with Hollingswood whilst he was here.”

  “Well it is a nice place,” he said shrugging.

  “He thought so, he moved here after a short career in London. Wills’s mother sued him over that book, saying he used what had happened to gain promotion and had completely exploited her son in the interview in it.”

  “I’m surprised that a murderer would give such an interview. Surely he was under police custody when this was being written,” John said momentarily raising the book

  “That was one of the strangest things about the whole thing. Since there was no body found they let Wills come back to the stay in the village before they had enough evidence to try and take him to court. He had no family elsewhere so it was a very awkward time for the people here. The police had to leave a guard outside the house, so Mr Cooper just went round and asked if Martin wanted to give his side of the story.”

  The detective nodded; if it had turned out that he was an innocent man then Wills would have been entitled to some sort of reimbursement for an interview but once he was found guilty then he could not legally benefit from his actions. Jack Cooper played the system and had been successful; John could appreciate that, “Clever man. You said he lives locally, does he do any talks or the like?”

  “He used to come in and do a reading but since Will’s was released he thought it best not to do his talks anymore. There was a little disturbance at the last one. We had to call the police in the end.”

  John was surprised and rather amused at the thought of a brawl taking place in a library, “Good job the police station is only round the corner then.”

  “Oh that old place is hardly ever open, I think it is just a there for those useless community support officers to have somewhere to meet to have cups of tea. Waste of money if you ask me,” the librarian showed her anger and John could understand why, as the support officers had little policing power or responsibility yet took home a decent wage at the expense of other public services such as the failing library.

  He just nodded, “You said the author lives around here, I’d love to speak to him about the case.”

  “He lives on Heywood Avenue but you’re most likely to find him down the road in the Woodsman pub. Cooper usually props up the bar all day, my husband says he is in there more than the landlord.”

  “Thanks, I’ll see if I can have a word with him,” John said patting the book as he walked out and back down the hill. One of the things he liked about the smallness of the village was the talkative nature of the people. He pulled out his phone and rang DCI Jones, hoping that his boss would pick up.

  The phone clicked, “You better have something good John I’m busy.”

  “Just a quick one Si. What do you know about Jack Cooper in connection to the Bennett murder?”

  “The Bennett murder? John I sent you down here to look into Bailey accident, why are you digging into that case that Wills fella was convicted.”

  John switched the phone from one ear to the other, “I don’t question your methods of investigation do I boss? I’ve got a feeling that Wills was connected to
Bailey. The farmer doesn’t seem to have many friends so I’d like to know about people who knew him. I’m not really in the mood to break cover and interview anyone yet so I just thought I could question this author on what he knows.”

  “Cooper hung around the case like a bad smell back in the day. He stayed in the area afterwards and conned his way to chat to Wills, not that anyone is crying over him taking advantage of the scumbag but he did make a number of enemies in the community.”

  Stopping outside the Woodsman pub he leaned against the bus stop, “I’ve been told he hangs around in one of the pubs, thought I’d buy him a drink and see if he knows anything useful.”

  “If you’re talking about the Woody I wouldn’t go in. That place is not the sort of territory that is friendly to the law enforcement community.”

  John walked further down the road away from the pub, “What am I looking at?”

  “Drugs but it’s got a bad reputation for violence, they run a rugby away coach that has been in a lot of more organised problems. Asking questions in there will be a quick way to a beating.”

  “Si, I worked undercover for years I think I can watch my own back.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Don’t need it,” John switched off the phone and walked into the pub. Every public house he had been in so far had been dramatically different in their layout and this one was no different. It was small no larger than someone’s living room. On the left was an even smaller room which contained a well-used pool table. The walls showed marks hitting the butt of multiple pool cues that had scratched off paint and some plaster. Next to that was another small room which had a patio door leading to the back and from the look of the cigarettes on the floor, a smoking area. The bar area was small and had only a few working beer pumps. Sat around a small table were three large skinhead men. To a man they had tattoos on their arms and necks, and two of them had homemade tattoos on their hands that indicated prison time. They looked up at him and he just offered a surly nod as he ordered himself a pint.