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

by Edward Holmes

  He sat down away from the men and looked up at the flat-screen television that was scrolling the sports news. The seating on the walls was cracked red faux leather, the walls a grubby green and his drink merely passable. He checked the other patrons against the picture he had taken on his phone of Jack Cooper from the back of the dust cover of his book.

  Twenty years had been harsh on the writer, who sat in the corner of the room. The black and white photo from the dust cover was of a man in his mid-thirties with a thick black moustache and long hair. The man opposite was definitely Cooper but he had lost his hair and he had no longer had facial hair. He was thin the skin on his neck hanging loose as he drank down his pint, next to him was a glass of whiskey that rested on the racing page of the paper. The keen eyes from the picture had dulled considerably.

  John watched the television and around the bar with the eyes of an experienced detective. There seemed little conversation in the pub between the customers and, he was very aware of how much he stood out. Draining the last of his drink John walked quickly down to the newsagent and picked up a Racing Post and made his way back to the Woodsman. With another pint and a packet of pork scratchings for his lunch John settled down. He read the paper with more than casual interest but was very aware of the young men who came in and went to the pool table to be followed by one of the skinheaded men. The tattooed man came back with money in his hand which he quickly stuffed into his pocket and two of the young men went to the toilet in the back. The lack of subtlety showed little respect for the landlord who stood behind the bar with a beaten look on his face.

  John pretended not to notice as he chewed on a pen before circling the odd selection. It was over an hour before the racing started and the detective was aware that in cases like this he used to spend days with building confidence in places but he did not have the time or the interest to play it safe, “Got any picks for today?” John asked pointing at the paper on Cooper’s table.

  The old writer looked over and scanned the detective wearily, “Huh, there is nothing jumping out at me.”

  “I fancy Hughsie in the third at Bath, don’t see him picking up rides for that trainer often.”

  Cooper put on a pair of smudged and grubby glasses and lifted the paper staring at the page intently, “You’re right, I didn’t even see that. This piece of crap hardly has any useful information in it but it is cheap.”

  “Feel free to check out my copy of the Post, I’ve got my picks for the day,” the policeman said handing over the paper.

  “Very kind of you. I don’t think it’s worth buying it every day.”

  “I feel the same way. I’m treating myself this week whilst I’m off work. Not like I have anything else to spend my money on.”

  Cooper just nodded and took the paper, “Strange place to take a holiday,” he said raising an inquiring eyebrow.

  “Friend has a cottage locally, said it would be good to relax away from the city,” John was now aware that he was going to have difficulty with his cover. Obviously he could not say he was a police officer and if he mentioned he was a writer to Cooper then it would surely reach the ears of the drug dealers which would be just as bad. Considering the author’s troubles John doubted he would speak to another in that profession either.

  “Well enjoy it whilst you can,” Cooper said and went back to reading the book he had at his side.

  John was tempted to push it further but the patrons where already looking at him with a little more scrutiny than he would like so he had another drink and left to have another look at the Bailey farm.

  Chapter Eleven

  John was whistling to himself as he walked around the corner towards the cottage, but as he crossed onto the public footpath he was nearly hit by a speeding jeep. He recognised it as belonging to the dead man’s brother. The recent licence plate was covered in a thin layer of mud, as was the skirting rails and wheels. The driver hit the horn but John noted that there was no indicator light. Pulling into the driveway, the brother got out of the car. Harper walked briskly towards him, “What the hell was that?”

  “You need to look where you are going, dickhead,” the man said. When he had been in the Bailey house the other day John had not had the opportunity to look at the brother. He was about five foot seven and had a fuller face than the withered look his brother had. John was however comparing a living man to the pictures of a dead body. The man was angry and his deep brown eyes stared at him intently.

  “Maybe you should learn how to indicate you hick.”

  “Screw you, just because there is a public footpath on my land doesn’t mean you have right of way.”

  “Actually it does. I didn’t know that this was your land - does that mean you will be doing something about the lane? Since it all those ruts and divots are caused by that tractor of yours,” John said pointing at the large vehicle in the yard.

  The farmer glared at him, “Not my tractor and not my road to maintain. What’s it matter to you anyway?”

  “I live down the road now and it’s messing up my suspension.”

  The younger Bailey just shrugged, “Got nothing to do with me take it up with the new owners.”

  “What do you mean new owners?” John asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough he walked into his brother’s house leaving John on his own. The detective stared at the door that the man had entered and muttered a small curse at him.

  John walked back to the cottage his mind trying to get things to click into place. He was certain there was a connection between Bailey and Wills that was bugging him. Getting to see the released murderer was next on his list of things to do but he was sure that speaking to Cooper would be much easier. Years of working cases had given him a healthy suspicion and the accident seemed just a little too flimsy, yet there was scant evidence to suggest that it had been anything other than a tragic fall.

  John needed more information on Bailey and he was worried that the person who knew him best in the area would eat him alive. Rachael Bulloch would be useful to speak to but John did not feel his morals were up to the temptation. Sitting with his leg on the arm of his now favoured chair, in his absentminded way he stroked his beard with his phone as he spun it round. If his boss had known anything of use, surely he would have told him about it previously and the Jones’s had left on a trip to see their daughter in Dublin for an extended weekend break, so he could not ask them. Considering the effort he had gone to keep his true identity hidden and that he was off duty, he did not want to break out his badge to try and get answers considering he was on others turf.

  His stomach rumbled discontent at only beer and pork scratchings for his last meal. The association of food and the death gave him an idea and hoping that the obsequy for the Hollingswood resident was over he set off back to the top of the hill and his favoured pub.

  John entered the Bird I’th Hand feeling slightly awkward that this was his second bar of the day and that he was crashing the end of a funeral. Luckily for him the majority of the mourners had made their way home and he spotted his target in the backroom reading next to the unlit fireplace.

  “Lewis just the young man I was looking for,” he said sitting down opposite the young man who was busy marking positions on ordnance survey map. The student jumped at his voice and was startled enough to knock over his drink, “Woah kid calm down,” said John, trying to keep the papers on the desk out of the way of the expanding puddle of liquid.

  Lewis looked up from beneath the glasses he was wearing with a cold stare but it quickly warmed, “I’m sorry sir, I’m not used to people speaking to me.”

  “I’ll get you another drink and a towel, what you drinking?”

  “Just a soda water thanks.”

  John apologised again as he helped mop up the spill and sat down after ordering himself beer battered cod and chips, “Sorry again. I didn’t realise you would be so jittery.”

  “I’m just not used to surprises, sir.”

  “Stop calling me sir
or detective, you know I’m on holiday.”

  “Sorry, my grandmother was a stickler for manners. You said that you wanted to see me,” Lewis said taking a sip of his drink as he packed his papers away neatly into a folder.

  “Yeah I’m looking for some help whilst I’m here. I don’t know enough people around here to answer the questions I have. Do you think you’re up to it, or are you too busy?”

  The student’s gaze briefly went to the work at his side but the smile on his face answered before his words, “I’d love to be involved detective, sorry, Mr Harper.”

  “Good glad to have you onboard. I’ve not got much but my intuition tells me there is more to Bailey’s death than a fall.”

  “So you are working a case. If it wasn’t an accident you must have suspects. Or is that why you need me?”

  John grimaced a little, “Well that’s the problem; I don’t know the people connected with him well enough to make enquiries. I was hoping that your knowledge of the area would be helpful.”

  “Thank you. Who have you singled out so far?”

  “I came here not expecting to find anything but with the history of a past murder in the village there could be a connection. Bailey went to school with Martin Wills and I was wondering if they were close enough back in the day for there to be an issue. Bailey’s brother mentioned something about there being a new owner for the farm so there may be something to do with the Bennett disappearance if Wills is actually responsible. I’m not ruling out Tom Bulloch, his next door neighbour, either, considering he seems a very jealous man with a very attractive wife who was very close to the deceased.”

  Lewis let out a quiet whistle, “Your mind does work quickly. It must be interesting thinking of all these connections, I feel sorry for the criminals on the other side going up against your mind.”

  “You’re either taking the piss or blowing me smoke.”

  “No it’s fascinating but I have another set of suspects who would definitely be on my list. They also have motive.”

  The detective was flattered and nodded to the young man, “Go on then hotshot who have you got?”

  “I know of a group of people who had a recent altercation with Mr Bailey.”

  “And pray tell how do you know that?”

  Lewis just shrugged, “It’s a small village, you hear things. However, most young people in Hollingswood knew Mr Bailey. He used to employ young men during the summer to help in during the harvest. He didn’t have a lot of money but he paid on time and when his mother was alive she would usually make pies.”

  “Did you work for him?”

  “Just a couple of times but my father never liked the idea and when he found out he told my mum that I wasn’t allowed to go there. I think it was because of all the rumours about him, he was a little weird, he never let anyone into his house, like ever.”

  “So who are these people then?”

  “Oh sorry forgot. Sean Bradhurst and Matthew Adamson, they live within two hundred yards of his farm and there had been an incident. The last time I saw Harry there was a police car in the farmyard.”

  John went to say something but his food arrived. He thanked the barmaid and tried his food. After a few bites, he nodded his approval, “So what was the problem then?”

  “I don’t know the full details but I think he threatened them. Sean’s father is an arrogant tosser who takes offence at every little thing. He’s tried to get my mother fired after she slapped him for grabbing her arse during service one meal. Considering he was here with his wife he was not best pleased. Luckily Paul who owns the pub stood his ground and barred the bastard and all his family, so now his son spends most of his time in the Hollingswood Arms, selling steroid and coke in the back.”

  Still eating John looked up from his fish, “I’ve got a feeling I’ve met both. They might have had an issue with him but would it be enough for murder? If this wasn’t an accident whoever managed to kill him was very clever, to make it look that way.”

  “I’d say it was Sean most likely especially with his ‘roid rage’ but he’s thick as two short planks. His father is clever enough but he’s a vindictive bastard more likely to ruin him financially than to kill him.”

  “What about the other lad then, this Matthew, didn’t you say.”

  “Hmmm well Matty is more of a sidekick for Sean, he was in a car accident that left him a little off.”

  John was well on his way to finishing his meal, his stomach enjoying being filled by good fare, “I’ll try and find out what the issue was but you seem to have a personal issue with this Sean fella. Do you feel like you are defending your mother’s honour by pointing the finger at a person you don’t like?”

  “My mother can handle herself. If this was a murder, I just want to get the bottom of it Harry was a good man.”

  “Glad to hear it. If you’re gonna help me Lewis I need you to put emotion to one side. I didn’t know you knew Bailey otherwise I wouldn’t have asked for your help. Conflict of interest is a big part of my work.”

  Nodding the student replied, “This isn’t a case yet and I’m not on the force. I want to help and I can help you. Not using all of the resources at your disposal would be an unfair representation of your abilities and demean the life of the deceased.”

  John laughed, “That sounds good. Is it in your dissertation?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then keep up the good work. If you give me your number I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  Lewis rose from his seat, “It will be fun to work with you sir, thank you for thinking of me. I better get going before I’m late for bowls tonight. We’re playing the local champs and I need to be top of my game of my father will kill me.”

  John was left sitting on his own in the pub. A sense of melancholy trying to take root, his head resting on his hands, he stared down into his drink.

  “Cheer up chuck, it may never happen,” said a melodic voice.

  “What’s that?” John said as he looked up at Lewis’s mother. She wore her chef whites and looked at the start of her shift.

  She flashed a handsome smile at him, “I said cheer up. You don’t need any more frown lines, it would ruin your good looks.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mrs?”

  “Oh it’s Miss Hannah Kirkham, please call me Hannah. I divorced Lewis’s father over ten years ago. I want to thank you for helping out my son on his dissertation. He’s got a work ethic like nobody I know and he seems genuinely interested in what you had to say to him, I’ve not seen him this excited since he first started at uni.”

  “No need to thank me, it’s always nice to meet someone with an interest in my work. He seems a good kid.”

  Hannah smiled, “I’ve done my best, but it’s not always easy with a gifted child and a father who is obsessed with the job. I’d like to thank you, how about a meal on me?”

  “As much as I enjoy your cooking I’ll have to decline, I’m stuffed. How about a drink when you finish your shift?”

  “And I’d love to do that but after a night in the back of that kitchen all covered in grease, smoke and God knows what, I don’t think that I would be good company.”

  John smirked, “I think you’d be good company no matter what.”

  “Well I wouldn’t feel that good and surely you would want to change if you are taking me out?” Hannah said, “I’m free tomorrow night, I’ll meet you at nine o’clock at the Hollingswood Arms for that drink.”

  “’I’ll see you then. Oh I’m John by the way.”

  “Oh I know, I know,” Hannah said as she got up and walked into the back offering a small wave over her shoulder.

  Chapter Twelve

  I can’t believe how difficult this past weeks has been. So afraid to go outside; too afraid to open a door. There was so much difference this time round, than my first. Whores are easier, so much easier. It was difficult at first perfecting my craft waiting for some unsuspecting slut to come near me. I was timid then, scared even
to touch them. I knew there was so much I wanted to do, but it took time, I wanted to perfect my art.

  That’s probably why I’m so fearful now. Killing prostitutes is one thing but killing so close to home is so much more dangerous. Not that I have much choice but at least I’m no bumbling fool. No, killing someone who will be missed is easy, why would I have remorse for some slag who can’t even get a proper job? They are just practice for what I needed to do.

  Killing Bailey was so much more of a thrill. A thrill that was in no way offset by this fear of getting caught. If they were going to catch me they would have done it by now, I’m sure of that. The weather was terrible that night; all the better for me. Nature itself was helping me washing away any evidence, anything that I didn’t want there, that is. That’s what I really want, the challenge of a copper trying to figure out what I have done. Yes I’ll be very happy if this is just chalked up to an accidental death but that only means I’ve outwitted the fools. No I want them to realise what happened and then realise they have no way of catching me. To fail, like so many others, will make this all the more interesting.

  A rock might not have been my most brilliant of murder weapons but it served its purpose. What I really wanted to do was see the look on his eyes when he died but a drowning like that would have been so much more difficult. I’ve heard one of the best things you can do is to suck the last breath out of a person when they die, I couldn’t do that with him but it is something to think about for the next one. Depends on how they go though doesn’t it.

  It was so difficult not to kill that little bitch of a dog, it sets my skin crawling at the thought I let an insect like that live. I would have loved to bash the things head in with a rock like I did its master. No that would be too good for it; I could have strung it up and gutted it making Bailey cry. I would have loved to make the farmer weep, the freak that he was. If anything the world should see this as a good thing, the cross dressing sicko. Dressing up like his dead mother, it’s like something out of a horror film.