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

by Edward Holmes

  Standing at the top of a ladder was pretty easy a target and if Bailey had been the shooter then why was his shotgun inside the house and no sign of gunfire? Of course the shots could have been farther away in the fields but with the torrential downpour of that night it was unrealistic that he would have been able to hear it over the sounds of the storm. Still there was the possibility that Tom had just heard thunder.

  The mud on John’s boots was starting to solidify so he began to kick the wall, dislodging the muck from deep treads, when he noticed flecks of metal in the ground. Stopping his cleaning process he bent down to get a better look. Embedded into the driveway were small pieces of metal which glinted in the light. The closer he got the worse his own shadow blocked out the light and made it difficult for him to see the objects. Switching on the flash from his camera phone and taking out his pocket knife John managed to prise two small ball bearings from the ground. The weather had begun to take effect on them with rust covering most of the surface but they were still definitely identifiable as shot from a shotgun shell.

  Of course they could have been there from any other incident but he placed them inside an evidence bag he took from one of the pockets of his jacket. Scanning the area with the light he could see more of the bearings in the ground but the dispersal pattern was close, like it was shot straight into the ground. It could be that whoever had killed Bailey had fired into the ground to distract him, scaring him into falling from the ladder. John was not too convinced by that theory and he fancied going inside to have another look around but he was running late for the end of Hannah’s shift and he wanted some more answers.

  Chapter Twenty

  John left the walking stick back in the cottage and even without it he made very good time up towards the Bird I’th Hand. He passed the church car park which had a number of flowers around the gate and tied to the fence. Police tape hung loosely across the opening and a uniformed officer stood vigilant. The car itself had been removed and John, wearing a baseball cap because he knew he would be going near the scene, kept his head low. He offered a look at the flowers and tried his best not to hide his face, as anything out of the ordinary may have caught the attention of the policewoman. With no incident stopping him, he continued towards his waiting meal.

  The pub was busy with families but Lewis had secured his usual table near the fireplace. They exchanged pleasantries and John took off his cap and rested it on the table as a waitress came over with a pint of Black Sheep Ale. John thanked her and raised the glass to Lewis, “I thought your mother would be finished with her shift by now.”

  “A minor disaster in the kitchen but she said she would be out as soon as possible as she is making our meals especially. How are you feeling today?” Lewis asked settling into the cushioned seating, “My mother said you were quite the hero the other night.”

  “I’m not a hundred percent I must admit. It’s my hands that are causing the most problems,” he said as he opened his palms. Since he was out in public he had decided not to wear the bandages but had the thick healing plasters across them.

  “Ouch, I suppose that’s why they have those fences. It was a shame you didn’t see Mister Fleming sooner,” Lewis said before taking a sip of his clear drink.

  John nodded in agreement, “I don’t know how long he was in there but if you get them out of the area and start administering CPR you stand a very good chance of keeping someone alive. I know that there was little I could do without the proper breathing aids but I had to take the chance.”

  “It was a valiant attempt. I’m sure there are a lot of people in here who would happily buy you a drink for your efforts.”

  Taking a look around the room to see if anyone was looking at him and feeling a little better when it appeared no one was John replied, “I’d rather people not know it was me and I take it from that statement that he was a well known figure around the village.”

  “Mister Fleming did a lot of work with the youth of the Hollingswood. He was one of scout leaders in the area and was often taking kids on trips. He’s just another of those characters that was well known in such a small village. He’d been doing his voluntary work for over fifteen years you see and anyone who had managed not to get a single complaint whilst doing that sort of work had to be a nice guy.”

  “Not a single complaint?”

  “Well, nothing that stuck. He wasn’t what you expected from a scout leader, you know, all the old jokes that there is not much difference between them and a priest when it comes to looking after young boys,” Lewis laughed at the end of the statement.

  John understood all too well and just nodded, “Right well give me a character profile of this guy. I want to know some of his history before your mother comes over.”

  “See that was what I was confused about when you text me. Mister Fleming died as the result of suicide; you were physically the closest person to him at the end. Surely you’re not suggesting that there was something untoward about his death?

  “I don’t like coincidences and two deaths in less than a month seems out of place.”

  “In an ageing population like this there are always old people popping their clogs.”

  “Well let’s put it this way, most suicide victims do not kill themselves in public places. They prefer to commit the act at home or in secluded areas. It’s seen as something of a shameful act and you could go as far as saying that it is animal instinct to find a dark place to curl up and die. I want to know what sort of man would decide to die in such a place. What we tend to do with cases like these is perform a psychological autopsy. So if you could give me a breakdown on the man it will put my mind at ease.”

  “Ok well George Fleming was a native of Hollingswood, being born in the local hospital when it was little more than a cottage; he was raised and was educated here as well. He was forty three years old and a widower for the past two and a bit years, no kids and no living relatives that I know of. Fleming had worked at the glassworks for a number of years but had suffered an accident on the job and was pensioned off. That is why he started working with the scouts and the local school as part of his physiotherapy,” Lewis looked up to try and remember anything more but did not know what else the detective wanted.

  “What was his connection to Martin Wills?”

  Lewis’s eyes widened a little and he shrugged slightly, “I didn’t know he had one.”

  “I found out his name from a copy of Hollingswood Homicide from the local library. There was a picture of him and another man called Phil Knowles. Do you know him?”

  Biting his nail for a second Lewis responded, “I recognise the name but I don’t know who he is. I’ll have to ask around about him but I doubt he is still in the village or I’m pretty sure I’d recognise him.”

  “Can you do a little digging for me on that subject?” Lewis nodded in agreement so John continued his investigation, “Did you know if Fleming was feeling depressed or suicidal?”

  “That’s not one of those things that most people talk about, is it? I mean, people who are depressed tend not to say much do they?”

  “You’re right there; most people become distant and detached when they suffer depression. He’s in the right age demographic to commit suicide but there are normally triggers in a person’s life that lead to them going down that path.”

  “What I can do is ask some of the scouts if they have noticed any changes in him of late.”

  John smiled at the young man, he was impressed at the attitude Lewis had taken in trying to help solve the murder of Harry Bailey. Whether it was a natural calling towards investigative police work or just that he wanted to gain a level of peace for the man he knew who had been brutally killed, it was refreshing to see a good work ethic in someone of the younger generation. Especially when considering the last dealing John had had with someone of his age group had been part of a gang of thugs, who had been complicit in the death of a war hero.

  “Good plan. If you’re free tomorrow I’d like to meet u
p and compare what we have found out. I’ll bring my notes and should hopefully have some other information from my office. If you also bring your dissertation I’ll have a look at it.”

  Lewis looked pleased but a little uneasy, “I’ll print out a copy of what I have got at the moment but it’s not finished yet.”

  “My ex-wife said that was one of my worst flaws; procrastination. There was still a bookcase to be put up from when we first got married when she kicked me out of the house. Some people don’t ever grow out of it, but as long as you get the work in on time everything is fine. Should see how long I spend finishing off reports.”

  “Yeah my dad said that he was happy when he got out, too much paperwork and bureaucracy nowadays.”

  Sitting there for a moment John finished his drink and collected his thoughts, wiping away the excess liquid from his lip he replied, “It’s not for everyone kid, but at the end of the day if you put away one truly evil person you can live with the memory that you did something right. The bad dreams, the terrible hours and the complete and utter lack of a social life is the price you have to pay but I can live with it when I know that even though I might not be the nicest of people, I’ve done some good.”

  “You put it like it is always a black and white battle between good and evil.”

  “I’m sorry if I gave that impression, the world is anything but black and white. I guess I’ve been thinking more about the moral ramifications of the job after meeting Jack Cooper. He makes it sound like he helped destroy an evil with Martin Wills and upon reflection I’d like to think I’ve done some good in my time on the force. I’ve put some very bad people away for a long time, and although it is not quantifiable, I’d like to think of the number of lives I’ve saved or changed. There problem with homicide police work is that it is rare you get to see yourself doing good, protecting the people. You can help the victim’s families but unless that person is a danger to society, most murders are the result of passion or profit.”

  Lewis laughed a little, “Mister Cooper can do that to people. He’s very good at giving those who listen to him existential crises, probably one of the reasons he is left on his own so much in the Woodsman. I kinda feel sorry for him to be honest. He thought he was helping the police back then and I’m sure he did in some small way especially by creating a good timeline, but he began to delude himself.”

  “Easily done, when I said that I wasn’t a nice person it’s because to be involved with death all the time you have to be a little strange. That’s why I worry about the mental states of mystery writers, could you imagine spending your days dreaming up murders and then getting paid for it? No, you see people who get involved in murder investigations have to be just ever so slightly off,” John observed as he absentmindedly played with the steak knife at his side.

  “Does that mean the same for me?”

  John looked up and stared at Lewis with his keen blue eyes. The student seemed a little upset and John could understand why. Lewis had arrived at the pub to exchange information and have a Sunday meal with his mother and a detective, not to be involved in a philosophical and psychological breakdown of himself or his father. John was not oblivious to the fact Lewis idolised his father; the way he spoke of him with defensive mannerisms and a great sense of pride in his father’s accomplishments made even the cold cynical heart of John wish he had a son. Insulting the boy’s father by means of saying firstly he did not have the stomach to continue as a homicide police officer and secondly in saying that he was strange to even be involved in the job was not helping the situation. Normally he did not mind upsetting people with the truth but John was aware that the young man in front of him was not a suspect or one of the reprobates he usually dealt with and there needed to be some tact, “No don’t be stupid. Some people just like to help and you knowing the victim makes it a logical decision to be involved in this matter.”

  “Like I’ve said I’m very grateful to be involved but I’m sure you could find a number of people in the village who know a lot more than me. In fact you should speak to my dad, he knows all of the movers and shakers here.”

  John rested his fingers on his lips before responding, “I think I probably should meet your father at some point this week but I also think that you are selling yourself short. I’ve come to this village off duty, on my holiday; I still don’t want anyone here knowing who I am and you sussed out who I was. If you get an old man asking questions people get defensive so in the nicest possible way you are the best tool at my disposal.”

  Lewis seemed placated by that and stood up, “I’ll get us another round in and see what is keeping my mother. I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

  Now alone John let out a little sigh. He was beginning to miss the rest of CID, at least there they knew not to ask him questions if they did not want to be upset and insulted.

  The meal was very good, fully sating the trio. Large helpings of turkey, roast beef and lamb were accompanied by assorted vegetables that otherwise John would have avoided like the taxman but somehow Hannah had managed to make taste delicious, going so far as to make even carrots flavoursome and edible by sautéing them in butter after boiling. With the addition of five pints of real ale John was falling asleep on his feet so Hannah ordered him a taxi and took him back to the cottage as well, after dropping Lewis off at the Blacksmith’s Arms to see his father.

  John unsteadily attempted to open the door, his borrowed key scratching the paintwork around the lock, “I’m not normally this much of a lightweight,” he apologised.

  “Key component of turkey is tryptophan, which naturally puts you to sleep. Plus you don’t know what I slipped into your drink when you went to the toilet,” Hannah jokingly said as she waited patiently watching the taxi slowly pull away.

  Finally opening the door at the umpteenth attempt John limped into the kitchen, switching on the light as he did so. His recent over-exertions had led to a flare up of an old ankle injury and the fall from the fence and all of the recent walking had weakened it to the point of near collapse. Collapsing onto the couch, he began to unlace his boots. Hannah quickly went to his aid, something that John resented and appreciated at the same time, “I don’t think anyone has helped me with my shoes since I was a kid.”

  Not looking up from undoing the laces Hannah replied, “From what I’ve seen it doesn’t look like you have grown up all that much from back then.”

  “What makes you say that?” John asked his head cocked to one side.

  Hannah let out a little hiss of exasperation, “There’s the excessive alcohol intake.”

  “I’m on holiday.”

  “Okay, the roughhousing with an ex-rugby player who is half your age.”

  “Defending someone from bullies, I think that’s quite heroic.”

  “Climbing over fences and getting yourself all cut up.”

  “Tried to rescue a man’s life; that one is even better than the thing with Birkett.”

  “And then there is chasing after a woman you hardly know,” Hannah said, looking up after removing the boots.

  “To be honest I think Joyce Hitchmough is a bit of a goer,” John managed to say before getting a light-hearted thump in the stomach before he leant down and gave Hannah a kiss on the mouth. It was gentle but passionate and it made John feel like he was a young man again. Her hair smelt of coconut and was smooth to his touch, softly falling through his fingers like cascading water. John’s strong arms did not notice the bruising strain as he lifted her onto his lap. The two of them remained embraced like that for as long as they could before breaking for air. Sitting there in the shadows cast by the kitchen light, they both laughed like naughty teenagers. John cracked a wry smile, “So do you want that coffee or what?”

  “I don’t want to be up all night, so do you have any decaf?”

  John shot a glance at the kitchen, “Don’t think so, I guess we could just get an early night?”

  “Hopefully not too early,” Hannah said with a twinkle
in her eye.

  Chapter Twenty One

  John woke up with a numb right arm, since it was trapped beneath Hannah’s head, one of the many perils that face a man who is willing to spoon. Trying as hard as possible not to wake her, he slid his hand out slowly from beneath her head and walked to the kitchen. He put on the kettle and whilst he waited for it to boil went through some of his morning stretches and calisthenics. Moving one of the chairs out so he could do some triceps dips; he whistled a low mournful tune. Looking down at his arms he watched bruises flex beneath tough skin, as his joints cracked and popped in the early morning. Standing up he stretched his neck and took down two mugs from a cupboard. Feeling the calloused hands of the chef snake around his naked stomach to stroke the hairs around his belly button, he asked, “Morning, tea or coffee?”

  “Good morning, a cup of tea please.”

  John turned around and smiled, “I thought you would’ve left before I got up.”

  “Not my fault. If I’d known you were such an early riser I would’ve set an alarm,” Hannah said looking up at the detective, without the high heeled shoes her forehead barely reached his chin but she stood on her tip toes to kiss him.

  “Hey I was just looking out for you, I mean it’s a pretty bad walk of shame when you’re in your chef whites but then again as much as I like that shirt, I think it looks even better on you,” he said indicating his work clothing, as he wrapped his arms around her, “Now I bet you don’t get asked this question often but what would you like for breakfast?”

  “Well I fancy going back to bed for a bit, and then after that I’ll make you my very special French toast.”