“Guess I can live with that,” John said returning to the bedroom, the tea unmade.
After another excellent meal John gave Hannah a lift back to her house. She text him later to say thank you for a wonderful night and that luckily Lewis had stayed over at his father’s house so her shame was somewhat diminished. Driving back to the cottage John was happier than he had been in a long time and was cheerfully whistling to the radio when he stopped abruptly at the sight of a police car parked across the front of the cottage. Parking his car he stepped out to be greeted by PC Fowler and another unidentified man. He was nearing his fifties and stood wearing a charcoal grey suit and a long black coat.
John walked over staring at the man, assessing him as he would a suspect; not as tall as himself with short cropped grey hair that had a large bald patch, his eyes a blue so light that they were borderline white and glared back emotionlessly, surveying John as John was doing the same. The closer he got the more he realised that the new man was strong beneath a slight bulk, not the sinewy strength of John but more of an imposing presence.
“PC Fowler nice to see you again and I see you have brought a friend,” John said as he rolled his keys in his fingers.
“Mister Harper, I’m Detective Inspector Frank Spencer. I’ve come to have a chat with you about the other night,” the new man said not offering his hand to shake, simply raising the folder he carried.
John was a little insulted and the two men barred his way to the entrance, “I’m not feeling up for that right now to be honest.”
“I would very much like to discuss what happened to Mister Fleming, if you can afford me that courtesy,” Spencer said his strange eyes a little disconcerting the closer John got to them.
“Sounds like you’re a little upset with me, Detective. I’m on holiday and considering that you haven’t asked me to down to the station and this isn’t an interview under caution I’ve got the distinct feeling you are fishing for something, Detective,” John said in a much colder voice than usual, one that he used to put off suspects. His delivery was measured and relaxed but he was stern.
“Do you want this to be under PACE?”
“Like I said I’m just a little confused by your questioning. Something doesn’t sit straight with the verdict of suicide and you working and I feel living in the local area have decided to point the finger at the latest addition to the community. You are local round here aren’t you? The accent’s just a little off but you know these people. Maybe even worked the beat round here, am I right, Detective?” John said with authority and confidence.
Spencer looked slightly off put, “Would you rather I bring you down the station? Or do you want play your little game of who’s the best detective inside?”
“Let’s go inside you can even bring in your Golem if you want but my time is limited Detective and if you start getting out of hand I will ask you to leave,” John said brushing past the two men and opening the door before going over to the kettle, “P lease feel free to sit. Would you like a drink, Detective, I’m sure PC Fowler here will be as stoic as possible?”
“No, thank you,” Spencer said and with a dramatic swirl of his now opened coat sat down.
John finished making his tea and sat on the couch, PC Fowler stood ramrod straight in the middle of the kitchen, not even opening his own notebook. Spencer crossed his legs, cupping his hands around his knee, and let out a little sigh, “So Mister Harper are you enjoying your time in Hollingswood?”
“Yes and as you well know it is Detective Inspector Harper.”
“Yes I know. Why are you here really? I don’t believe you are here for a holiday. We may be from different authorities Harper but we both work on the good side of the law. You’re not just here for some rest and recuperation.”
John crossed his own legs and sipped his hot Assam tea, “Speak to my Chief, he sent me down here because he wants me out,” John drank a little more to break up the conversation, only answering on his own time, “he thought some time away from my workload would freshen me up for a return to the job. I’m sure you know how it is Detective, office politics and all?”
“That is DCI Simon Jones; it’s his family’s cottage you are staying at. It’s a lovely place I must admit. Strange it was just after a death and followed by another. I don’t work on coincidences.”
“Neither do I. Which is why I’m wondering why you are asking me so many questions about an apparent suicide? So what is it that’s stuck in your head and do not say coincidence Detective, otherwise I fear we will never get out of this loop?”
Both men stared at each other for a moment. Neither wanted to break eye contact first but John felt confident and allowed Spencer the small victory finally finishing his drink and placing the cup down on the table next to him, his hands now resting like that of the other detective.
“I’ve read up on you Harper; you like thinking you know more than other people, being the smartest man in the room at all times. That why you liked going undercover, eh so you knew something nobody else knew, like your own private joke? Tell me, what brought you here?”
Without the drink John’s actions looked even more deliberate, he controlled the scenario and although he had been told to cooperate by his boss he did not feel in a particularly helpful mood, “You want me to do your job for you? Or do you want me to say something incriminating, then you can try and catch me off guard? I mean you got here bright and early this was obviously planned to try and put me ill at ease, a very nice touch, Detective.”
“I don’t have a warrant to search these premises but in the spirit of helping the police service would you let the PC have a look around?”
“Feel free. Just make sure, Detective, that Lassie doesn’t mess up my clothes.”
Spencer’s eyes narrowed a little as the PC went into the bedroom to begin his search, “Do you have a printer with you?”
John leaned forward dropping his voice so the other man had to listen harder, “No and I’m gonna be really brutally honest; you won’t win at playing this game, Detective. If you want to get them out and measure, I’m sure you’ll still lose. I can be of help to an investigation and not using me if there is something untoward smacks of poor police work.”
“You would know all about that wouldn’t you Detective?” Spencer said a very bitter tone in his voice, “like I said I did my research on you. Strange monetary payments into your accounts whilst you worked vice. I know the Complaints Commission did their little investigation clearing you and there were even rumours of the Home Office being involved but if there was ever a dirty cop, you’re him. You come into my wheelhouse and start looking into an accidental death trying to make your name again with some elaborate conspiracy. Killing someone else would make your deluded stories fit, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if you somehow managed to convince DCI Jones to send you here in the first place.”
John leaned back resting his left hand beneath his chin and gently stroking the accumulated stubble. He sniffed once, “Like I said, not a game you want to play at, Detective. I have an alibi for Mister Fleming’s death.”
“A MILF who suddenly has someone paying attention to her is your cover. I’m sure a clever man like yourself knows all the tricks to get a woman like that into bed. I mean you’ve been divorced for long enough, no doubt it came too easy for a man like yourself. I'll bet that’s why it all went tits up, because you couldn’t keep it in your pants!” Spencer’s voice rose as he delivered his final statement.
The hand that had been resting below John’s chin turned into one raised finger, his index digit that now covered his lips, the universal signal to be quiet. After a deep exhalation he pointed the finger at Spencer, “Remember when I said if you got off your leash I’d end this? Well you just crossed the line, insulting behaviour comes naturally to bullies like you. The force is full of your kind; impotent, overweight thugs with badges. You work a proper beat for a living then come back to me with this dirty cop bullshit. Call your dog, it’s time
you went, Detective.”
“I have more questions for you.”
John stood, walking to the kitchen door and opening it, a gust of cold air arriving on the already frosty atmosphere inside, “Then when you want to bring me in formally you can ask me them then, Detective. Otherwise get out and don’t come back.”
“Your superior will be hearing about this,” Spencer said popping his head around the corner and signalling to PC Fowler to follow him.
Smiling John replied, “I’m sure he will, Detective,” PC Fowler left first but as Spencer went to leave John barred his path with his arm and whispered aggressively into his ear, “You need to read that file again because you may learn I don’t respond well to threats and if you’re gonna go making deductions like you’re the greatest detective on earth, know your boundaries,” leaning back out and before PC Fowler could place a hand on the offending arm, John changed his demeanour entirely to one of jovial nicety, “My bitch of an ex left me, Detective, for another man, you see. I spent so much time on the job she got bored of waiting for me to come home. Especially when I worked undercover like you said and no one knew if I was even in one piece to come home.”
Chapter Twenty Two
What had started as a very good day and a week of interesting possibilities had come crashing back down to John’s usual cynical look of Earth. He had intended to be as helpful as possible to the local police department but Spencer’s attitude completely changed his opinion. Considering that the other detective had gone out of his way to find out things about John, as none of the rumours about his involvement in vice would have been easily attainable, the other man must have friends in the Manchester area to get him that information. Not that it bothered him but it made Spencer all the more dangerous; the suggestion that he had in some way orchestrated the death of George Fleming to get back into his boss’s good favour was borderline delusional but there had been a sound of contempt in the man’s voice that was very disconcerting for John. He did not understand where the hatred stemmed from but it made his job more difficult in Hollingswood.
Debating whether or not to ring Simon he sat at the kitchen table, his head resting on steepled fingers. Part of him wanted to chew out his boss for putting him in such an awkward position but he knew he would get no sympathy. He should also warn him that Spencer intended to call the DCI later but part of his anger wanted the local detective to cause a bit of trouble for Simon.
John went over in his memory of what happened that night. Having drunk a substantial amount of wine compared to his usual intake, his recollections were vague and hazy but he tried his best to piece them together. John had spent a lot of time in situations where he had to absorb what was going around him to understand what was going on better. The exercise he had been practising in the Hollingswood Arms before Hannah had arrived was one that he hoped had kept his mind relatively observant.
All he could think of was that it was a suicide. He was as disbelieving in the coincidence as Spencer but he needed some sort of evidence to the contrary. When he ran to the car he did not see anyone in the area, but with the poor lighting someone could have been just yards away from him in the shadows and he would not have been able to see them. If there had been a suicide note in the car he had not seen it. It could have been anywhere in the car or on Fleming but in the commotion he did not notice anything to suggest that the driver had left one. The key was still in the ignition to ensure that the car engine was on and the doors were locked when he had tried to get in. Unless someone had an extra key the driver had to have locked the door. Sitting there he thought about when he had thrown the keys over to towards the gate. He was struggling to remember if there had been a fob key on the key ring; he did not think that there was but it was something he needed to find out about. Then again it could be that there was no central locking system in the car but he was sure that with relative youth of the model that there would be.
The side effects of the carbon monoxide, wine and being out of breath from the efforts of CPR plus the addition of adrenaline in his system made it seem like a long period of time working to try and save Fleming's life. That thought lingered; the gate had been locked which had been the delay in other rescuers coming to his help. Fleming must have locked it behind him to ensure he was not disturbed. John had been to a number of suicide scenes and he knew a lot about what drove people to end their lives but Fleming’s death contradicted most of what he had learnt over his career. Each case of suicide is different, making it hard to pigeonhole, but the strangeness of the location and then locking the gate was ringing alarm bells in his head.
Deciding that it would drive him mad if he stayed in the house he put on his leather jacket and boots and began to walk up to the Blacksmiths Arms hoping that the knowledge he was in the police force had not reached the patrons inside. He definitely did not want Cooper hearing about it before he got a copy of the book, and after receiving the warning from Simon the other day about the history of the clientele John was not eager to stay around.
Passing the church for the second time since the incident there was no longer a police sentry outside. More flowers had arrived on the scene and the gates stood open but the crime scene tape was no longer barring the way. John was wearing his dark blue Boston Red Sox baseball cap again and pulled it down tight over his head as he walked over. The few people in the village that were about offered morbid glances across but no one said anything as he walked over to the church.
Looking up at the fence John struggled to see where he had climbed over, no evidence of his wounds remained on the green paint. The ground was still littered with small shards of glass from where he had smashed the car window; the rock removed no doubt as part of the investigation. Walking over to where he had picked up the rock John looked around, he then did the same from across the other side of the car park. Walking up to the church John stared out down towards the road, dull sunlight covered the latter half of the car park, where he stood cold shadow rested on him.
Trying to imagine how it looked that night he took another couple of steps to the side, away from the door. If something untoward had happened to George Fleming it was here, it was extremely unlikely someone would kill him and bring his body over to the car park. Much more likely he had been set upon whilst going to his car. Contemplating that, John walked over to the corner of the church away from the shops; it would be here that he would wait for an opportunity to surprise Fleming. A few steps back a number of cigarettes lay on the floor. John placed them in individual evidence bags, understanding that the likelihood was that they were from just a parishioner before or after a service, but they were exactly where he would expect them to be if there was a killer and they were a smoker. That was a long shot as well but he had seen the remains of cigarettes at the Bailey farm, and it presented another question for John to ask Lewis.
Going around the back of the church John searched for more clues. The further he went under the tree canopy next to the red brick building, the more the ground was strewn with refuse. Beer cans and empty glass bottles of alcopops lay scattered on the grass floor that had replaced the tarmac and paving slabs. Crisp packets, chocolate bar and sweet wrappers were mixed with fallen leaves and used condoms. John grimaced at the amount of rubbish but was rewarded with the sight of a hole in the fence. The metal here had been bent inwards and the paint was patchy on the four panels that created the gap in security. It seemed that it was the hiding place for the kids in the area to drink in peace.
Gingerly stepping over to the hole he studied the metal avidly. Attached low and flapping gently in the slight breeze, was a piece of black fabric. Squatting down he used an open bag to pinch a piece of the fabric and drop it into the small plastic pouch.
Remerging at the side of the church he walked quickly to the pub, wanting to finish his day's work. It had only just opened and yet there sat the two drug dealers from the day before. The landlord sat on a stool behind the bar reading a newspaper. All three looked up at him and Joh
n stopped momentarily, his hand on the door. Both drug dealers stared at the detective their eyes narrowing ever so slightly but they went back to their discussion over a tabloid paper’s football section. He breathed a short sigh of relief and walked to the bar ordering a pint of coke and waited. Leaning back into the padded cushion he closed his eyes and waited, his jaw clenched tight.
Time passed slowly, John watching the television to pass the time. He ordered two more drinks whilst he waited. It was getting close to lunchtime and John was considering leaving when Cooper finally walked through the door. His standing order was placed on the bar within a minute and he took his usual seat, noticing John he smiled, “Oh it’s nice to see you. I thought you might have been humouring an old man the other day.”
“Not at all. How was your weekend away?” John asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“How it usually is when you see family, nice at first and then you remember why you haven’t seen them in a long time. I only got the train back this morning. Apparently there is localised flooding in Yorkshire which means I couldn’t come back when I wanted to,” Cooper grumbled.
“I’m surprised you travelled that way, I can’t stand trains; they are always late. Have you ever been on public transport in a foreign country? In Germany they tell you half an hour plus in advance if there is a delay. Same in Australia and they tend to make up the time. All the places I’ve been I’ve never been treated as poorly as on public transport in this country. Half the time you are stood up on old and badly maintained vehicles,” John said taking a deep breath afterwards.
Cooper nodded, “Sounds like you’ve had a lot of trouble.”
“No more than any other commuter. My ex made us move out of the city when we lived together; when I didn’t have the car I used to travel in on the train, made my life absolute hell. One of the first things I did once I got out of that relationship was buy myself a new car, had it ever since. So about that book, did you bring a copy with you?”
A Village Not So Green (John Harper Series Book 1) Page 12
