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

by Edward Holmes

  Cooper opened his old grey suit jacket and took out a near pristine soft back version of his book. He placed it on the table, opening the front page and producing a pen, “So who do I make this out to?”

  “John if you don’t mind. I’m rather looking forward to reading it.”

  The author wrote it all down with a flourish and passed it over to John and said, “I’m just glad someone is reading it.”

  “What do I owe you for this?” John said holding the book up.

  “Just buy me a round when I’ve finished with this one.”

  “So do you want to give me a little rundown on what’s in here or should I just read the blurb on the back?” the detective asked running his thumb over the raised lettering of the title.

  “I’d rather let you read it and have you come back and discuss it with me. Not a lot of people want to chat about the old case these days. Easier to forget about it, there weren’t that many around here that didn’t think he was innocent. They changed their tune very quickly when they realised what he had done. One of the reasons I stay in here, Tommy who owns this place was never fond of Wills so the Woodsman became a safe haven for us.”

  John nodded, well aware that sometimes people could ignore the truth till they had the error of their ways shown to them. It happened with villagers in Germany who lived near concentration camps, it was easier for people’s collective conscience to block out the truth to protect themselves. Unfortunately at that moment the collective effect of three pints of coke hit his bladder and he had to relieve himself. Making his excuses he went to the toilet. The brazen amount of the drug use in the pub was evident by the three small baggies that lay on the floor around the bowl.

  Shaking his head John walked back into the main bar when he saw a young man leaving who was carrying a fluorescent bag with the local paper’s name printed on it. Tommy the landlord, Cooper and the two bruisers all had a copy of the paper which ran a front page article with a picture of George Fleming on it.

  John’s natural instincts kicked in and he quickly said good bye to Cooper and left. Looking up the street he saw no sign of the newspaper delivery boy and John let out a curse. It might not have been the best idea but he was very tempted to try and keep every copy of that paper out of the hands of the residents of Hollingswood. He did not know if he was in it by name but it would not take much for the whole village to realise who he was and that made his job a lot more difficult.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  John beat a hasty retreat to his rented accommodation, after picking up a copy of the offending local paper from the newsagent. Once there he text Lewis to ask him to come to the cottage at his earliest convenience and went about labelling the samples he had taken to make it easier later to differentiate locations. John intended to speak to Lewis and then drop off the evidence he had taken to the lab in Manchester. He wanted to know who had been smoking on that corner and there should still be some DNA to test, hopefully that person was in the database. As for the piece of fabric, he was keeping hold of it for the time being.

  Alone in the kitchen he read the article about George Fleming. Luckily there was no mention of himself by name but that “a lodger who has just take up residence in the area affected a rescue attempt that was unfortunately unsuccessful. The would-be rescuer was not able to comment as he was rushed to hospital due to the effects of the car exhaust fumes, but it is believed that he was an off duty police officer.” John grimaced at the wording and he took out the book from his jacket pocket. He almost did not want to open the pages for fear of ruining the taut nature of the copy. Resigning himself to the fact that nothing good is ever supposed to remain unused or gazed upon he opened the book and began to read at a much more leisurely pace than when he was in the library.

  Two cups of tea and eight pages of notes later the book was finished and John felt he had even more questions and with the likelihood that he would struggle to get the chance to talk to Cooper again, it left few options available to figure out what was going on. He realised he was focussing on the old murder at the expense of other possible suspects and motives. Part of him felt like he was being led down the garden path by his hunch; that the two deaths were connected to Martin Wills and the Janine Bennett murder. John had yet to meet Wills, a man who somehow everyone knew and had an opinion on. The ex-pub landlord had been a spectre over the entire time he had been in the village and it was time he dealt with that demon.

  Once he received word that his young sidekick was only free in the evening John immediately got in his car. The hour long journey towards the new police station on Oldham Road, in one of the rejuvenated areas of the outskirts of the city, was driven at high speed. Pulling up at the large car park he simply nodded at the guard on the gate who knew him by sight and as such did not ask to see his credentials. Finding a parking spot he made his way into the building, his gaze scanning the area for any sign of the vast body of his friend Simon Jones.

  Since it was past noon there was a good chance that his boss would either be in the canteen or more likely out picking up a takeaway meal. John was hoping that the timing would provide an opportunity to get into his office without any conflict but the way his day was going it would not surprise him if he got caught in the lift with the DCI. With that in mind John went to the stairs, somewhere he knew Simon would never be, and ascended to the floor he did most of his work on.

  Nothing looked out of place, and it seemed that the world had continued to turn without him. The bullpen of desks were nearly empty, only a few officers worked on their computers. John scanned the floor and noticed the door to Simon’s office was wide open, the usual sign he was not in. Hurriedly he rushed to his desk, which was in the far left corner, one of the closest to the Detective Chief Inspector's office but out of its line of sight. Since people were used to seeing him they paid him no attention.

  His desk still had a number of files on it but it was much neater than usual. The computer screen that was usually running a high temperature was black and cold to the touch. Switching it on he sat in the old chair that after a week had started to lose the deep imprint in the cushioning from hours spent hunched over the desk.

  John was impatient for his terminal to boot up and he found himself drumming his fingers on the desk top, something that caught the attention of DI Tara Nagle who turned to glare at him. The female officer was nearly as tall as John and sat uncomfortably straight in the chair, typing away. She had been working homicide for as long as he had and was one of the most diligent workers he had met. Nagle was also one of the most physically fit officers in the whole force, beating even new recruits and John at the bleep test year after year. Her work was so well recognised that like John she had liaised with other nations, which was where she met her husband when in Stuttgart. John would rather have rang her for help than Holt but there was a little animosity between the two after a drunken night after the office Christmas party a number of years ago.

  They still traded pleasantries and there was genuine affection there but things had been icy between the two ever since and John turned back to his screen. Once he had logged into the National Police Database he searched for Fleming, Bailey, Wills, both Bradhursts and a few others that had piqued his interest. John printed out what there was on the communal heavy duty printer. John was walking over to the printer, which was four desks in front of him, when Holt entered the bullpen.

  The young detective was on his mobile phone and seemed in an animated conversation. Holt antagonised John by flaunting his university education. He had graduated from the University of Manchester but was originally from Surrey and as such had an affected accent. His condescending voice was loud enough to be heard across the room and John’s jaw instinctively clenched tight. The dark haired man stopped at his own desk and idly flipped through his files, continuing his discussion as he did so.

  John picked up his printouts but as he went to leave Tara walked over to him.

  “I thought you were on holiday at the mom
ent John?”

  “Just had to pop in and get some reading material for my time off,” he said raising the pieces of paper and offering a glance at the office door, aware that Simon should be returning soon.

  Tara caught his look, “Don’t worry he is out on a call with Irons, some gang member decided to escalate things in Moss Side with a sawn off shotgun and a machete. Three dead on a council estate and somehow the murderer managed to get away from the uniform perimeter, so the Scheisse has well and truly hit the fan.”

  “Thanks. If it’s all gone tits up, surely he should be calling in all available assets on this?” for a fleeting moment John thought that he might be back working in the office that week.

  Shaking her head Tara responded, “You’re not that lucky. There’s hope we can catch the fugitive in the next couple of hours; we know who committed the murders apparently, it’s just a case of running him down. We’ve got armed response units on call for when we have a location. Otherwise I’m sure you would have heard from the Chief before now.

  “Not if you knew the mood he was in with me,” John looked down and shook his head; resigned to and yet comforted by the fact he still had a case to work in Hollingswood, “I better be going anyway. I’m pretty sure Si will kill me when he finds out I was here.”

  “You bring it on yourself John. Simon said you had managed to end up in hospital the other day.”

  “I’m fine,” John replied remembering to go back and switch off his computer, “I didn’t know you cared Tara.”

  Following him over to his desk she shot him a withering look, “I don’t John but I’d rather have you here where we can keep you out of trouble and solving cases then roaming the streets. We may not be close anymore but when push comes to shove you are one of the best detectives here and if you make me choose I’d rather work with you than Holt.”

  Resting his knuckles on the desk he looked up at Tara and then the back of the young man’s head as he leaned back in his chair still on the phone, “Simon wants me out of here, but I’m sure you know that even with the staffing problems, he thinks it is better getting me off the payroll. He sent me to where he grew up to look into an accidental death and whilst I’ve been there I’ve found something else. I need see it through Tara but it’s getting difficult. If I solve this I can prove my worth and stay.”

  “Then if you need help call me. I’ll do my best to keep Simon sweet on you but when you do come back remember you owe me.”

  “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t owe someone something. I’ve got to get to the lab but thank you for help. I’ll keep you in mind if I need any help,” he said going to leave.

  Tara however grabbed his left arm as he tried to pass, “Don’t try and do this all on your own, you have a way of pissing people off and one day it will bite you in the arse.”

  John looked at the hand resting on him and he patted it gently with his own right hand, “I can do this just fine. Don’t worry about me; I’ll be back annoying you all within a week. But thanks again.”

  Smiling up at her he walked out of the office as if he was meant to be there showing a confidence he did not feel. One of the things he hated about being in an office was the politics inside. He also hated when people knew about his personal business. Tara having known him the longest, other than Simon, in homicide investigations knew of his past and the crap he had been through but it was disconcerting to think that others may be judging on that.

  Dropping off the cigarette ends at with onsite laboratory liaison he was told that due to backlog and the lack of priority on his evidence it would be a week at least before they got round to analysing what he had brought in but that was nothing new. John knew with the impending gang murder investigation the lab would be swamped with work and just prayed that his evidence was in the middle of processing before the Scene of Crime Officers arrived back. The standard delay was one of the problems with having the forensic department tendered out to the private sector, although on rare occasions he had seen some results return relatively quickly.

  With his work done in Manchester and feeling that if he went home he would spend the rest of the night there, John decided to drive back to Hollingswood. He had a lot of work to get through before he saw Lewis and he should get a start if he wanted to solve all this before Simon called him back.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  “I don’t want one case I did over twenty years ago to be the thing that defines me,” Lewis’s father said whilst nursing a pint of John Smith's bitter in the Blacksmith's Arms. He was sat next to his son on the cushioned wall seating; John was on an old chair opposite them. John tried not to fidget on the creaking wood, which was difficult to do since he was in extreme emotional discomfort at the moment, “I worked for years as a good cop. I’ve raised a brilliant son; there is more to me than the Bennett case.”

  John nodded as he sat in the pub very aware that now everyone was staring at him in some way or another. He had found it difficult to refuse Lewis when he had invited him to come to the pub to meet his father and now he was surrounded by people who gawped at him like some sort of circus attraction. That was unless they were police officers or somehow related to the force, those people were easier to spot as they glared at him. Spencer must have been having a word with the locals, “Yeah you’ve got a great kid here.”

  “He’s much smarter than his old man I can tell you,” Peter Hart said with a lot of pride in his voice. He was a little older than John and was thin like his son. He was however not weak, strong tanned arms stuck out from beneath the lime green polo shirt he wore. His hair was nearly all grey and the rest whiter than fallen snow, which matched the moustache that was well-trimmed and maintained. Lewis was the subject of a loving look from his father’s dark brown eyes.

  “I doubt that dad,” the young man said, “I can’t even finish this dissertation.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure you will have it all boxed off soon enough. Anyway where was I, oh the Bennett case. I don’t mind you asking about it but I’m a little off put by what I’ve heard about you DI Harper.”

  Biting his bottom lip John stared at Peter Hart. Lewis looked surprised by his father’s words but before he could say anything in response John spoke, “And what would that be?” he asked, dismissing his own question with a wave of the hand.

  “Well news travels fast in this village, especially among us retirees. I heard you had some mess over money when you were undercover. We don’t like bent coppers around here, we are a close knit group and to be honest I don’t like the idea of my son having much to do with you,” the man said. Peter’s voice was just a little too loud for comfort and even though it was a Monday night the pub was full enough to notice the sudden shift in atmosphere. A few people even dismissed all pretence and looked over at what John had to say.

  “I guess news does travel fast. No doubt a certain Detective Inspector Spencer has had a word; in fact I’m rather surprised he’s not in here as we speak. There was no issue over cash back then. I can’t go into details about how deep I was undercover, and I never once thought about turning. The people I was dealing with wouldn’t think twice about gutting me alive as soon as they found out I was a cop let alone trying to buy me off,” John said through gritted teeth, it was a sore spot with him and he hated having to defend his actions, especially when he could not reveal what he was doing. Taking a large gulp of his drink and relaxing a little he continued, “The money; well let us put it this way, it just made up for what I’d lost already.”

  “Let me get this straight, are you trying to tell me you won that money gambling?” Peter asked with no attempt to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

  “I picked my bets when I was working. A couple of accumulators and the like but in the end the money that got people worried was when I backed a twelve to one shot. It was one of the greatest days of my life and ever since I’ve had to defend myself from the ill informed,” John said trying his best to hide the anger in his voice. He got the feeling
that there was more to elder Hart’s decision to bring up the internal investigation than just protecting his son.

  Lewis must have had the same thought and decided to speak up, “See father there is a perfect explanation for all of it.”

  “I’m sorry son but as I’m sure the detective will tell you about coincidences, that it seems just a little too perfect especially the timing with him being undercover and all.”

  “You can check the runner, you can check the cashier if you want and when you’re putting on five grand quite a few people take notice,” John said flippantly.

  Peter’s jaw dropped noticeably and his son let out a low whistle before saying, “Wow that’s huge. How come you put so much on such a bet?”

  “I used to use a tipping service, they still operate I think. Your grapevine tips dot com all one word no spaces. I was riding my luck when undercover so I thought I might as well bet the house and I was on a lucky streak at the time. Sixty thousand pound profit is guaranteed to get people’s attention. I always thought that money was one of the reasons my ex divorced me, thankfully I spent or lost most of it before she got her grubby mitts on it.”

  “You honestly expect me to believe that you won that money?”

  “If it was good enough for an internal investigation then it should be good enough for everyone else. You know how they like to find and burn corrupt cops. I had to do some pretty fucked up things when I was undercover but I never turned,” John looked up from his drink and stared at the retired cop in front of him with deep blue eyes that showed the depth in his statement. He held that look until Peter turned away.

  Lewis looked at his father and Peter refused to meet his gaze, defeat etched on his face. The pub and Spencer had intended to shame John it seemed, to belittle him and make his time in Hollingswood a little more uncomfortable but they had not expected the man to stand his ground. The onlookers had turned back to their own business and the ambient background volume in the pub returned to something approaching normal.