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

by Edward Holmes

  Wills must have shared the thoughts about money as he looked around the room through the thin haze of cigarette smoke as he lit another cigarette from the packet, “You think I could win, do you?”

  “I don’t know sir. Every case is different.”

  “True but you wouldn’t say it if you believed that there wasn’t something to my story.”

  John tilted his head not committing to anything. Greed was coming out in the old landlord, “You are pleading innocence sir. A lot of things were done wrong back then.”

  “I’ve spent twenty odd years thinking on what went wrong back then.”

  “So what are your recollections? Surely you remember what happened, sir.”

  “Oh I remember,” Wills leaned back and the armchair followed as he sucked down the tobacco filled air, “Janine went missing on the eighteenth of December; I’ll always remember the date. The weather was crap that year, cold, windy and snowing. It was reported she went into Manchester on the train and then never came back. I was too busy going to the hospital to kill her. My father died in that place, I’d had to watch him pass away so I made it my business to help out. I worked there in the kitchens; I was there most of the day. I then back to the pub to open for the night crowd.

  “It wasn’t open during the day? Seems like a clever businessman like yourself would have the pub open as much as possible, especially in the holiday season.”

  Tapping the ash as he nodded Wills continued, “I’d make a killing these days with the licensing hours. Back then we opened twice a day, would shut around four before opening later on before again closing at ten. I rarely worked the early shift; I preferred socialising more with my clientele in the evenings.”

  “So what happened with her?”

  “Apparently she got an early train back, much earlier than she said she was going to and was picked up by a black car. Well that’s what the ticket seller at the station said but he wasn’t sure it was her; the blind old prick,” Wills coughed a little.

  John knew the answer but asked anyway, “I take it you had a car but it wasn’t black.”

  “I had a blue Capri, people would remember if they had seen that car. I loved that car, hell I was well known at the hospital for it. Loads of people remembered seeing it that day but it was just easier for that to be forgotten about by your lot. That was the last time she was seen, if it even was her. As for the rest of the day I went and worked the night shift. I worked the next day and was working when your lot came around. One of the women I employed saw me cleaning the floor down in the cellar and they dragged me in. Hours I spent getting grilled by your lot. I was battered and bruised by the time I was bailed out.”

  John’s eyes narrowed on the man. It was a sore point with him the issue of bailing of murderers. The law had changed but he had once watched one of his suspects be released who then went on to kill again, “How long till you were arrested and charged?”

  “Couple of days later. They had enough and in the New Year I was banged up. Big show for the press during the quiet time around the holidays.”

  “Was there anything else not brought up at your trial that upset you sir?” John said lightly tapping the ring he wore on his right hand on the walking stick, “I’ve got a feeling there is more that wasn’t used to help you. Also, was there a specific reason you were cleaning the cellar?”

  “There’s a fair bit they didn’t use. Like I said I have no idea where that earring came from. As for cleaning the cellar, I had a couple of dogs. They used to fight all the time but they were good pups. One of them must’ve caught a rat in the cellar and ripped it to shreds, there was blood everywhere. So instead of getting the women to clean up what my dogs had done and since my wife was a lazy bitch, I did the job. Took a fair bit of bleach but I cleaned it up,” Wills put another butt in the ashtray. Before he could say anything else the front door opened, “That will be my sister.”

  A small dumpy woman wearing an old purple coat that went close to covering her knees it was that large came into the room. A woollen hat that could easily have doubled as a tea cosy was on her head leaving only a few strands of dirty blonde hair free. She looked nothing like her brother and John recognised her almost immediately from the bookmakers, “Ma’am, I’m Detective Inspector Harper,” John said standing up with great pain and offering his hand to shake.

  The woman just mumbled and shook his hand, moving the shopping bag in it to her already burdened left and then walked straight out of the room. Wills followed her with his eyes, “She’s a bit of a wallflower, but she has been kind to me. I never had much time for her but after mother died and when I came out she offered me a home. She’ll have got me my lunch Detective, I think it best you leave.”

  John nodded and took out a card from inside his jacket, “Thank you for your help sir. If you want to tell me more about your case I would be happy to listen. I can also put you in touch with an investigation unit who can review your case.”

  Chapter Thirty

  John sat in his car with his eyes closed. He rubbed his brow as he felt a migraine starting. His body ached, but it was the smoke he hated. He could smell it on his clothes and in his hair and he hated it. He had grown up with a family of smokers but since he suffered with asthma at a young age, he had never taken up that vice to the same extent as the others. He had tried it once he had joined the force to try and fit in but had noticed a decline in his physical performance and was violently ill after one night out. The occasional cigar after a successful case was the only time he touched tobacco now.

  The hatred of the smell however was from his undercover work, he had spent days in pubs and when he finally got home he stank of smoke. His ex-wife despised it and it was a reminder of some of his worst days on the force.

  Driving back to the cottage he unbuttoned his collar and slackened his tie. If I do retire I need to get more clothes. I never realised how many suits, shirts and ties I had until I came here. Happy that when he arrived back there was no waiting police car for him John stripped and showered till he was satisfied that he could no longer smell the smoke. The refreshing aroma of mint had replaced it and he put on a healthy dose of aftershave, more than usual to mask any residual smell. He put his shirt in the wash and put the suit on a hangar in the pantry to let it air out, after spraying it with an odour eliminator that had been stored under the sink by the Joneses.

  Back in jeans and a polo shirt John sat in the armchair and wrote down all he could remember into his notebook. He was pleased about being right in connection to Bailey’s land deal but was a little confused by the interview with Wills.

  John did not see the evil in the man that Cooper had alluded to but there had been something about him. He was a chain smoker, something that was evident to any observer. The withered stature of the man fitted the profile of someone not that physically strong. He doubted that Wills could physically assault either of the other two deceased men.

  Wills had also reacted in a number of different ways during the discussion. He had shown anger but now looked impotent; that could have been the trigger for his attack of Janine Bennett more than twenty years ago. That anger was now directed at a new target; the police force in general but for someone who was supposedly wrongly convicted, he did not seem that vehement and more interested in the money than justice. There was also something about the man that suggested he once had charisma.

  What was confusing though was the change in George Fleming. The photo in the book had showed that Wills and the recently deceased men as jovial and close. From the way their friendship had started John had expected them to remain close. Fleming had either become a mascot for that group or had been closer than Wills had said. John had expected Fleming to visit his friend whilst Wills was in prison but there showed only two visits from the man on his prison records. The lack of contact afterward suggested that Fleming had a crisis of faith in Wills. One of the closest people to the landlord decided that he was guilty. It must have been very difficult for him to deal w
ith.

  He put the name in the middle of a page in the notebook and as a spider diagram drew people close to him. Then he listed those connections. He did not have much and the same image was drawn with Bailey’s name but with a line now through the question mark of his brother.

  The light was dimming and he text Lewis to meet him in the Bird I’th Hand. He might as well have something good to eat whilst he listened to whatever the young man had been able to gather for him.

  John was close to finishing his third pint before Lewis made his entrance to the pub, Hannah knowing that he was still struggling with his injuries offered to drive him home, which is why he was drinking without restraint. The detective had ordered his dinner already and was waiting for it whilst Lewis sat down with a notebook in his hand.

  “So what have you got for me, mucker?” John said as drinking the rest of the pint and waving over to the barmaid to get him another.

  “Well I spoke to a couple of the lads that Fleming was taking out. Not a bad word was said about him and yes, before you ask I tried to find out if he was fiddling but not a single person indicated he was that way inclined. None of them said he seemed upset but one of the older lads said Fleming hadn’t been right since his wife died. Could’ve been something to do with that,” Lewis offered.

  John thanked the girl who passed him his drink, he was slowly building a rapport with the bar staff of the village, before turning back Lewis, “I doubt it was her death to be honest. You told me she died a couple of years ago. Yes there is a correlation between suicides of partners who have recently become widowed but Fleming was relatively young. If it was close to what is known as a life event such as an anniversary or a birthday then that could be a factor. Volunteering goes against what most depressive people would do in that situation. It is easier to isolate yourself. That often makes the depression worse, as you don’t have anyone to turn to and when you do those people don’t realise how bad it is.”

  “Do you work a lot of suicides?”

  “Not that many, I work homicide remember, I’m not a suicidologist. I just know depression. It’s a silent killer; you know they reckon over three hundred million people suffer from it in the world. Just shocking, obviously not all of them commit suicide but have look how many dentists or accountants top themselves. The black dog is hard to shake,” John’s face was impassive and Lewis realised it was better not to say anything else. “Did you take those cigarettes to the lab?”

  “Couldn’t do it today. The drive was probably beyond me in this condition, but I was able to get some information out of a couple of suspects. What else have you been up to?” John was aware that he was distracting the student from his dissertation and making him focus on two deaths.

  “A little uni work. My dissertation is coming on well, it won’t be long till my ‘masterpiece’ is finished. I’ve been doing so much I think my fingernails are gonna fall off.”

  Smiling John picked up his drink and before taking a sip said, “I was always a fan of just doing exams. I bloody hate typing.”

  “Guess it is still a relatively new thing for someone of your generation.”

  “Cheeky bastard, I’m not exactly a Luddite. All work and no play isn’t gonna help.”

  “Most of my friends at uni live all around the country and the few that live in the area have either gone back to uni or are in the same boat as me, working away. I tend to work better on my own anyway. I did go see one of the girls I knew from school; she works in the Hollingswood Arms. Apparently Keith Birkett was in there earlier and had been telling everyone how he battered you last night.”

  “That’s a bit brazen.”

  Lewis snorted, “Did you think you could get away with touching royalty? No one messes with the Birketts. This village has had its fair share of rugby internationals but the Birketts put Hollingswood on the map.”

  “Still you don’t brag about beating up a cop. Not where I’m from,” John said anger rising, making the throbbing in the back of his legs even worse, “One call and that boy will never walk again.”

  “He’s got away with worse. When he was younger he was a terror, rugby kinda settled him. He had something to aim for but after injury he went off the rails again.”

  “Yeah your mother said he was a bit of bully.”

  “He was more than that. If it weren’t for his family I’m sure he would’ve been questioned over the fire on the Bailey farm. It got so bad the barn nearly went up. There must have been eighteen fire engines; they called them from all over because of the danger to all the houses.”

  John was passed halfway into his pint, “Budding little psychopath then. Does he hang around with Bradhurst and his boyfriend?”

  Lewis smiled and chuckled over that statement, “Not that I know. After the injury Keith moved away from the steroids and more into the recreational drugs. Thing is everyone loves him. He’s always got an entourage around him, mostly young idiots now since anyone else he knew moved away, but he can draw a crowd in the pubs. He gets a free pint in any bar, even in here.”

  A wry grin crossed John’s face, “I bet your mother’s not too happy about that.”

  “She has to play nice but I’m sure she would love to take one of those kitchen knives to him.”

  “Me and her both,” John said flippantly.

  “Do you think he could be involved in any of this? I know he had history with Mister Bailey but I don’t think there was anything between him and Mister Fleming.”

  “He had a problem with Bailey?” John asked intrigued.

  “The car crash that ruined Keith’s career involved Harry. It was early morning and the farmer was in his tractor; Keith was driving his new car after a night out in Liverpool doing his usual boozing, cruising and casino play and he turned a corner too quick and went straight into the front of it. Everyone knew he was pissed and coked up but somehow he switched places in the car with a friend of his and they left it at that. He blamed Harry for the accident even though there was no way it was his fault. Lots of people stayed angry at him for that in this village. There was vandalism and graffiti all over the barn for months afterwards.”

  John put his hand to his mouth so he did not say anything he would regret. He took his time and let out an exasperated sigh from behind his fingers, coldly he asked, “Why am I only finding out about this now? This is the sort of thing that is important in creating a victim profile.”

  “I’m sorry I thought you knew about it,” Lewis looked up visibly shaken and very apologetic in the way he spoke.

  “None of this was in the file on Bailey.”

  “He was always a very private man, at the end of the day he wanted to keep it all quiet. All it took was some cleaner to get the paint off the barn walls and he had to replace a couple windows. He didn’t want to cause any trouble.”

  “Do you know if he even reported it to the police?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m sorry about this.”

  John closed his eyes and relaxed a little, “It’s not your fault mate. You’ve been brilliant with all of this, I can’t complain.”

  “I just feel like I’m not doing anything. Asking a couple of questions here and there doesn’t seem to be helping.”

  “Cases like this, with clever coordinated killers, need you to approach it intelligently. A victimology, a profile of the killer and psychological autopsy all help. One of the key areas in creating these helpful aids is interview data. For the autopsy that data is essential, Fleming doesn’t have family it seems but you’ve proved there are people who knew him.”

  “What else do you need to complete it then?”

  “Simply, we need more information. I’ll try and gather a bit more tomorrow,” John looked away as Hannah appeared with two steaming plates of food, “Looks like our food’s here. We’ll speak later about it.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  I must admit this may be my best yet. It’s been days and not a single question. I’ve been past that church dozens of times watchin
g them scurry around trying to figure out why he killed himself. It was easier this time to relax; I’ve even sat in the Arms watching them through the windows. At first I wondered if they would realise that the killer of George Fleming was yards away from them but then it dawned on me they are so dim that they could never suspect me.

  Killing Fleming was so much fun. It was so much more intricate compared to the others. Waiting for him to be alone and then getting him to drink my little concoction. Everything planned to perfection. I know that even when they look they will just see high blood pressure medication and think nothing of it; more fool them. Getting him to the car as he was stumbling was the most worrying aspect of the deed. I remember sweating with worry.

  Sitting in that car with him was fun; he was dazed, more conscious than most people I’ve seen die up close. I wanted to break his fingers when he went for the keys but it was easier to just stuff them in his pockets. I’ve broken a couple of fingers in the past; I like the way they crack and crunch underfoot. I knew though that this one would have to pass as a suicide because it was so close to Bailey’s death. Fleming didn’t give me much choice in the matter, I knew he was going to talk in the end. Still I hope they see through it, just like with Bailey there is no fun if there is no chase.

  I was hoping it would rain again. Wash away the sins of the dead; that makes me laugh. Fleming was an idiot, not as stupid as Bailey just more deluded. Did he think what he did now could make up for his indiscretions in the past? How could spelunking and swimming with kids ever be enough to erase what he had done? No he deserved to die just as Bailey had. As for the others; well they deserved it in their own way.

  I must admit the best part of all of it was watching. I’ve been getting less physical and it is boring me now. This is the conundrum I face, I love watching them die but I want to be close. Maybe it was watching Harper try and save him. There was no way that the detective stood a chance. I knew Fleming was gone, I’d seen him pass away, but it was all the better watching that wannabe hero jump the fence. I was so close, probably too close to him but that was part of the excitement. I could smell the drink on him, I knew he would struggle to even attempt a rescue but it was so fun to watch him fail. Just another useless policeman.