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

by Edward Holmes

  Hoping to diffuse any problems John interjected, “I’m positive that wasn’t the case ma’am. I understand that Mister Fleming suffered some injuries on the job and had high blood pressure. Do you think that those could have in some way affected his state of mind?”

  “I’d treated George for years and he had grown accustomed to the injuries he had suffered at work. They were quite extensive but had healed very well which is why he started helping out again. Even with the injuries he wanted to help, not just collect the benefits he had earned,” Dr Park explained, “George’s blood pressure was a new issue but there was nothing to worry about. It’s lower than mine, if that gives you some indication of how little a threat it was to his quality of life.”

  “Good to know, thank you. Just on a side note did any of you know Harry Bailey? I understand he also died recently,” John asked looking up from his notebook, his eyes searching the faces of the group.

  Montgomery shrugged, “The Bailey family has been a well known pillar of this village for over a hundred years but Harry was a recluse. I don’t think anyone here was close to the man. I can’t remember the last time I saw him.”

  “Nor can I,” Mackenzie said.

  “I haven’t seen him for years. I knew his mother, she was strange one,” Mrs Haskell added.

  “Well I think that is about it from me, I thank you all for your time I’ll be on my way,” John said standing up smiling at the group amiably. They all stood to shake his hand, their meeting finished as well.

  The group began to file out but before John could leave Marjorie Hitchmough put a hand on the crook on his elbow and took him to one side, “I’d like to thank you for helping Billy the other day.”

  “There is nothing to thank me about ma’am. I was just doing my job.”

  “No it took a lot to stand up to Keith Birkett. He’s given a free ride, his whole family do in this village, he’s a bully and I don’t like it, I don’t like it at all.”

  John sighed before saying, “I’m surprised that Billy mentioned it to be honest.”

  “Oh he didn’t want to tell me but I knew there was something wrong. I’ve seen the bruising before and more than once he has come home soaking wet after being pushing in the dam. I’m just lucky he is such a good swimmer; I made him learn at young age. It didn’t take much to work out it was Keith who had upset him and then Billy told me you stood up for him.”

  “I don’t much care for bullies ma’am. I take it that Birkett does this sort of thing often?”

  “Not just to Billy, he picks on everyone. I didn’t want to say anything before but Keith is the one who complained about George Fleming. There was a little bad blood between them and Keith made some accusations that would’ve ruined it for George if we all hadn’t known he was making it up.”

  “He’d done that before then?”

  Marjorie nodded a fierce look in her eyes, “He has always pushed his luck. The man doesn’t have any rules or boundaries. He’s been coddled for years and I have to admit that I was one of his most fervent supporters before he was injured, but that injury made him even worse. Thank you any way.”

  “My pleasure, you have a wonderful son ma’am, a very polite young man.”

  “That’s another thing that I instilled him from a young age. He has always been a polite intelligent young man. I don’t like talking about his problem but he has always been a good boy Detective. Some people take advantage of that and it is such a shame that we live in a world where they act that way.”

  “Yes it is ma’am yes it is.”

  Chapter Forty

  You know when you have to do something and it is gnawing away inside your head and itching under your skin, that’s how I feel. I’m a killer now, stone cold. I thought afterwards there would be some sort of guilt, some remorse for my actions but hatred completely eradicates any feeling of that. Can you hate people you hardly know, is it normal to despise people whose lives no longer affect yours? I guess I’ll never know. It’s not like I can ask anyone that question. Not like I can turn around and someone will tell me that it is ok to hate someone so much that you watch them die.

  The thrill of those deaths; it sends shivers down my spine. I never thought that would be something I enjoyed so much. I just wanted to wrap my hands around the throat of them, to feel their life eeking out their bodies, the struggle of the body as it throbs around me. That was another thing I couldn’t expect how much I crave now.

  Once you have the confidence to get away with murder it builds. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. Sure they are searching for a murderer, or at least one person is, but they won’t find anything linking me. I’m too smart, I’ve planned this so well. I thought at first I might have planned it too well, that the intricacies would be what catches me out. Those first hours, that first day after Bailey died, I was a wreck. So scared, waiting for a knock on the door that never came. It seems so stupid now worrying about something I have no control over. No, I control life.

  Fleming, now that was different. That required skill but he was too trusting. I wanted to sit in that car and watch him die, but that smell from the fumes was disgusting. I’m not stupid, I knew that the mask I had on would not filter out enough for me to watch him die so close. It was all I could do not to show my delight as he was breathing his last breaths just yards away from hundreds of people. Not a single person in those pubs knew there was someone losing his life by my hand. Every one of them enjoying their simple lives, not realising they were so close to greatness, a true genius.

  That’s what it is you know, genius. Killing someone and there being nothing they can do to catch you, what better way than to prove you are better than everyone else? Sure the police are becoming inept fools. They spend more time on paperwork and traffic violations then they do on solving true crime, but it is me besting someone else. There is no better cerebral game to play than this.

  I should end it here. I could end it here and they will never stand a chance of catching me. I’ve done enough to see to that. That in itself is a rush. Watching the detective jump over that fence, being so close to him, so close to being caught and that man didn’t even see me. Not that I wanted to get caught, no I’d rather die but it was just another rush. A strange one stood in the shadows like I was; but a rush none the less.

  No I’ve got to do more. They’ll say it’s escalation. They’ll hunt, they’ll make a big issue out of it all and whilst they do I’ll be right in the middle of it, pulling their strings. That’s all these people are to me now; puppets to be played with, whose lives I can alter with a mere touch. I hold that over them and they will never know. How could they? These sheep would rather say it was an accident and a suicide but when I work my final piece of magic they will be in awe. They will look back and they will doubt themselves. Doubt will be my weapon then, that doubt will ruin them. They’ll second guess everything; ask all the wrong questions, I can see it now. There will be questions in the press and being the concerned resident that I am I will speak to them, and they will never know.

  I’ll let them get that close. I don’t need the attention, I don’t crave it. Now I crave the power. And power is what I have.

  Chapter Forty One

  Although his body was nearly strong enough to go for a run, John was not in the mood for it. He was too happy to bother and decided to go to the cafe and enjoy a full breakfast. After ordering everything he could possibly want and then eating every morsel of it like a starving man, he sat there with a smile on his face as he finished reading the newspaper. He was dressed in his suit, a white and thinly striped blue shirt was open at the collar, his tie stuffed in the small leather satchel bag dangling of the back of his chair which contained things relevant to his investigation. John had been buoyed by the information he had received the night before, it making him feel like he was close to solving the case. He had three people on his list of suspects and although his investigatory process may be scattergun it made sense in his disordered mind.
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br />   Whistling to himself John folded over his newspaper and placed it on the table and took out his wallet and retrieved two pieces of paper, staring at them for what must have been the fifth time that morning. I can’t believe it. After that crappy start to yesterday it ended that way. I need to ring Rodney and thank him for starting this lucky streak. I mean picking four horses that win and then a baseball accumulator may be the most ridiculous thing that I have ever done. This has got to be in the Top Five moments of my life, not good enough to take the top spot of turning Annabelle Bevin straight but easily better than getting married. I hope I’ve worked it out right though; one hundred and forty two thousand pounds will go a long way. God I’m so giddy, I feel like a kid at Christmas.

  Carefully placing the winning slips back into the wallet and putting it in his front pocket John took out his notebook and skimmed through his notes. The pad was nearly full of theories, sketches and diagrams. The problem in such a small village was that his spider diagrams looked such a mess due to everyone having some sort of connection to each other. This case ends for me one way or another this weekend and I need to be on the winning end if this is going to be my last job. Problem is I don’t know if I have enough to finish this before my time is through. Every step forward just takes me further into the darkness. I need something to finish this, I need one moment of inspiration to get this all to it together, I need that sunglass-putting-on-walk-off-screen-with-a-witty-comment moment.

  His phone vibrated on the table; a message from Hannah telling him her schedule for the weekend. He was tempted to take her out in Manchester to apologise for endangering Lewis and spend some of the money that was burning a hole in his wallet but he knew better, keeping his windfall in his pocket. John knew that was one of his weaknesses, spending money when he had it, which left him out of pocket when he had burnt through it all. The amount he had was enough to keep him happy for a couple of years.

  The money was distracting his thoughts so he took out his laptop out of the bag. A few searches confirmed that there was a bloody set of clothes and rags found miles away after Janine Bennett’s murder. John was a little surprised that none of that was brought up at the trial but most of what he had read was on conspiracy websites. Deciding to see what truth was in what Wills had said he paid his bill, packed his things and walked out of the cafe and towards the house of the ex-convict.

  It was a good fifteen minute amble for John and he was beginning to doubt some of his earlier thoughts that the Bennett murder connected the deaths. However he wanted to be certain. Arriving at the dilapidated house John knocked on the door. He stood there for over ten minutes with no sign of movement on the inside. Shaking his head John walked away. Pisshead probably succumbed to the effects of liqourmortis. Should’ve realised that he wouldn’t be a morning person. Not the best piece of detective work I’ve ever done.

  John left his car by the cafe and walked down to the bookmakers, the smile on his face growing. Going through the door he spotted the immediate look of fear on the manager’s face. Behind the counter another man was stood with Stevie. He was wearing a cheap suit and had his arms folded across an expanding midriff. Stevie turned to say something to the man John assumed was his boss as the detective crossed the small space.

  “Good morning Steven. I guess it was my lucky night yesterday,” John said smiling as he placed the slips on the counter and nervously waited.

  The manager however did not speak, just averted his gaze and went pale. The supervisor stood up and walked over, “I guess you were very lucky last night sir. Unfortunately we can’t pay you out at the moment. We need to verify these bets. You understand the complications that come with such a large win.”

  “I understand that it is a lot of money and you won’t carry that much in a shop, what I don’t want is you dawdling over paying me. Your man took the bet, I won, you pay me out. That’s how it goes.”

  A cruel smirk crossed the supervisor’s face, “Like I said sir we have to verify the bet. There seems to be some irregularity.”

  “What, that I won? How long is it going to be till I see my money?” John’s anger was rising.

  “I can’t possibly say at the moment sir.”

  “Right well let’s not drag this out. I’m a Detective Inspector with Greater Manchester Police; if you don’t sort this out within the week I will make sure that I make this my number one priority. Here’s my card I expect a call within the week,” John said putting the piece of paper on the counter and taking back his slips. Every time I think I’ve bagged a winner something like this happens. Well I’m gonna make another fat dickhead’s life a misery.

  Storming over to the Hollingswood Arms, he ordered himself a pint of lager and sat down on one of the larger tables and placed his bag on it. He read a couple more of his notes and then took out the earliest diary of George Fleming. Most of the writings were about his back; how the physiotherapy was giving him more mobility but every so often there was a statement about his feelings. They looked out of place when talking about the pain he had been through:

  It’s not just my body that was shattered but my heart as well. Now I realise how much pain people go through when they die. I could feel my blood leaving my body, weakening me as if sand through an hourglass. It’s scary to think that someone could do that to another person.

  Another statement had John perplexed. He was left wondering if anyone had ever read these words other than Fleming:

  How many people do I hurt by not telling the truth about my pain? My wife, she sees what it has done to me, but I can’t tell her everything. Will she think of me as less of a man? Why did it take that accident to open my eyes to a suffering inside?

  The more he read the less the words of emotional pain came out; it coincided with his injuries lessening their toll on his mobility. Then he reached the time after Fleming’s wife died:

  It’s all different now without her. I don’t have to worry about her anymore. Even in writing I can’t bear to write her name. I’m soaking this page with tears. I’ve not cried once in public yet here it’s all I do. She was my rock, the reason I’m still here. I made myself a better man to be good enough for her and now she has left me. All I want to do is curl up and die so I can be with her again, but I know that will never be the case. I may be a better man than I was but there is still an evilness in my heart. How can I die for her when I know in the afterlife we will never be together? There’s only one way forward for me and that is to work hard to make my life better here like she would have wanted.

  John was impressed by the man’s rational thinking, even though it was mixed with religious ideology, and was of the opinion it definitely was not a suicide. There was no doubt in his mind at all. What he did want to know though was what the ‘evilness’ in Fleming’s heart was if he had not abused Birkett. However he did not really want to see the former rugby player unless he knew he could take him one on one.

  He had drunk his pint and another when the younger Bradhurst male came through the door. Shuffling his papers back into his bag John waited for the man to go the bathroom and followed. Stopping outside he looked at his reflection in one of the small decorative mirrors and put on his red tie before entering the bathroom.

  John washed his hands whilst he heard Bradhurst in the toilet; using the facilities for something other than bodily functions. The young man came out pinching his nose, John dried his hands with some paper towels and then leaned on the tiled wall next to a floor length mirror, “Hey I know you, you’re Jerry Bradhurst’s kid aren’t you?”

  With shifty eyes Sean Bradhurst stared at John who was barring his way, “Yeah yeah I am. What does that matter?”

  “It matters because your dad is a prick and I wanna know where he was when Harry Bailey died.”

  Anger rose on Sean’s face and he pushed John hard into the bathroom door, “Nobody says anything mean about my dad.”

  “Touch me again and you’ll be in prison dickhead, I’m a copper. We both know I didn’t
tell a lie, your dad’s a prick just like you. Now I know all about you, Sean. I know that you prefer the company of men to women, I know you sell drugs to make a living when you aint living off daddy’s pocket money and I know that you have enough junk on you right now for me to send you away for a couple of years,” John said raising his finger to point at the man and showing his badge at the same time. Sean’s face had gone pale beneath his poor fake tan and stepped back, his hands instinctively going to his bright red chino pockets, “I’m thinking though you might like a little time inside. Dropping trou and grabbing your ankles for some big bastard. That about right Sean?”

  “I-i-i-i don’t know what you are talking about.”

  Rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner he carried on with his interrogation, “You’re a crap liar Sean, stick to doing your steroids, maybe you can fool drug testers better than you can fool me. Now where was your father the night Harry Bailey died and while you are at it, where the hell were you?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “What you can’t remember your whereabouts or those of your father? Come on Sean I want to know. Don’t make me frogmarch you down the station.”

  “I was round a friend’s house, ok? Is that good enough for you?” Bradhurst blurted out moving to go past him again.

  “No it isn’t,” John said putting his hand up and pushing the man backwards, “I said I wanted to know about your father as well, Sean. You’re being rather uncooperative with me. I’m thinking you know your daddy killed Bailey and then he offed Fleming as well because the man caught you selling drugs. What happened, did your dad have to sort out all your little mistakes?”

  Bradhurst struggled to meet John’s gaze, “My dad didn’t do anything to those guys.”