‘I’ve been very well looked after.’ The old man’s hand touched the dressing that covered one side of his face. The surgical tape holding it in place pulled at his seventy-year-old skin, distorting the uncovered side.
‘I’m Detective Constable Samantha Robins. I’m the one looking for the person that did this to you. Do you mind if I sit down?’ Sam didn’t want to be standing over him, she thought it might be intimidating.
‘Of course.’ He waved his hand at the seat beside the bed. ‘I assume you’re here to ask me a load of questions about what happened. I fear I may be something of a disappointment. I really don’t remember much at all.’
Sam smiled again. ‘Don’t you worry about that, Mr Fedder—’
‘Gerry, please.’
‘Gerry. Don’t you worry. Most people can help more than they realise.’
A nurse came in pulling a stainless steel trolley laden with jugs and a selection of biscuits. She spun neatly as the door shut behind her.
‘Your tea, Gerry.’
He smiled. ‘That time already? Always the highlight of my day. Not for the tea, you understand, but for the visit of nurse Helen here.’ The man’s one visible eye twinkled.
The nurse smiled at Sam. ‘You need to be careful with this one. He’ll be trying out all his best moves on you!’
Sam laughed. ‘I appreciate the warning!’
‘Did you want a cuppa, love?’ The nurse held out a cup.
‘Sure, that would be lovely.’
The nurse left both cups on a bedside cabinet, where pictures of Gerry’s wife and grandchildren sat facing his bed.
Sam indicated the pictures. ‘I met your wife and the two children.’
Gerald beamed. ‘Smashing kids.’
‘And your wife?’
Gerry chuckled. ‘She’ll do for now! We’ll be married fifty years next year, you know. Imagine that! Fifty years. I can’t remember what life was like without her. Wonderful woman. Are you married, Detective?’
‘Sam, please. No, not just yet.’
‘People don’t seem to marry quite so young anymore. It was the done thing when I was a young man. If you liked someone, you married them. It worked out well for us but you need to take your time these days, make sure you’ve got the right one.’
‘I can’t disagree with that,’ Sam said. Gerry looked into his tea. ‘Gerry, the reason I’m here today is to talk to you about what happened, and to note down the important stuff. Then I can go and try to do something about it. I will ask someone to pop round and take a very detailed statement from you another day, but I didn’t want to do that now. I want to be sure you’re back on top form for that.’ Gerry nodded. ‘Are you willing to give a statement to us? One that effectively says that you support us in prosecuting whoever did this to you.’
‘Well, yes, I mean of course I do. But like I said, I’m not sure just how much use I can be.’
‘Well, let’s find out, shall we? What do you remember about the day it happened?’
‘I was at work. I don’t remember too much more, really. I had the lawns to mow and some weeding to do, nothing that was going to take too long, but I was taking it real easy. It was hot, see? I remember that, it was so hot . . .’ Gerry tailed off.
‘Tell me what you do for work, Gerry.’
‘Well, I’m a handyman really. That’s what you would have called it in my day, or a groundsman, but I do bits in the church as well. Repairs and maintenance. They did give me some fandangled title but I can’t remember what it is.’
‘Do you work alone?’
‘Oh yes. It’s barely enough work for me, and I’m a doddery old fool. I get it done without any trouble, so there’s no need for anyone else.’
‘But there are other people about? I mean the vicar, and there are some volunteers I have details of, who work in the community hall.’
‘Yes, there are. Weekdays it will generally just be me and the vicar, although Father Lawrence isn’t always at the church. Sometimes there are people in the community hall setting up for the Cub scouts in the evening or for a weekend fête, but that’s not often.’
‘Was there anyone else with you, or that you saw on the day of the incident?’
‘No. I don’t remember speaking to a single soul that day. That isn’t unusual. They pretty much leave me alone to get on with my work.’
‘What’s your relationship like with the other people who work there?’
‘Fine. They’re all good people.’ Gerry paused. ‘Are you suggesting that I could have been attacked by one of the staff?’
‘No. But they could be a witness.’
‘I suppose so, but the man that attacked me definitely doesn’t work there. I have seen him before. He’s been there a few times when I have. He tends to a grave there, spends a good hour or so at a time.’
‘Which grave does he tend?’
Gerry lay back against the pillows. ‘I knew you were going to ask that! I can tell you roughly, but I respect the people that are there. It’s a private time, you know.’
‘I understand that. Can you give me the rough area maybe? Something that narrows it down a little bit?’
‘It’s difficult, without being stood in the lawns. I could if I was there.’
Sam smiled. ‘What sort of detective comes unprepared?’ She reached into her bag and took out an A4 sized photograph of the scene. Taken by CSI, it showed the location where Gerry had been found, his position marked out by a white cone, with the gravestones visible in the background.
Gerry struggled upright, and pulled out his glasses from a drawer in the cabinet. It took some time to get them on over the padding. There were just over sixty gravestones, laid out in four rows parallel to the back fence. The grass in front of them was trodden flat. At one end a black steel gate led out onto an overgrown alleyway. The community centre and the gravel car park for the church were at the opposite end.
‘It would be around here.’ Gerry pointed with a shaky finger.
‘So almost directly in front of where we found you lying?’
‘If you say so.’
‘Can you recall if you spoke with the man on that day? And where? I mean, did you speak to him while he was at the grave?’
‘I just can’t remember.’ Gerry was visibly upset. He raised his hand again to his injured eye and touched the dressing. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No need to apologise, Gerry. It’s just that sometimes the right question can prompt some memory that really helps us out.’
‘I don’t remember if I spoke to him, but I’m sure the grave is close to where that cone is. I can tell you it will be easy to spot, it will be the best cared for — he always left fresh flowers.’
Sam could see that Gerry was distressed, and she didn’t want to push him any further. It was time to leave. Further questions could wait until he was a little stronger.
* * *
The graveyard was quite a drive from the hospital. It surrounded the church at the centre of a small village called Eythorne. Sam parked in the church carpark. A welcome breeze stirred the trees standing in a row between the car park and the graveyard. Sam noted two other cars, a four-year-old Saab, a classic choice for a vicar, and a maroon Renault Clio that, according to the bright pink sticker, was “Powered by Fairy Dust.” Tucked in a corner, almost invisible in the shade, was a black motorbike. Sam walked from her car over gravel that was worn, and in some places missing completely. She reached the grass, there was no sign of anyone.
* * *
Back at Langthorne General Hospital, Gerry’s wife came back into his private room. She brought him a paper and his favourite wine gums. He told her again how sorry he was he couldn’t remember much about what had happened to him.
‘It’s not your fault, Gerry. I don’t think we should be worrying that you can’t remember your attacker. We should count our lucky stars you’re still with us. You might have suffered serious brain damage.’ Her voice trembled a little.
Gerry reache
d out and took her hand in his. ‘I’m not sure we’d be able to tell the difference if there was brain damage!’ He leaned back into his pillows. ‘I’ve seen him a few times before, you know, the man who did this. But do you think I can remember anything about what he looks like?’
‘Don’t be beating yourself up now, Gerry. Something may come back to you, but it won’t if you try and force it.’ His wife opened the newspaper and peered at the front page. There was a picture of a white forensic tent, viewed from above, and a ring of officers in high-visibility clothing standing round the perimeter of the car park where the tent had been erected. The headline read, “Four police officers slain in cold blood,” and in slightly smaller letters, “Terror links probed.”
‘Such a terrible thing,’ Valerie muttered and turned the page.
‘I do remember something!’ Gerry sat forward.
‘What is it?’ Valerie peered at him over the top of the newspaper.
‘His bike! He always had his bike with him. Do you think that will help?’
‘Who, the man that hurt you?’
‘Yes. He would come on a big motorbike, one of them sporty racing things, a black one. That detective left her number, Val, let me give her a call.’ Gerry pointed at Sam’s card resting on the mobile table that acted as a dinner tray.
‘Don’t you worry, Gerry. I’ll call her in a bit and let her know. It doesn’t need to be this minute, and you need your rest.’
Gerry stayed sitting up. ‘Pass me the card, Val, and I’ll call her now. It might be nothing, but she said that anything I remembered might help, no matter how small. Maybe the bike will be just what they need to get this bastard.’
Just then, a nurse bustled in. ‘Ah, Mr and Mrs Fedder.’ She stood aside to let two men enter the room. ‘This is Dr Ajhib and Dr Morrison. Dr Ajhib did your surgery, Mr Fedder, and Dr Morrison will be taking over your clinical care and recovery. They just wanted a quick word with you.’
‘Of course.’ Gerry smiled at the two men.
‘It’s an assessment. Mrs Fedder, I will have to ask you to leave the room I’m afraid, unless your husband insists?’
Gerry shook his head. ‘No, it’s okay. Val can grab me a tea, can’t you dear?’
But his wife did not smile. She tossed the detective’s card back onto the table. ‘Well, I’d rather stay. I might have some questions myself.’
‘Mrs Fedder, please feel free to ask us any questions you wish. But we will only take five minutes to assess your husband. You can come back with the tea and we’ll speak to you then.’
Her husband waved at her. ‘Shoo, woman!’
* * *
From the picture, Sam guessed she was in the right area. She was standing by a block of six graves. The front two both looked well kept: ‘Janey Michelle Martin’, read the first one, ‘Loving wife and sister.’ The sun made the white marble and gold lettering uncomfortably bright to look at. Sam opened her book and made notes.
A small step to the right stood a newish-looking grey stone, flecked with white. A square vase, also grey, stood in front of the headstone, with fresh white roses hiding the inscription. Sam leaned forward and tried to lift the vase but it was stuck in position, so she bent the stems and read, ‘Anne Forley.’
‘Forley,’ Sam muttered aloud. ‘That rings a bell.’ She opened her book and took down the details. Beneath the dates were the words, ‘Daughter, wife, mother, missed.’
‘To the point,’ said Sam, and took a step back. ‘This is the one,’ she muttered, scanning the rest of the graves. They were not as well tended, and Gerry had mentioned fresh flowers.
‘Anne Forley,’ she said again, and walked slowly back towards her car.
* * *
The man pushed aside a branch that obscured his view of the woman walking between the graves, heading almost directly towards him. Her eyes had been on the ground, studying the graves. He knew a police officer when he saw one. The moment he saw that bitch touch his flowers, he made for the path. If he ran, he could get to the car park before she did. His back was sticky with sweat beneath his bike leathers. He rounded the corner and his feet crunched on the gravel. Ahead of him he could see the woman standing by a small red car holding something in her hand. He slowed his pace to a walk, trying to appear as relaxed as possible. He could hear her now. She was on her police radio, relaying details of the registration number of the red car, a Renault Clio. She waited for a response and made some notes. He was close enough now to hear her clearly.
‘Received that, Control. Could you stand by for just a minute?’
A voice from the radio blared, ‘Standing by.’ Then she was walking over to him. He lifted the seat of his bike, reached in and put his hand on a black revolver. He held it concealed by the seat, and looked up at the blonde bitch who was smiling at him.
‘Afternoon, sir. Nice bike.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Do you work here, or are you just visiting?’ The woman produced a police badge and held it towards him. ‘I’m DC Samantha Robins and I’m trying to piece together an incident that happened here a week or so ago.’
‘Visit.’ His right hand rested on the cool metal of the pistol.
‘Often?’
‘As often as I can.’ He stared at her, trying to make her feel uncomfortable. Cop or not, she was still a dumb blonde. ‘I come to the church sometimes, just to spend some time somewhere where I can be alone. It feels like I can get a pause in time here, nothing interrupts.’
She smiled. ‘Fair enough. Do you mind if I take your details?’ She flipped open a notebook and readied her pen.
‘What do you need my details for? I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary. I can’t help, I’m afraid.’
‘Do you have a problem with giving me your details, sir? I’m trying to find people who visit here regularly so I can eliminate them from the enquiry. That makes sense, right?’
‘I don’t trust the police and I don’t like giving my details unless I have to. I don’t have to, do I?’
‘Well, we could get into the parts of the road traffic act that make it an offence to refuse your details to a police officer when asked, when driving or in your case riding a motor vehicle, but I’m sure there’s no need for that. You don’t need to be getting arrested and your bike seized, now do you, sir?’
The man sized her up. His eyes ran up and down her body, lingering on her skirt and where her buttons parted above her breasts. Her phone erupted in her jacket pocket and broke the tension.
‘Tell you what. You don’t want to help us with our enquiries, then so be it. I’ve got a busy day today. Maybe I’ll go and see if there’s someone more helpful. You’ll excuse me.’ She turned and walked towards her car, talking on her phone.
The man followed her, careful to keep his footfalls as silent as possible on the gravel.
* * *
Gerald Fedder was starting to feel the effects of the day, but he had wanted to make the call to the nice detective before he gave in and lay down for a nap. His wife had left him alone for a few minutes while she used the toilet and possibly sourced a last cup of tea before her journey home. He found his glasses and dialled.
‘Oh, hello there, Detective. Sorry to bother you so soon, but you did say to call you with anything I remembered, even if it was a small thing.’
‘Mr Fedder, don’t be silly, it’s no problem at all. What did you want to tell me?’
‘It’s probably nothing, Detective, just a small thing, about the man who attacked me that day.’
‘Like I said, anything can help. What is it?’
‘I’m pretty sure this is true of the day he attacked me, but certainly I remember times when he has visited before . . . but I really don’t know if it will be of interest to you.’
‘Please go on. What did you remember?’ Sam hid her frustration.
‘Well, it’s just that on the occasions when I’ve seen him, well, he’s always been riding a bike, a motorbike, you know? Is that important?�
�
There was silence.
‘Hello, Detective, are you still there?’
‘A bike.’
‘Yes, you know, a motorbike. A big one, a sporty sort, and black.’
‘I understand. Thank you. I’m there right now as it happens. I’m going to have to go for now, but we’ll speak later, okay?’
Gerald started to reply but the line was cut. He took the phone from his ear and frowned at it.
‘I still don’t think this is a good idea, having caffeine right now. You need to get some rest.’ Valerie backed through the door, carrying two steaming cups of tea.
‘I don’t think the tea here has any caffeine in it anyway. It doesn’t taste of anything.’
‘Well, good!’ Valerie looked at the detective’s card which now lay in Gerry’s lap. ‘What did she say? The motorbike thing, is it relevant?’
Gerry shrugged. ‘Who knows? I got the impression she wasn’t too interested. Seemed like she was in a rush to get me off the phone. Who can blame her? She doesn’t want to be bothering with a silly old fool like me.’
‘Now she knows how I feel!’ And they both laughed.
* * *
Sam stood frozen with the phone still held against her cheek and her hand on her car’s door handle. She turned and looked back at the man standing behind her. He was wearing full bike leathers, and holding a large revolver in both hands. It was pointed directly at her.
Sam let go of the door and straightened to her full height.
‘Hang it up.’
Sam ended the call and raised her hands, her phone still held in her right palm.
‘Turn off the phone.’
‘It is off.’
‘Turn it fucking off! I don’t want it being tracked.’
‘Do you have any others?’ The man jerked the weapon towards her bag.
‘No.’
‘Tip it out.’
Sam did as she was told, the contents of her bag tumbled onto the floor, including the phone she had been given by PSD. It had been turned off ever since.
‘Kick it over here.’ He gestured again, this time at the phone.
Again, Sam did as she was asked. The man inspected it quickly then slipped it in his pocket. He seemed satisfied and Sam knew he had good reason. No one was tracking her, no one even knew she was out of the office, and it could be quite some time before anyone noticed.
PANIC BUTTON a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 11
