Shiver

by Andrea Frazer

‘The council are due to collect from the black bins tomorrow. There ought to be a fortnight’s refuse in that wheelie bin.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ the SOCO leader replied, ‘nobody can exist for two weeks without creating a single item of rubbish.’ He was interrupted then as his mobile rang. He answered the call and listened for a while. ‘Excellent,’ he told the caller, ‘some good news at last. All we’ve had here is frustration.’ He listened again. ‘No, Detective Sergeant Benson is with me, I’ll tell her.’ He ended the call. ‘That was the laboratory. They’re confident they can lift a workable DNA specimen from the cricket bat handle grip.’

  ‘Excellent. Anything else I should know, before I leave? I need to inform the vicar that he’s minus a sexton.’

  ‘The leader was about to shake his head, but his colleague intervened. ‘Just one thing. While I was outside I checked the garage. It’s empty.’

  ‘You mean Blake’s car is missing?’

  ‘Not only the car, but everything else. The building is just a shell.’

  ‘This gets weirder and weirder. I think I’ll be on my way before you find anything even more baffling. I should be back before you finish. Unless of course the cottage vanishes into a timewarp and takes you with it. The way things are going in this case, anything is possible.’

  Before setting off on the short drive to the vicarage, Carol dialled DC Hall’s mobile. ‘I’ve just come out of the PM,’ Diane reported. ‘On balance, I think talking to Palmer might have been marginally better. Two things to report. One, the Doc is convinced Blake was sedated, but we’ll have to wait for test results to know if he’s right, and what the drug used was. Two, Blake was definitely restrained with some sort of nylon or synthetic twine. There are minute traces in the cuts on his wrists and ankles. I had a squint at them through a microscope and they look to be blue in colour.’

  ‘Good stuff. I’m out at Lingtoft. I’m afraid I can’t report much success here. A load of questions, but a distinct shortage of answers.’

  ‘I’ll drive out and join you. I could do with some fresh air to get rid of the mortuary pong.’

  ‘If I’m not at Anvil Cottage, I’ll beat the vicarage. They may know who Blake’s next of kin is and where we can find them.’

  When Carol rang the bell at the vicarage, she half expected it to ring out a change instead of the prosaic electronic sound. A couple of seconds later the door opened and she saw a pleasant, attractive looking woman in her mid-forties standing there. Carol showed the woman her warrant card and asked if the vicar was at home.

  ‘He is, but I sent him to bed. My husband was out all night and only got home a couple of hours ago. Can I help you? I’m Glenys Griffiths.’

  ‘I came to talk to the vicar about the body found in the crypt.’

  ‘Oh yes, the poor man. You’d better come in.’

  Mrs Griffiths ushered Carol into a pleasant, if somewhat old fashioned drawing room. ‘How did he die? Was it a heart attack, or a drug overdose? You hear so many terrible things about drugs.’

  ‘No, Mrs Griffiths, it was nothing like that. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but the man was murdered in a rather brutal manner. But why did you think it might be to do with drugs?’

  ‘I naturally assumed that with it being a vagrant, it would be something of that nature.’

  ‘Who told you the dead man was a vagrant?’

  Mrs Griffiths appeared flustered. ‘Nobody, I just put two and two together. I couldn’t think of anyone except a tramp who would seek shelter in such an inhospitable place as a crypt. To go in there out of the cold and rain one would have to be really desperate. Are you saying that isn’t what happened?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Griffiths. Far from it. It would appear the dead man was your sexton, Noah Blake. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but he was bludgeoned to death.’

  Mrs Griffiths turned ashen pale and gave a small whimper of distress. For a moment, Carol was afraid she would faint, but she took a deep breath and recovered slightly. ‘Dear me, this is terrible. First Jeremiah, and now Noah. I don’t know what to think. I’d better go wake Ifor up and get him to speak to you.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Griffiths, you lost me there. Who is Jeremiah?’

  ‘Was, dear, not is, I’m afraid to say. Jeremiah Blake was Noah’s father. He was the parishioner Ifor has been keeping vigil with. Jeremiah Blake passed away early this morning. It was a blessing in many ways.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Mrs Griffiths tapped her temple with one finger. ‘Poor Jeremiah hasn’t really been with us for a long time. Senile dementia, they call it. To add to his troubles, he had diabetes, which sent him blind, and his hearing was all but gone. I think death is a release in cases such as that, don’t you? Nevertheless, I’m glad he passed before he got to hear about poor Noah. Wait there, dear, I’ll go wake Ifor.’

  The vicar seemed unable to add much to what his wife had already told Carol. ‘I’m afraid we only moved to this parish recently,’ he explained, ‘so we’re still getting to know people. Before that we were in Birmingham city centre, which is a totally different challenge. I can’t begin to imagine who might have done such a terrible thing to poor Noah. Do you have any idea who might be responsible, Sergeant?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out, sir. Anything you or your wife could tell us might be extremely useful. Mr Blake’s background, for example.’

  ‘All I can tell you is that I don’t think Noah and his brother got along very well. Ezra, the older brother, runs the farm, and as so often happens, I think he was Jeremiah’s favourite. It must have been difficult for Jeremiah, bringing up the boys on his own, especially for someone of limited education.’

  He saw Carol’s questioning look and explained. ‘Their mother died when the boys were quite small. Leukaemia, I believe.’

  ‘Were the Blake family regular churchgoers?’

  ‘I believe Jeremiah used to be, but that was before my time. Recently, his illness precluded his attendance on a regular basis.’

  ‘And what about his sons?’

  ‘Noah was a regular, obviously, but I don’t think I ever saw Ezra or his wife in church.’

  ‘Can you tell me what Jeremiah’s relationship with Noah was like?’

  ‘I think the best expression to describe it would be armed neutrality. I did hear they’d had a disagreement long ago, but that could be mere rumour.’

  ‘Who inherits the farm? Would it have been split fifty-fifty?’

  Griffiths shook his head. ‘I believe it all goes to Ezra. In one of his more lucid moments Jeremiah said he’d left everything to Ezra, not that ungrateful swine Noah. Those were his words, not mine,’ the vicar added hastily.

  Carol noted the details of the farm, thanked him for his help, and apologised for disturbing his rest. She gave him her card. ‘If you think of anything else that might prove helpful, don’t hesitate to call me, or my colleague DC Hall.’

  She walked down the drive and had almost reached the main street when she saw Diane’s car pull up behind hers. ‘If you follow me back to Anvil Cottage, I’ll tell you what I’ve found out. It’ll pass the time until forensics have finished.’

  Once there, she explained what the SOCO team had discovered at the cottage. ‘I can’t think of an explanation, can you? Unless it’s a severe case of OCD!’

  ‘What’s that? Oh, I get you, the obsessive thing. It could be, I suppose. What did the vicar have to say?’

  Carol explained about Blake’s father. ‘That’s a heck of a coincidence, don’t you think?’ Diane asked.

  ‘Yes, except for the fact that there doesn’t seem to have been anything suspicious about Jeremiah Blake’s death. From what I could gather he’s been living on borrowed time for quite a while.’

  It was mid-afternoon before forensics handed the cottage over to them. Their leader gave Benson the key. ‘I’ll email my report to you in the morning. It won’t be a long one. Hopefully, we should also have the DNA resul
ts back from the murder weapon by then.’

  The detectives entered the house. ‘You concentrate on downstairs to begin with. I’ve already taken a look around there. You might spot something I’ve missed. I’ll go have a look upstairs.’

  By the time Carol had finished her inspection of the upper floor, the pale winter sun was almost setting. She was about to go back downstairs when Diane called her. ‘Take a look here,’ she said. She pointed towards the shelves of the dresser in the sitting room.

  ‘What am I looking at?’ Benson asked.

  ‘See the fading on the outer part of the shelves. It’s been exposed to the light, where the rest of the shelf has been covered. I’d say whatever was there has been removed and these cheap ornaments stuck in their place.’

  ‘I think you’re right. So what could have been there?’

  ‘Judging from the size and shape, I’d say it was books.’

  ‘But why remove books?’

  ‘Perhaps there was something incriminating in them.’

  ‘Yes, but this is the victim’s cottage, not that of the killer. I can’t see how the victim would have anything incriminating on his bookshelves, can you?’

  ‘What next?’ Diane asked as Carol was locking up Anvil Cottage.

  ‘I’m reluctant to do so, given the circumstances, but we must visit Blake’s brother and break the bad news. What with the death of his father, I doubt whether he will have heard about what happened to Noah, but he has to be informed.’

  They took Diane’s car and drove out of the village towards Black Fell. From the passenger seat, Carol was able to watch the changing landscape, from the rich arable meadows of the lower dale to the sparse upland pastures of the moors, which provided only the leanest sustenance for livestock.

  ‘What sort of farm is this we’re going to?’ Diane asked.

  ‘I assume it must be sheep and cattle, and maybe some pigs or poultry. There’s certainly no chance of growing crops here. Not that I’m an expert.’

  They arrived at the track leading to the farm, denoted by a dilapidated sign that read, “Fellside Farm”, alongside which was the warning, “Beware of the bull”.

  ‘Looks as if you were right,’ Diane said, ‘unless that refers to the farmer?’

  Having crossed the cattle grid, they bumped their way over the deeply rutted track leading to the farmyard. At the crest of the hill, the farmhouse presided over the valley below, its grey limestone walls brooding sombrely over the landscape.

  Their first surprise came when they knocked on the door. The woman who answered it was as unlike a typical farmer’s wife as could be imagined. She was of little more than medium height, but beautifully proportioned, with striking features and an hourglass figure that looked almost too good to be real. Her long blonde hair might have been enhanced from a bottle, but she needed no make-up to accentuate her beauty.

  The detectives showed her their warrant cards and asked to speak to Ezra Blake. ‘Is there some trouble?’ the woman asked, ‘it’s just that Ezra’s father died earlier today. I’m Samantha Blake, Ezra’s wife.’

  ‘I think in that case it would probably be better if we spoke to both of you together,’ Carol replied, ‘it would save us having to repeat what we have to say.’

  ‘Very well, but you’ll have to excuse the mess. We’re a bit at sixes and sevens with all that’s been happening, and Ezra’s busy trying to organise the funeral arrangements and so forth.’

  ‘We understand how difficult it must be, and we wouldn’t have bothered you had it not been of the utmost importance.’

  If Carol’s statement reassured Mrs Blake, it certainly didn’t show in her expression. ‘Very well,’ her tone displayed great reluctance, ‘you’d better come in and I’ll call Ezra.’

  They were ushered into a large kitchen, typical of so many in the dale. The room was well appointed, even if some of the units were somewhat dated. Having seated them at the large rectangular table in the middle of the room, Mrs Blake opened an adjoining door and summoned her husband. ‘Ezra, the police are here. They need to talk to you.’

  A moment later, Blake appeared; his expression one of irritation. ‘If this is about the brake lights on my trailer again, you’ve chosen a very bad time.’

  As he was speaking, Diane studied the farmer. Although the only time she had seen his brother was after the severe beating that had killed him, she could tell there was a strong family resemblance.

  ‘No, Mr Blake, we’re not here about your trailer. I’m Detective Sergeant Benson, and this is my colleague, Detective Constable Hall. We appreciate how difficult a time this must be, but we have some extremely grave news for you. It’s concerning your brother, Noah. I’m sorry to have to tell you that there was a body found within St Jude’s Church, and it has been identified as Noah’s.’

  Blake put one hand on the back of the nearest chair to steady himself. Diane, who was watching him carefully, noticed that he held the other hand behind his back, a slightly odd pose, she thought. Samantha crossed to her husband’s side and placed an arm protectively round his waist. ‘I’m afraid there’s no easy way to tell you this,’ Carol continued, ‘but Noah was murdered. He was beaten to death in a particularly brutal fashion.’

  Samantha let out a small whimper of distress and clutched her husband tighter. Blake stood there, like a boxer who has taken one punch too many, but refuses to lie down. He seemed unable, or unwilling to comprehend what Carol had told him. ‘I don’t understand. Why would anyone do that to Noah? Was it a robbery, or a mugging, is that the right word?’

  ‘We don’t believe so. He had a fair amount of cash on him, together with credit and debit cards, so we don’t think that was the motive. We rather hoped you might be able to help us understand what happened to him. Given the level of violence in the attack, we’re trying to determine if Noah had enemies who might wish to harm him in such a way. Can you think of anyone who hated your brother that much?’

  ‘I don’t think I can be of much help,’ Blake replied. ‘It isn’t that I don’t want to, but I simply don’t know enough about his life. It’s no secret that Noah and I didn’t get on very well, and I have little or no knowledge of his private life, certainly in the recent past. I only knew he was back in the area when someone told me.’

  ‘You didn’t see him in Lingtoft village then?’

  Blake shook his head. ‘I rarely leave the farm, except on market days if I have stock to sell, or when Sammy bullies me into taking her shopping. Even those trips have been curtailed recently, with my father needing constant care and attention.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t have been aware that Noah had become sexton at St Jude’s?’

  ‘Noah was working for the church?’ Blake’s tone and expression were of complete disbelief.

  ‘He was, and apart from the small stipend he got for those duties, we can’t find any other source of income. Do you know how he earned a living?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  Diane was conscious that throughout Carol’s questioning, Samantha Blake was clinging protectively to her husband, her expression one of deep concern.

  ‘We were told that he spent a number of years abroad. Do you know what he did, or where he went?’

  ‘I can help you there, but whether it has any relevance on why he was killed, I couldn’t say. Noah decided he’d had enough of England and wanted to see the world. It caused a great deal of friction with my father, who wanted him to remain here and help on the farm. Noah got his own way and went abroad. We didn’t know where for some time, but then we got a letter from him, or rather my father did. It was from somewhere in the Midwest of America, as far as I can recall. He told father he had got a very good job working as manager for a big agricultural combine over there. That riled my father, because Noah had turned his nose up at working the farm here.’

  Carol stood up. ‘I think we’ve taken up enough of your time.’ She repeated her apology for disturbing their mourning, before adding, ‘I’m
afraid I will need you to come and make a positive identification of the body, but not today,’ she added, sympathetically. ‘We’ll then have to wait for the coroner to release Noah’s body before you can make funeral arrangements.’

  As they got back in the car, Diane glanced towards the house. Blake and his wife were standing in the doorway. Samantha was still holding Ezra tightly, as if frightened she was about to lose him. ‘What did you make of that?’ she asked as she negotiated the ruts once more.

  ‘I’m not really sure. Something seemed a bit odd, but I don’t know what. Blake seemed shocked, but not exactly heartbroken. Given his own admission that he and Noah didn’t get on, that’s hardly surprising.’

  ‘Not getting on well is hardly a strong motive for murder, though. What did you think to Mrs Blake?’

  ‘Not a bit what I expected. She’s very glamorous for a farmer’s wife, stuck up here in the wilds. A bit like Wuthering Heights .’

  ‘Yes, but she obviously dotes on Ezra. Did you see her when you were questioning him? She was like a mother hen with only one chick.’

  ‘I suppose that’s to be expected, given what’s happened to his father and brother.’

  ‘What do you suggest we do next?’

  ‘I’ll take you back for your car and then we return to Thorsby and write up our reports.’

  By the time Diane reached the station, Carol was already there, pacing up and down. ‘I think we missed something,’ she greeted her.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘When we looked through Blake’s cottage, we ought to have found some of his private papers, but there was nothing. No banks statements, mortgage details, council tax bills, insurance policies, electricity statements, all the things that every householder gets, whether they want them or not. There should have been something.’

  ‘Perhaps the killer removed them along with the fingerprints.’

  ‘That’s a possibility, I grant you, but there may be another explanation. Nobody seems to know very much about Noah Blake. All we’ve heard is one or two bits of hearsay and a questionable statement from his brother about an alleged letter he wrote years back to his father. What if that was what Noah wanted? We’ve no real evidence about where his money came from, or how much he was worth. At the very least he seems to have been an extremely private person, but I’d say he was more than that. I’d say he was ultra-secretive. In which case, I’m willing to bet there’s a place within that cottage where Noah Blake kept his papers, together with anything he didn’t want others to see. I think we should pay another visit to Anvil Cottage tomorrow, and this time we’ll turn the place upside down if needs be to find what we’re looking for.’