by Carol Wyer
Twenty-Eight
They are sitting on the bench beside the reservoir. Alfie has a dog chew and is patiently working his way through it, gnawing it until it is in minuscule pieces. He licks his paws and huffs contentedly. Stacey has no idea he has her dog again. It’s the only way to get the beautiful woman to stop and speak to him. She likes the wretched animal. Today, he took one of Alfie’s favourite squeaky balls with him on their walk. He left early to make sure he was in position when she appeared for her morning run. He knew her route now. She started from her house at Cathedral Rise and jogged along the lane towards the lake, taking the first entrance, past Friary School and down the lane flanked by large bushes that hid the school playing fields from view. She turned left and entered the circuit, running the one-mile exercise loop around Stowe Pool and Stowe Fields five times before stopping at the all-weather gym where she would do various exercises on the machines before jogging to the far end of the reservoir and exiting near the church. From there she would run back home. If he positioned himself on a bench after the playing fields, she wouldn’t see him until she rounded the bend and ran past where the fishermen sat.
It was a wet, murky morning – one where the clouds hung so low in the sky you felt you could put your hand up and touch them. He had been woken very early by the sound of a car engine struggling for life, churning and churning until the noise grated on his nerves so much he wanted to scream. Then Alfie had started barking in his high-pitched, irritating manner. Eventually Stacey got up and dealt with Alfie, and he heard the sound of the kettle as she made a cup of tea. It was Thursday and she was on an early shift. She would be gone soon and he would be left in peace to do whatever he wanted with his day, and he would spend it with the woman he loved. With that delicious thought, he put his head back under the bedcovers and tried to doze off again, but he could only think about his potential new girlfriend – the woman who jogged around the reservoir.
He’d arrived too early and had to walk Alfie back and forward around the lake, anxious he would attract attention from the two mothers who were gossiping while their toddlers squawked and squealed as they played on the climbing frame. It was early spring, and clumps of purple and yellow crocuses were pushing through the grass. Soon the park would fill up with walkers and people playing football or cricket or throwing frisbees. Once that happened, it would be impossible to get her on her own. As it was, there were several fishermen hunched under umbrellas, staring into the water hoping for a catch. The reservoir was filled with all species of fish. He’d never understood the mentality of those who could sit for hours waiting to hook one. The wait would be too much for him. He wouldn’t be able to stand the hours wondering if a fish would nibble at the bait. He was a man of action, and his beloved had not yet appeared. He shuffled from foot to foot. Alfie pulled at his lead and whined. He jerked the lead and gave the animal a soft kick with his foot and growled at him. ‘Shut up. Sit!’ Alfie whimpered and lay down, head on paws.
He watched the all-weather gym next to the children’s area furtively, and he hoped she wouldn’t forgo her run. St Chad’s church clock chimed nine. It was getting on. His knee bounced up and down restlessly. Just when he thought he would explode with anticipation, he spotted her as she jogged onto the circuit. She was in a tracksuit that hugged her shapely form; it was nothing like the baggy sack of an outfit that Stacey wore as she slumped about the house. He smiled as he watched his woman run upright, with her head up, hair held in a ponytail, swishing from side to side. He wondered what it would be like to stroke it. He was certain it would feel like silk.
She was near the grassy area called Stowe Fields and it was time to put his plan into action. He picked up the squeaky ball and gave it a squeeze. The sound made Alfie sit up, his ill-treatment forgotten. The man unclipped the dog’s lead and held the ball up, waving it at the animal. The dog’s eyes sparkled in delight at seeing his favourite toy. The man squeezed the ball again and it let out a loud squeak that made Alfie bounce on the spot in excitement. He squeaked it several times more before throwing it with some force. The ball went deep into the bushes and Alfie scurried after it.
The timing was perfect. No sooner had the dog vanished than she appeared. He stumbled onto the circuit and feigned surprise at seeing her. She was forced to stop, and seeing his distraught face asked, ‘Is everything okay?’
He gulped, his head twisting this way and that. He held up the lead, tears in his eyes. ‘I’ve lost Alfie again. I’ve been searching for over an hour. He ran off and I don’t know what to do.’
‘Where did you lose him?’
‘We were on the playing fields. I was throwing his ball and another dog arrived – one of those huge Alsatian types. I couldn’t spot an owner for it. It began worrying Alfie. I tried to yank it away by its collar, but it snarled at me. Then it continued pestering Alfie, barking and darting backwards and forwards and nipping at him, before racing off with the ball. Alfie chased after it. I haven’t seen either of them since. What if the dog’s attacked him or he’s run into the road?’ His eyes opened wide as if this idea had only just occurred to him.
‘It’s okay. I’ll help. If we can’t find him around here, we’ll go to the police station.’
Although that was the last place he’d go, he threw her a grateful look. ‘Would you? Thank you so much. I’m almost hoarse with shouting.’
She called the dog’s name loudly. He kept his fingers crossed that Alfie was still looking for his ball. He’d thrown it right into the prickly bushes and hoped it had got stuck in there. She held her hands to her mouth to call. Her nails were pearl pink and manicured. He gazed at them, imagining them caressing his face, his chest. He dragged himself away from his thoughts and called, ‘Alfie, come on, boy.’
They walked back towards the playing fields, shouting. After a few minutes, he gave her a look filled with sorrow, mentally congratulating himself on his magnificent performance. He swiped at his eye. ‘Thank you, but it’s hopeless. I’ve lost him. I just hope nothing terrible has happened. I couldn’t bear that.’
She placed a hand on his arm, a friendly gesture, and said, ‘Don’t worry. He’ll probably be playing and will come home when he’s ready.’
He nodded slowly, not wanting her to remove her hand. The warmth of it surged through his body. How he wanted this woman.
‘You’re very kind.’ As he finished his sentence, there was a volley of squeaks as Alfie appeared, ball in mouth, and dropped it at her feet.
Alfie!’ he shouted and fell to his knees, hugging the little dog, who squirmed away, tail wagging, wanting the ball to be thrown again. She gave a laugh that lifted his soul.
‘You naughty doggie,’ she said, playfully. ‘You gave us such a fright.’ He sat obediently at the sound of her voice.
The man feigned relief and gratitude. ‘I must thank you. It’s down to you that he’s come back. Look at the little chap. He’s completely taken with you.’
She laughed again. ‘He’s such a funny little dog. Is he okay? The other dog hasn’t hurt him?’
‘He seems fine. He must have chased after it, retrieved his ball and come looking for me.’ He rubbed the dog’s head affectionately. ‘I must thank you in some way. There’s a coffee shop nearby – let me buy you a coffee.’
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, I can’t. Thanks all the same. I have to get on. I’ve got an appointment at eleven and I need to shower beforehand. I’m just glad Alfie is okay. I’d better be going. Be good, Alfie. No more chasing after big dogs.’ She patted the animal.
‘Thank you again… uhm, I don’t know your name.’
‘Harriet. You’re welcome. See you again. Bye.’
She jogged out of the park, not completing her usual circuits. He clipped the lead back onto Alfie and left in the opposite direction. He felt warm, light and hopelessly in love. ‘Harriet,’ he whispered, letting the name rest on his lips before repeating it. He would win her over very soon.
Twenty-Nine
The i
nland marina at Bromley Hayes was even larger than Anna expected. She’d never been interested in canals or boating, but the array of beautifully painted narrow boats with pots of chrysanthemums on their decks, and names like Dragonfly, Free Spirit, Serendipity and Blue Moon conjured up a romance. She could see the appeal of travelling the canal network or living on one of these boats, snuggled in a little cabin with a roaring log burner keeping her warm rather than being bedraggled from the drizzle that was now falling. She pulled at a strand of hair that had stuck to her face, tucked it behind her ear and headed for the main office.
The marina was quiet and no one was about, not even on the service quay where folk could obtain the necessary fuel for their boats. The weather was maybe keeping people inside. The berths were set in two landscaped basins connected by a bridge. Anna could envisage how pretty it would look in summer, with the wooden pontoons to the boats bordered by tall grasses and shrubs, and the rhododendron bushes filled with pink or blue blooms.
There was a facilities block in the distance, and a summerhouse that appeared to be a fresh addition to the site. She had heard that the canal community was a friendly one. No doubt they spent warm summer evenings chatting over wine and discussing trips they had made.
There was a light on in the office so she tapped on the door and entered. A woman reading a magazine and sitting next to an electric heater commented, ‘Dreadful day, isn’t it?’ Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Anna in uniform. ‘Good afternoon, officer. Has there been some trouble? None of the boats have been stolen, have they?’
Anna slid her warrant card over the desk. ‘It’s nothing like that. I’m trying to locate a gentleman who was seen heading in this direction. We think he might be staying on a boat here and that he might be able to assist in our enquiries.’
The woman scraped her glasses onto her tawny-coloured hair, and peered myopically at Anna. ‘Oh, okay.’
‘I’m looking for a man called Peter.’
‘I’ll get my book out. We keep the key fobs here and a list of boat owners. Bear with me.’ She slid down her glasses and ran a finger down a list of names, muttering quietly as she did, and copying her findings onto a piece of paper. Eventually she pushed her glasses back onto the top of her head.
‘There are four Peters registered here. She pointed at the first name. ‘Peter Arnfield’s not here. He left in August and moors his boat here empty over winter. He won’t be back until April. Peter Howes isn’t here at the moment. He took his boat out yesterday. Peter Carmichael is in berth 112. His boat’s called Voyager, and Peter Bullock is berth 234 on Dreamcatcher.’ She passed the paper across to Anna and a map showing the berths. She circled the relevant ones.
‘I don’t have a detailed description of the man. I just know he’s in his thirties and was seen wearing a blue jacket and jeans.’
The woman shrugged. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell. They nearly all wear jeans and I only see them if there’s a problem or when they check in.’
Anna recalled Flora’s description. ‘If I described him as “wild-eyed” would that jog any memories?’
‘Hmm. It could be Peter Bullock. He only arrived two weeks ago and he lives alone on the boat. He’s from Essex. I tried to talk to him about it because my sister moved down there, but he wasn’t very talkative. He looks like a musician, with long hair, scruffy – a bit like that Bob Geldof. His eyes are like that – unfocused.’
Anna thanked the woman and emerged from the office into the grey. The rain was falling more heavily now. She angled the map so she could see where to head and plodded around the path towards berth 234. Her phone rang and she saw it was Mitz.
‘Anna, where are you?’ His voice sounded urgent.
‘Kings Bromley Marina. I talked to the bus driver and he remembers dropping off the bloke we’re after. I’ve got a name too – Peter Bullock.’
‘You aren’t there alone, are you?’
Anna didn’t respond.
There was urgency in his voice. ‘Stay where you are. I’m on my way. You can’t go after him alone. He could be dangerous. Call in the name and get some background on him. I won’t be long.’
He ended the call. Anna was slightly miffed at his tone. She could manage this on her own. Mitz usually supported her suggestions and encouraged her to follow her instincts. She had the element of surprise here and she was trained. She only wanted to ensure she was on the right trail and would have called it in once she was sure of her facts. If Mitz hadn’t raced off in the first place, they’d have been doing this together. The urge to check out the boats was strong, however, in spite of everything, Mitz was right when he said the man could be dangerous. If Peter Bullock was the man who had killed Linda Upton, he was capable of acts of extreme violence. She kicked at a piece of gravel and wandered back towards the squad car to wait for Mitz.
She did as Mitz had instructed and called the station to pass on the name. Robyn had just left so she told David what she had so far. She was searching for information on him on her smartphone when she spotted a figure with shoulder-length hair coming from the facilities block. He was dressed in jeans and a blue coat and hunched forward against the now driving rain. A wisp of blue smoke indicated he had lit a cigarette and was drawing on it. He fitted Bullock’s description and was headed in the direction of the car park. He would soon spot her squad car and if it was him, she might lose him. Without any thought to her safety she leapt from the car and marched towards him. With his head down, it was several moments before he saw her. It was only when she said, ‘Mr Bullock? Mr Bullock, I wonder if you could answer a few questions for me,’ that he looked up, startled. He threw the cigarette to one side, turned and hightailed it in the direction of the towpath. Anna cursed and thundered after him. Although she heard her name being shouted, she continued after the man, who had started running at speed.
Anna pounded the path in her flat, police-issue boots, wishing she were in more appropriate running shoes. However, she had youth and stamina on her side, and soon Bullock began to slow, the adrenalin fight-or-flight rush now over. Boats moored by the canal passed in a blur of gaudy colours as she focused on Bullock and pumped her legs, gaining on him bit by bit.
He turned to face her, hand in the air. ‘I give up.’ He bent over and wheezed. She slowed to a halt. ‘Mr Bullock, I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
No sooner had she spoken than he threw a punch that she dodged. Grateful for her police training, she shot an arm out to grab him, only to receive an elbow in her face. It caught her on the nose, making her drop to her knees, and she let out a yelp of pain as he raced away again. She raised a hand to her throbbing nose and pulled it away. It was wet with blood. The bastard. He wouldn’t get away with this. She wiped a sleeve across her nose and set off again, more determined than ever to catch him. Her nose throbbed and blood splattered down her shirt, but she ignored it. They were headed away from the marina and deeper into the countryside. Now there were only open fields. They were alone. She could hear the rushing of blood in her ears as she fought to gain on the man. Without warning, he drew to a halt. Only a few metres behind him, she slowed too, reaching for handcuffs and preparing to caution him.
Peter glanced about as if weighing up his options. His tongue flicked across his lips and then he smiled at her. His eyes bored into her and seconds slowed to minutes as she realised her folly. She was in the middle of nowhere with a potential killer. Her brain screamed at her to move but she had become rooted to the spot, transfixed by his blazing eyes. Without warning, he pounced at her, and before she could act he had grabbed her by the arm, tugging at her with a strength that surprised her. He hissed obscenities at her as he kicked out at her feet, trying to knock her off balance. At last her mind unfroze. He was trying to push her into the canal. And no doubt drown her. Anna’s training came back to her in a rush. They struggled, entwined like two passionate dancers as she ducked and dived and fought back, finally wriggling free of his hold. They stood precariously close to the edge
of the water – a brown, sludgy colour and whiffing of damp vegetation. He rummaged in a pocket and she prepared to fight off a knife attack, one arm raised to protect her face.
‘Anna!’
Mitz was running towards them, too far away to help her now if this lunatic stabbed her. Peter spotted Mitz too, spun around and raced away again.
She was going to catch the scumbag and, in spite of the pain, she pounded on. The man was only a few feet away and she drove her legs on, launched into the air and felled him. He let out a squeal of protest.
‘Mr Bullock, I am taking you in for questioning.’
Peter Bullock squirmed and bucked, knocking her off so she landed on her back, winded. She coughed on the blood now filling her nose and mouth. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart beat faster. She had to move or she’d choke to death. Peter Bullock was crawling to his feet. She didn’t have long. She pulled herself up and spat out the blood. He was up and ready to run again. She was about to launch herself at his feet and fell him when there was a rush of air and Peter Bullock landed with a whoosh on the towpath.
Mitz Patel grabbed Bullock by his collar and yanked him to his feet. Bullock spat at him but missed his mark. Mitz maintained a quiet dignity as he cautioned the man, ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence…’
‘You okay?’ he asked, as Anna, one hand stemming the flow of blood from her nose, joined him. The adrenalin that had kept her going was ebbing and she wanted to sit down, but she was not going to lose face. ‘Fine. Let’s get this bugger back to the car.’
‘You really okay?’ asked Mitz quietly, once they had Bullock in Mitz’s car and were standing next to it.
‘I’m okay. It’s almost stopped bleeding.’
