by Jack Benton
Slim couldn’t keep the smile off his face. ‘That’s fantastic news.’
‘Oh, and I’m on to book four of Firth’s series. I have to say, it’s quite gripping.’
Slim rolled his eyes. ‘Like the man himself, no doubt.’
The day was looking up. Slim almost felt like whistling as he strolled down the high street to the station and turned onto the old bridleway leading alongside the tracks.
It was a pleasant day, sunny but not too hot, as he set off to walk again to Wentwood. This time, however, as he walked, he wasn’t looking at the path but at the railway tracks, wondering what secrets could be told by those shiny, humming rails.
The other side of the tracks was mostly fields once you were past the town’s brief suburbs. A few small level crossings allowed for easy passage to the other side, some doubling up as little bridges that crossed a stream gurgling along the same valley route as the railway line. About halfway to Wentwood, Slim took a narrow lane leading over the tracks and climbed a hill leading up to an area of open moorland, from where he had a panoramic view of the valley below. He found a bench in a layby and sat down to eat a sandwich and take a swig from a flask of coffee. A middle-aged couple waved as they jogged past, all luminous dress and reflective armbands, and Slim felt a sudden craving for the kind of carefree existence they appeared to have.
But what was under the surface? Every lake had monsters of one kind or another. Perhaps the man distributed child porn, or the woman had broken up her boss’s family. No appearance could be trusted. No cover truly represented its contents.
The train line from Holdergate to Wentwood hid its own monster, Slim knew, and it was slowly bubbling to the surface. He could feel it.
29
He called Kay the next morning but was told to wait a little longer. Kay had managed to find a friend who worked in the photographic industry to examine the copies Slim had passed him, but Kay was yet to hear back. After ending the call, Slim headed for the station and took a train to Manchester. There, as before, he assumed the guise of Michael Lewis and planted a few more seeds in the homeless community.
He was on the last train back, leaning wearily against the window when his phone rang. Toby’s name came up on the screen and Slim reluctantly answered, feigning enthusiasm as he said, ‘Hello?’
‘I was wondering whether to tell you,’ Toby said. ‘Actually, I’d planned to, but you never called.’
‘Sorry, I had business in Manchester. An interview.’
He’d been told to take a hike by more people than those who’d been prepared to listen, but Slim wasn’t about to tell Toby that. He was demoralised enough by being spat on, threatened with a broken arm, and told he’d better be watching his back at all times to want to relive it in a conversation.
‘Oh, anything interesting?’ Toby’s tone was furtive, bordering on insistent.
‘Had to see a man about a dog.’
‘But not a man about a ghost?’
‘What?’
‘I wanted to tell you, but it seemed stupid.’
Slim rolled his eyes. As though Toby had told him anything that wasn’t. ‘Tell me what?’
‘About the Holdergate ghost.’
‘Look, it’s been a long day.’
‘I just thought it might be something of interest.’
Slim suppressed a sigh. ‘Sure. Go ahead, I’m listening.’
‘I grew up in Chapel-en-le-Frith, a few miles from here. When we were in primary, you know how kids are and all that, a monster behind every hedge and everything … we used to tell stories to scare each other. Especially after school, you know, we’d always be trying to one-up each other.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘And by then I was into my books, scribbling down stories, hiding them in my locker at school because … well, it doesn’t matter now, but anyway … and word got around that Holdergate had a ghost. Some kid from my class said you’d hear him screaming late at night in the goods yard behind the station.’
‘Right. But you never heard him yourself?’
‘No, of course not. I’d never even been to Holdergate except that one time. But I always wondered if it wasn’t who I caught in that picture, you know, the Holdergate ghost. I mean, you remember what I said about visitors?’
Slim pulled his phone away from his ear and lifted his finger. He could easily cut Toby off, then blame a tunnel or the weather at a later time. It had been a long day.
Toby’s tinny voice still came from the speaker, though, and Slim flinched at what sounded like a familiar word.
‘Wait, say that again.’
‘I said, I mean, what if it was Tom I got on camera? If you could find a historical photo of him, if there was some way to enhance the image—’
‘Wait, wait—Tom?’
‘Yeah, that’s what this kid from school said the ghost’s name was. The ghost of some boy who died during the station’s construction, something like that. Tom Jedder.’
30
Toby had little extra to say in person. He flapped his hands around a lot and waxed lyrical as perhaps only a born storyteller could, but while he still remembered the name of Tom Jedder and some of the tall tales and playground taunts they had sung, he could no longer remember who had originally told him the name. Going on the hearsay of a professional novelist was not Slim’s preferred mode of operation, but with no concrete leads, he was prepared to allow Toby a little indulgence.
‘I must have been eight or nine,’ Toby said, waving around a capped styrofoam coffee cup as though it were an extension of his hand. ‘You know? When I first heard it. Those were back in the Peak District Strangler days, when we would go home in groups, the last kid on the walk home being picked up from the second-to-last kid’s house. Didn’t matter that the victims were all women; there was a constant fear that the Strangler might change his tastes. Even after they caught him it carried on, in case the police had picked up the wrong man. No one in a school’s management wanted blood on his hands.’
‘I would expect not.’
Toby smiled. ‘Of course, we played up to it. It became commonplace to leave kids behind, run off when someone stopped to check his bag, the usual juvenile stuff. Our parents would have belted our hides had they known, but as long as it was all smoothed out before we got to the last house on the home route, we got away with it.’ He shrugged. ‘The name though, I always thought that came because we didn’t have a name for the Strangler at that time, and also he became a ghost haunting the railway line because little kids didn’t really understand the significance of a man murdering prostitutes. I didn’t even know what sex was back then.’
‘But you all knew the railway line?’
‘Of course. It was the centre of our existence. In the case of many of us, quite literally. It ran through the middle of town and we were constantly crossing it to play at friends’ houses. We used to wait for the trains, race them, sometimes play chicken.’
‘Play chicken? You don’t mean what I think you mean?’
Toby shrugged. ‘Yeah, well it wasn’t all the time, just once in a while. I never did it, but a few of the tough kids did. Impress their mates, that kind of thing.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Come to think of it, the name of Tom Jedder might have come from that.’ Toby laughed. ‘You know, like a kid who died playing chicken, something like that.’
‘I’ll have a look into it.’
‘Of course, it was a long time ago and my memory isn’t always as clear as I’d like. It was kid stuff. No phones or computers in those days.’
‘I remember.’
‘It all kind of died a death after a driver complained,’ Toby continued. ‘Someone from the station got in touch with the school for the addresses of us local kids, then came door knocking, telling us all to pack it in.’ Toby gave a nervous laugh, and Slim instantly recognised the grown up kid who had blubbered to him on their first night together. ‘God, I got a hammering for that. Guilty by as
sociation, I suppose.’
Slim said nothing. Toby stared off into space, fingers twitching nervously.
‘So, anyway, I always thought that maybe a ghost got her.’
‘Jennifer?’
‘Yes. But ghosts don’t kill people do they? They only scare them. They might make them run away, though. What if Tom Jedder scared Jennifer so badly that she went away and never came back, or worse, scared her into another place entirely?’
31
‘Okay, Kim, this is the drill. I need you to contact as many people on that list as possible and ask them what they know about him. It’s for a possible documentary, a kind of This is Your Life. For this reason, you need to make it clear from the outset that it’s to be kept quiet.’
‘Okay … and what specifically are you looking for me to find out?’
‘I’m trying to track down old primary school friends of Toby. And this might sound strange, but I’m looking for people who remember him in a negative light. If anyone makes any offhand comment—he was a strange kid, that kind of thing—make a note of it.’
‘Okay, Mr. Hardy. I’ll be sure to do that.’
Slim hung up the call and took a sip of his coffee. Investigating Toby’s background made him uncomfortable, but it felt important to get a second opinion on the man’s character. The writer felt untrustworthy, but Slim felt that if he could strip away the man’s layers of imagination he might find a nugget of truth hidden beneath.
Slim finished his coffee and headed out. He took a bus rather than waiting for a train because the bus route meandered through the hills, passing through numerous outlying villages before dropping back into each town. It gave him a different perspective, an alternative view of the countryside, setting free thoughts and ideas that the stuffiness of a town left undeveloped.
He got off at a quiet stop on Wentwood’s outskirts and walked the rest of the way to Webster’s Home for the Elderly.
‘I hope Barnard will be comfortable talking to me,’ Slim told a receptionist, once more assuming the guise of Mike Lewis, BBC researcher. ‘I assure you that I only want to talk to him about what he remembers. I’m happy for a member of staff to be present.’ It was necessary to say so to get through the door, but he hoped she would wave it off. When she nodded and agreed, however, his expectations sank.
‘If you go along the corridor to consultation room number three, I’ll have a nurse bring Litchfield down.’ She handed him an ID card on a string to put around his neck. On the card, GUEST was written in large blue letters. ‘There’s a coffee machine at the end of the corridor.’ She gave him a sympathetic smile. Slim was wondering if his natural demeanor made him look tired when the woman added, ‘It can sometimes take a while to get the residents organised.’
Slim did as she suggested. He was on his second cup when Litchfield came through the door in a wheelchair pushed by a young nurse whose name tag identified him as CALL ME DAN. He settled Litchfield into position on one side of the table, then came around and whispered to Slim, ‘Keep the questions simple, and if he goes off on a tangent just let him run with it. Some days he’s there, some days he’s not.’
Litchfield coughed. ‘If you’ve finished your damn mother’s meeting over there could we get on with this?’
Dan smiled. ‘If he curses it means he’s feeling good. You’ll get more out of him than gibberish.’
‘Hurry up over there, you useless prick,’ Litchfield said. ‘My colostomy bag’s pinching.’
Slim sensed from the way Dan smiled in response that their camaraderie came with a mutual respect. Dan gave Litchfield a genial pat on the back, adjusted what needed to be adjusted, and then nodded at Slim to begin.
‘I’m sorry to be bothering you again, Mr. Litchfield,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got a little further in my research—’
Litchfield lifted a hand. ‘Excuse me, lad, but who are you again?’
Slim glanced at Dan, who shrugged. ‘Well, my name is Mike Lewis…’ he began, then proceeded to roll off the usual spiel he used when masquerading as a BBC researcher. He closed by reminding Litchfield of their previous meeting. ‘And I really wanted to ask you to expand on some of your comments.’
‘Aye,’ Litchfield said. ‘You remind me of me old brother’s lad,’ he said. ‘Sam. You have his eyes. How was that clay I got you for Christmas that year? Bet it surprised your dad when Uncle Barn showed up, didn’t it?’
Slim frowned, but Dan gave him a discreet wave to indicate he should go with Litchfield’s narrative, so he leaned forward and nodded.
‘Yeah, it did. Those were good days, weren’t they?’
‘The best,’ Litchfield growled. His thorny old face brightened with a smile which abruptly died. ‘Until your old man started throwing his lies about. Didn’t see you much after that. You know I never did nothing with your ma, don’t you? Fool never wondered how she paid for everything, but I wasn’t one of her punters. He might have figured it out sooner, but he always gave a pint glass more attention than he ever gave her.’
Slim forced a laugh. ‘I was a kid, just enjoying myself. Say, you remember that dog we used to play with? The one by the tracks? I wonder what ever happened to that old mutt.’
Litchfield shrugged. ‘Damned if I know. Got hungry and ran off, I imagine.’
Slim took a deep breath, preparing to play his hand. If he got it wrong and Litchfield closed up, the information he hoped for might never be revealed.
‘He was Jedder’s dog, wasn’t he? Tom Jedder.’
Litchfield nodded. ‘Aye, he was.’
Dan had begun to frown as though Slim was getting close to a line he shouldn’t cross, but Slim pressed on. ‘Jedder, he lived up the street, didn’t he?’
Litchfield flapped a hand, then laughed. ‘Boy, your memory’s worse than mine. Jedder, that pitiful swine, he spent more time walking up and down those tracks than he ever did in a proper home. No one much wanted him around, used to berate him something like if he was ever seen about. But you know, Jedder, he wasn’t no harm to anyone, even with that face, not unless you’re trying to sleep at any rate. I suppose that’s why he got given that dog. Finally had something that could love him.’
Litchfield chuckled, so Slim chuckled along with him. ‘I wonder what happened to Jedder in the end.’
Litchfield leaned forward, a frown on his wizened old face. ‘When did you and your ma leave town? Eighty-two?’
Slim shrugged. ‘Ah … I suppose it was about then.’
‘Figures. You wouldn’t have been about when it happened.’
‘What happened?’
‘When they found him. On the tracks.’ Litchfield shrugged. ‘What was left of him at any rate.’
Slim caught a glance from Dan and sensed the nurse was getting ready to shut the conversation down. As Dan fidgeted and cleared his throat, Slim quickly said, ‘An accident?’
‘Nah.’ Litchfield chuckled. ‘Not a chance.’
‘Mr. Litchfield, I think—’
‘Put a sock in it. I’m talking with my brother.’
Unsure at what point his family status had changed, Slim simply gave Dan a shrug and leaned forward.
‘Awful business, that.’
‘Yeah. You know whoever did it was watching. Maybe the first time didn’t kill him, I don’t know, but they dragged him back on, finished him off. Covered him up both times with firs so the drivers wouldn’t call it in. Filthy business that.’
‘I suppose they never caught who did it.’
‘Aye. I always thought it was your lad Sam. Went off the rails, didn’t he?’ Litchfield suddenly guffawed. ‘Mind the pun.’
‘Ah, he’s okay these days.’
Litchfield frowned. ‘Is that so? I thought he went belly up in mid eighty-five. Your old dear came up and drove me down for the funeral. Are you sure you’re who you say you are?’
As Litchfield leaned forward again, Slim wondered if he’d been exposed, but the old man muttered, ‘Ted, is that you? Your hair’s looking grey. H
ow’s trade up the shop these days? That bloody Tescos put you out of business yet?’
Attempts to get Litchfield back on track proved fruitless, so after another ten minutes of rambling during which Slim tried to look interested, he made his excuses, thanked Litchfield and headed out. At the main exit, Dan caught up with him.
‘I trust you’ll be careful about what you use for your program,’ he said, and Slim made a mental note to remember he was still playing a character.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I imagine most of what he said was mere rambling. I couldn’t use anything unless it was independently verified,’ he said.
As he left the building, however, he felt certain that somewhere within Litchfield’s words was a major clue.
32
‘A body on the tracks?’ Lia said, shrugging as she sipped her drink. ‘I’ll ask my mum if she remembers anything.’
‘I don’t think I’ll say anything to Robert tomorrow,’ Slim said. ‘Not after how he reacted last time.’
‘He might be okay about that one,’ Lia said. ‘It sounds like it was out along the line somewhere, and a homeless person wouldn’t have gained as much press as Jennifer did. Most of the local papers keep one eye on the tourism industry. Believe it or not, unexplained disappearances are gold. They draw people in, but murders scare them away.’
Slim nodded. ‘I could quite believe it,’ he said.
‘Sadly, there are several jumpers along the Hope Valley Line every year,’ Lia said. ‘I think a lot of desperate people choose somewhere pretty to spend their last moments. However, you hardly ever read about them in the papers. I hear from Robert via my friend, but only because he used to work at the station and still keeps in touch with the current station master.’
