by Jack Benton
‘Thanks, Kay. That’s great.’
‘Anytime, Slim. You know that.’
Slim hung up. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and headed for Holdergate Station. There, he climbed the steps to the main building and went through a side door into the waiting room. It was modernised now, all glass and Perspex, with advertising hoardings blocking the view from the spot where Toby would have stood to take his picture.
At an information desk, a busy clerk waved off his request for any pictures of the original layout, telling him to visit the local library or the village museum. With time to kill before meeting Robert in the evening, Slim went outside and walked up the street to Holdergate Park. A railing fence lined the outside, with entrances on each of four corners. Two crossing diagonal paths created the main layout with smaller paths leading off to neat flower gardens, a children’s playground, and a small boating lake.
Slim went inside at the corner nearest the station, then backtracked to the section of fence where the man shown in the photograph had been standing and examined the fence and the park layout from inside. He quickly found himself frowning. An old stone flowerbed along the inside had two sections of wall clearly of different ages. To the right it was crumbling and devastated by lichen, but on Slim’s left was modern stonework, the concrete showing only a few hairline cracks. Slim estimated it to be about twenty years old, suggesting this section of the flowerbed was part of a more recent renovation. The left part of the fence appeared newer than the section by the old flowerbed wall, still with its original dark green paintwork, rather than the clearly painted-over rust patches of the older part.
Confident he already had the answer he was looking for, Slim took a walk across the park and found an aging gardener repairing a section of path disrupted by tree roots. After introducing himself as a former Holdergate resident who hadn’t been back to the area in many years, Slim enquired as to why the park had been restructured. The gardener, apparently thankful for a reason to take a break from the painstaking task of levering up sections of tarmac and sawing through the roots pushing up from beneath, pulled off his gloves and waved Slim to follow as he headed across the grass.
‘Council got funding back in ninety-three,’ he said. ‘Put that playground in over there, added that fountain and the skate park the kids round here are too posh to use, relaid the paths and replaced part of the old perimeter fence.’
‘Was there an old entrance directly opposite the station?’
The gardener nodded. ‘Used to be, but the council voted to have it closed up. Poor layout design. Everyone used to walk across the grass to get to it, leaving ugly patches of earth. Now they have to use the path.’ He pointed at the section of fence Slim had examined a few minutes before. ‘Because of the slight slant of the road, two sections of fence overlapped. When they removed the entrance, they actually widened part of the pavement to make the fence look straight.’
Slim pulled copies of Toby’s photos out of his pocket and unfolded them. He showed the gardener.
‘This picture was taken second,’ he said, pointing to the picture showing only Jennifer’s footprints. ‘Would the old gate have made it possible for the man to appear to vanish without leaving any tracks?’
The gardener squinted. ‘Don’t really know my photography, but whoever took this is standing at an angle which makes the two parts of the fence look continuous. Also the light’s poor and you’ve got that snow … but if you look at the spikes of the railings, they’re a slight discrepancy in their heights, showing these to the left are slightly in front of those to the right. Then there’s this tree there—’ he reached out and patted the trunk of a towering beech tree that loomed over them, ‘—and he’s right to the left of it, which is exactly where the fence overlapped.’
‘The man who took this says the man in the photo disappeared without leaving any tracks.’
‘Did he walk up here and check?’
‘I don’t believe so.’
The old gardener laughed. ‘Then I’d say he probably should have. I imagine he would have found a line of tracks leading away across the park.’
37
‘I must apologise for my reaction last time you visited,’ Robert Downs said, offering Slim the same seat he had used a few nights before Robert had abruptly got up and walked inside. ‘It’s just that I get more excited by people interested in trains than by people dredging up unpleasant memories.’
‘It wasn’t my intention to upset you. I never wanted that. Sometimes it’s hard to know how something from so long ago might affect people in the periphery.’
Robert made a strange gesture of pulling back his head as though trying to draw his chin into his neck. Then he said, ‘I can understand how your line of work might require you to enter some difficult situations.’
Slim thought about the scars hidden beneath his clothes as well as the worse ones that sometimes woke him shivering at night. He shrugged. ‘Some days are harder than others.’
‘So what would you like to know about Jennifer Evans? I can tell you what I told the police that night if you haven’t already read their files.’
If Robert had been interviewed in connection with the disappearance, there had been nothing among the files Slim had seen. He made a note to ask Charles at their next meeting.
‘I would appreciate it. I understand that the likelihood of finding Jennifer is remote, but I’m hoping to find something the police might have missed. If I could just ask you to tell me what you remember of that night, it would be a great help.’
Robert looked like he had been asked to swallow something unpleasant. Slim expected him to refuse, but at last Robert nodded.
‘You know about the snow that week, I presume?’ At Slim’s nod, Robert continued, ‘I’ve never seen a blizzard like it, before or since. At about half past eight I got the call from a maintenance crew working farther up the line that it was drifting so deep we risked a derailment if we allowed trains to continue. I called Sheffield and requested a locomotive fitted with a plow be sent up, but it wouldn’t arrive until midnight, so the earliest we could consider the line safe was one a.m.’
Robert paused as a door opened and his partner appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits. She held back the pleasant smile Slim had previously received, glaring at him as though he had given her husband a heart condition. Robert waited patiently until she had put down the tray and gone back inside before he began to speak again.
‘We had three trains due to pass through that night. I’m not sure what you know about stations, but Holdergate is fairly small. It was lucky, actually, because Holdergate is the only station with a goods yard on the Hope Valley Line between Manchester and Sheffield. It was us or leave them out in the open. We put the first train—a local from Manchester—on to siding track three. The second train—the one on which Jennifer Evans supposedly travelled—we let run onto the main platform. The third train, which reached us fifteen minutes later, was a freight. We put that on siding track number one, which was the only one long enough to hold it without blocking the main line. So, as you might imagine, there was pandemonium. Holdergate, even at peak times, rarely held more than a hundred passengers at any one time. Now we have five or six hundred milling about. A number of local residents stepped up to help out—we had vats of soup brought in, heaters, paraffin for the stoves. After a while people stopped worrying and started to make a party spirit out of it. There was singing and dancing, the atmosphere was electric. I woke up the next morning sure I’d been involved in an evening that would go down as a local legend.’ He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, staring off into the valley. ‘Then a call comes into say a young lady had gone missing.’
Slim said nothing, leaving the space open for Robert to continue. When the old man’s silence began to make him uncomfortable, he said, ‘You’re angry, aren’t you?’
Robert looked across as though remembering Slim were there.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am.’
/> ‘She ruined it for you, didn’t she? She ruined Holdergate.’
Slim had expected several reactions, but not for Robert to start sobbing. He glanced around uncomfortably for any neighbours who might overhear, but the gardens on either side were empty, and the double-glazed windows into Robert’s house were closed.
‘That bitch,’ Robert spat, his voice filled with so much hate Slim was taken aback. ‘Such a beautiful place. We never needed Jennifer Evans in our lives. She ruined everything.’
Slim didn’t know where to look as Robert continued to cry. He chewed on a biscuit and finished his tea. Finally Robert looked up, he wiped his eyes, then shook his head as though trying to break free of the hold of a rather impish spirit.
‘I do apologise for my reaction,’ he said. ‘I’m just an old man. I haven’t thought about this in a long time and it brings back the most unpleasant thoughts.’
‘I’m sorry if I’m making this hard for you,’ Slim said. ‘I have to ask, though. Did you see Jennifer Evans in the station that night?’
Robert gave a vehement shake of his head. ‘No, I didn’t. That night I saw no sign of her at all.’
38
‘Can I come in?’
Lia stood in the doorway, her mouth agape. ‘I thought you’d shipped out of town until I got a call tonight from my friend to say you were around, distressing her great-uncle again. Do you know how worried I was about you? When you called and didn’t speak, then you ignored my calls? What’s the matter with you?’
Slim looked at the ground. ‘I came to say I’m sorry. I screwed up again, so I buried myself in the case to get over it. I must have looked at your number a hundred times, but I didn’t know what I’d say if you answered.’
‘Are you drunk now?’
Slim chuckled. ‘No, for once I’m not.’
‘Well, I wish I was. I’ve never met anyone like you, Slim, that’s for sure. I suppose you might as well come in. I’ll let you try to explain.’
‘Thank you.’
Lia stepped back as Slim ducked sheepishly through the door. She offered him a seat at the small kitchen table, then started to make coffee.
With her back turned, she said, ‘Do you consider it normal to flit in and out of the lives of people who care for you? Is that generally how you operate?’
He sighed. ‘Yes, it is. It’s not intentional, but I’ve been alone for almost twenty years, and you could say even before that, depending how you look at it. I know no other way.’
Lia turned around and put a cup of coffee down in front of him. She was learning: it was black, and as thick as treacle. He was also sure she had stopped the kettle early so it wouldn’t quite be piping hot.
She took a seat opposite but sat back, her arms folded, a defensive pose that brought flashbacks of prisoners who needed interrogation. Slim closed his eyes. Without opening them, he said, ‘I came here to thank you for everything you’ve done for me, both as part of my case and for myself ... and to tell you that it would probably be best if we no longer saw each other.’
He opened his eyes. Lia was staring at him open-mouthed. As he watched, she let out a little laugh. ‘Are you trying to break up with me? Isn’t that a little presumptive considering we’ve only had, what? Two proper dates?’
‘I think it would be bad for you to get too close to me,’ he said. ‘You’ve already seen much of the worst I have to offer. It won’t get better.’
Lia frowned. ‘How about you let me decide that for myself? I’m a grown woman, Slim. Believe it or not, for my past three boyfriends, I did the dumping. I can quite well decide when I’ve had enough.’ She leaned forward. ‘Unless, of course, you don’t like me and you’re trying to make an excuse?’
Slim felt his voice break as he said, ‘Of course I like you. There’s nothing not to like.’
‘That’s settled then.’
‘What is?’
Lia reached across and took Slim’s hands, which had somehow found their way to the tabletop. They were shaking, but for once he thought it was nerves, rather from a craving for booze.
‘We’ll give it another try and see how it goes.’
‘I’ll only hurt you.’
‘Like I said, let me judge that for myself.’ She sat up suddenly. ‘Let’s put you though a little test. I haven’t eaten yet, and I’m guessing you haven’t either. I’ll go and watch TV while you cook me dinner. You can only use what you can find in the kitchen, and don’t touch my wine or it’s all off.’
‘Sure … can I use the phone or the microwave?’
Lia laughed. ‘No!’ She stood up. ‘You have one hour. Your first task, however, is to make me another coffee.’
Slim stared at her back as she went through into her little living room and closed the door. Aware she both had the opportunity to save him or break herself trying to prevent him falling, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
39
‘Here,’ Terry Denton said, stepping off the path and indicating a small grave with his foot. A bunch of flowers in a metal pot were long dead. Terry pulled them out and tossed them away into the grass, then began picking the weeds away from the basic slate headstone.
‘You left those?’
‘I come by once a year or so. I visit a lot of old friends that way. Sometimes I think it’s because I’m the only person who’ll remember them. If they’re still around somewhere, I’d like them to know that their lives weren’t nothing, that they did exist, that they mattered.’
Slim nodded. Before meeting Lia, Slim had often felt like a walking member of this near-forgotten-drifter club.
‘You knew Jim Randall from the streets?’
‘And briefly before. We were both in and out of the social system during the early sixties. His parents, like mine, were both either unable to cope for one reason or another, or had too many children to deal with so passed a couple off to the system.’ Terry shuddered. ‘It was brutal in those days. You fitted in or you ended up on the streets or dead. We both did spells in and out of borstals, mostly for violence, vandalism. For a while we’d get factory work—legally you had to be sixteen, but no one cared if a fourteen-year-old fudged their papers up a few years—but it was hard for idle minds and the pay was crap. Easier and more fun to steal what you wanted, or flog things off to keep you going. It was easy to fall in with the wrong crowd, and once they were done lighting you up, they’d blow you out and leave you in a gutter somewhere.’
‘Were you in contact at the time he died?’
Terry nodded. ‘I’d got off the street by then and started to get back on my feet. It would be a few years before I founded Giving, but I was still in contact with a lot of the people I knew from those days. Many were my friends, and watching good men die … it broke me every time. But for circumstances….’ Terry trailed off, shaking his head.
‘I heard that he died of lung cancer.’
Terry was quiet for a moment. ‘That’s what we were told, yes.’
‘You think it was something else?’
Terry frowned. ‘I don’t know you from Adam, Slim. But the effort you’ve gone to in this case … it makes me feel like I can trust you.’
‘Trust me with what?’
‘Something I’ve never told anyone. Something I never wanted to tell, not only because it was something you didn’t do when you were on the street or because I was never asked the right questions … but because it always felt like a dirty thing to say. I tried to force it out of my mind. Cut it out, if you like.
‘I saw him the day before he died, and went there the next day, expecting to see him again. I arrived to find he had died. The day before, he told me he was in a lot of pain. It wasn’t just cancer. He had syphilis, passed to him by his girlfriend at the time, who was a working girl, if you know what I mean. He was also malnourished, underweight. Both caused by years of hard living.’
Slim nodded. ‘It left him too weak to fight the cancer, didn’t it?’
‘True. But the nurses I spoke
to the day before told me he would last another month or two. That he died so suddenly suggested intervention.’
Slim had told Terry nothing about Jennifer. He had considered it, but during an investigation it was always better to keep your trump cards close. He thought about the best question to ask, aware that whatever Terry believed “dirty” was yet to be revealed.
‘Did Jim ever tell you a name?’ he asked slowly. ‘Did he ever give you a clue who it might be? A girlfriend or a nurse, perhaps?’
Terry swallowed. He squatted down, his back to Slim, and at first Slim didn’t realise he had pulled out a cell phone.
‘It was a woman,’ Terry said. ‘That’s all I can be sure about. However, my guess is she looked a little like this.’
He held up the phone to show Slim a composite photograph of four dark-haired young women in different poses. One was a sullen passport photograph. Another was of a girl holding a dog and grinning. The two others were posed against background which suggested bars or clubs. Slim had seen a photograph of Jennifer, and had to admit there was a resemblance.
‘Who are these women?’
‘Jean Casey. Barbara Shields. Tina Jones, and the last one is Emma Timpson.’ Terry looked up. ‘The four victims of the Peak District Strangler.’
40
‘They were brothers. Randall wasn’t Jim’s real last name, the same that Bettelman wasn’t Jeremy’s. They took their surnames from the last foster families which gave them a fixed address.’
‘You think the Strangler killings were a revenge attack on the woman who supposedly helped Jeremy’s brother to die.’
Terry nodded. ‘Both that and revenge on the woman partly responsible for his illness. Jean Casey was Jim’s girlfriend. It took Bettelman a year to track her down, but Jim was long dead and buried by then. The police never made the connection.’
‘You didn’t come forward?’
