Beck le Street

by Tony McHale

  As they drove in silence the guilt rose in Charlie like water being pumped into a tank and for a moment Charlie felt he would drown in his own conscience. He tried to figure out why he felt this way, but in reality he knew it didn’t take any figuring. He walked out all those years ago. He’d walked out on the woman that gave birth to him and the man who had worked hard to feed and clothe him. And now that woman was dead and he knew he’d never explain to her why he had acted in the way he did.

  After seeing the body of his mother, Charlie needed a moment to collect himself. This wasn’t the trip he’d been expecting. How the hell had all this happened? His mother had been murdered on the moors. Why? As much as Charlie had considered himself detached from Beck le Street, he now realised he wasn’t detached from his mother. Some bastard had killed her and now the initial shock was giving way to anger. He found his fist was clenched and inside there was a knot in the pit of his stomach that was tightening with every passing second.

  The policewoman watched Charlie, not quite sure what to do. On a number of occasions she had taken relatives, mostly grieving, some indifferent, to view bodies at the mortuary, but Charlie was the first she had escorted to view the body of a murder victim … and not just any old murder victim, this was the relative’s mother. She thought she should give him a few more minutes and then try get him out of there. But before those moments were up, Charlie had managed to generate a strange sense of focus in his eyes. He was staring straight at the Policewoman, which was something she didn’t know how to handle. Charlie then moved to her purposefully.

  “Do you know who did it?” he asked looking directly at her.

  “Sorry?”

  “I’m not stupid. In my line of work even though we don’t have proof we know which Man U player’s screwing his team mate’s wife, we know which soap star is seeing an MP from Derby, we know who’s banging the Hollywood producer whilst shouting “Me too.” We know things … just like you know things. You may not have the proof, but you know who stole the lead off the church, who broke into the local pharmacy and made off with some drugs and who is likely to take an innocent woman onto the moors and kill her with a shotgun.”

  “I’m not really attached to the case,” stammered the policewoman. “ I just had to make sure you got to the right place.”

  Charlie looked at her, deciding whether to believe her or not. Her nervousness and uncertainty made him believe she was telling the truth.

  “What about similar crimes? Anybody else been killed? Anybody else been taken onto the moors and attacked? Any shotgun offences?” Charlie wanted to believe this wasn’t a murder that was solely directed at his mother. This was part of a bigger picture … that’s what he wanted to believe. But he was having no joy from the policewoman. She just shook her head to all his questions.

  Charlie rejoined his father in the Range Rover. They sat there in silence for at least three or four minutes, which seemed like three or four hours. Then Charlie eventually asked the inevitable question, “Do you know who did this?”

  “No.”

  “This was just some maniac that decided to single her out?” he continued to question.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why was she wearing the clothes she had on from the previous night?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Beck le Street …” Charlie stopped mid statement.

  “What?” prompted Jed.

  “Everybody knows everybody’s business … unless things have totally changed.”

  Jed said nothing.

  “Well … have they changed?”

  “No,” came the hardly audible reply from Jed.

  “So someone will know something,” stated Charlie.

  “I guess so.”

  “But you don’t know who?”

  “No.”

  Yet there was something in his father’s demeanour that Charlie read that told him he wasn’t being totally truthful. Years ago, Charlie was thirteen or fourteen, when his mother had asked Jed where he’d been one evening, Jed had replied, “Just for a walk.”

  It was the same demeanour then. And then Charlie knew he wasn’t being totally truthful. It wasn’t a down and out lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. What wasn’t his father telling him?

  In retrospect Charlie decided this was the moment he’d subconsciously made a decision. A decision that he didn’t know at the time, but that he would both be thankful for and also wish he’d never made it. But at that moment he knew he had to find out what happened to his mother. Someone in Beck le Street knew how and why she was killed. Charlie was determined he’d find out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  In Beck le Street the rumour mill was always permanently at full throttle. Some rumours were true … most were just rumours. But it became quite clear, quite soon, that the rumour about the death and possible suicide of Caroline Ashton was true. Jenny Pearson owned the only shop in Beck le Street - the shop that sold anything that it could stock, which included most ‘essentials.’ From the moment the police showed up at The Black Dog the rumours started and during the course of that Saturday afternoon she had been told by at least six of her customers that Caroline Ashton has been found on the moors and that Jed’s shotgun was by her side. Some descriptions of the body by these rumourmongers were quite cursory, others were more graphic, with incorrect detail concerning the wound or wounds that had supposedly been self inflicted and talk of Caroline’s identification only being determined by her wedding ring.

  Cassie Samson listened to Jenny’s latest gossip with more emotion than usual. Cassie was indigenous to the village and had never known the place without the Ashton’s. Caroline had never been a natural landlady, but she was always polite and friendly and made terrific steak and kidney puddings. Cassie was very fond of her. Everyone knew Caroline wasn’t the suicidal type, yet Jed was known to be domineering - definitely, a bit cold and at times curt, but not a bully and not the type to drive wives to suicide. But there again, people could quite easily believe that in exceptional circumstances, exceptional action is taken. Maybe Caroline couldn’t handle the humiliation. People in the village could and would certainly think that. They would think she couldn’t handle it. Cassie could understand that, could definitely understand that.

  Cassie turned and looked at Georgie her fifteen-year-old. Today wasn’t a good day for Georgie. He was having difficulty walking and Cassie had lost patience with him and demanded he used his wheel chair. There wasn’t time for him to walk. She had to get to work. The hotel in Whitby where she was a receptionist was generous enough to fit her work hours around Georgie’s school hours and weekends they didn’t object to him being there when she did the early evening shift - so she worked hard never to be late. She needed to keep them sweet. Georgie hated being in his chair and he’d argued with his mum, but over the years Cassie had learnt to be tough. The stop at the shop was for some crisps for him and because they’d argued she bought him a Dime bar … they were his favourite. Jenny read the signs that Cassie was in a rush, so she just imparted the Caroline death information and left it hanging in the air like the sword of Damocles.

  Cassie bundled Georgie into her battered six-year-old Renault Espace and threw the wheelchair in the back. Georgie looked at her as she climbed into the driver’s seat. His speech if somewhat halting was intelligible … if you listened carefully. Of course for Cassie she was so used to his strange elongated vowels as he tried to mould his mouth round the words, that she caught everything he said.

  “Why would she do that … commit suicide? Why would she do it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” replied Cassie sadly. Then her mobile went. It was Tyler calling.

  “You heard?”

  Cassie knew immediately what he was talking about.

  “Jenny just told me …”

  “It’s all over Face
book. Old Atkinson just picked up his car … even he knew.” Tyler was a car mechanic who worked out of a small garage at the back of their cottage. “What do you think?”

  “Did she kill herself … is that what you’re saying?” asked Cassie.

  “Yeah.”

  “Bottom line … I know why she might … but I don’t think she would.”

  “So what then? Someone killed her?”

  “Well it doesn’t sound like it was an accident.”

  Cassie hung up the call on her husband and drove on past The Black Dog. There was the police car still parked outside and there was what looked to her like a detective, his phone tucked between his chin and his shoulder, feverishly writing in a notebook. But Cassie was well on the road to Whitby by the time the Range Rover pulled back into the car park and Charlie and Jed climbed out.

  * * * * *

  Farrah had Jed’s scotch waiting for him on the bar when Charlie and he came through the door. Jed took it and slugged it back in one.

  “You’ve been up on the moors … where they found her?” Farrah enquired all ready knowing the answer.

  “Yeah,” replied Charlie. He looked at Farrah and then at his father. “Look I think I’m going to stay over. I was going to go straight back … but I think I’ll stay. I’ll find a hotel in Whitby …”

  “You’re not staying here?” his father’s tone was accusatory.

  “I thought … I didn’t think you’d …”

  “Your mother always kept your room. She used to say you’d come back one day. She always kept it.”

  “Okay … that’s great … I’ll stay here … if that’s alright. Thanks.”

  Charlie, despite everything he’d always promised himself, found he had no choice but to stay in the place he’d vowed he’d never stay in again. But parents and especially domineering fathers can often make their sons do things they didn’t want to ...

  “ I better make a call,” announced Charlie as if somebody there cared.

  He went and sat in the corner of the pub and dialled the number for his apartment. Lucas and Amos were still drinking at the bar and ever so often Charlie would feel their eyes on him, making him feel decidedly uncomfortable.

  “I was wondering when you’d call.” Devika had answered the call in her usual manner, as if it was the most important call in the world and she had just been sitting there waiting for the phone to ring. She was an alluring mixture of that standoffish model demeanour and a skittish Indian girl who had been let out into the big bad world for the first time. Mummy and daddy Bahl, her parents, wanted her to follow in their footsteps and become a medic. They never imagined she would go far from the quaint village of Wendover in Buckinghamshire where she was born, but they got their daughter so wrong.

  “I’m staying the night,” Charlie told her.

  “Okay … I thought it was a bit crazy going up and down in a day. How’s your dad … now I know you’ve got a live one?”

  Charlie looked across at his dad who was getting another scotch from Farrah.

  “He’s … grieving … which is something I’ve never seen him do before. I didn’t know he was capable of it.”

  “He’s just lost his wife, give him a break.”

  “I am … believe me.”

  “What did she die of? Have you found out?” Devika asked in a matter of fact tone that at the same time was full of concern, a trick she’d picked up from her parents.

  “They think she killed herself.”

  There was a silence full of disbelief at the other end of the phone. Devika not able to find words that expressed her shock. After a few moments Charlie continued.

  “I don’t think she did. I don’t think she could have. I think she was killed. Somebody murdered her.”

  Devika still didn’t know what to say.

  * * * * *

  After stripping to the waist and washing himself thoroughly in the kitchen sink, a daily post work ritual for Tyler Samson, a ritual he inherited from his father, he jumped into his black Mitsubishi pick-up truck with its Le Street Mobile Motors sign and smoked windows and headed off down to The Black Dog. He wanted to hear the latest gossip surrounding Caroline Ashton’s death so he could report back to Cassie when she got back from work.

  The Samson cottage wasn’t far from the pub, but invariably Tyler drove there and back, even after he’d had a skin-full of beer. The chances of seeing a copper in Beck le Street were very slender, unless of course somebody had blown their brains out on the moors.

  He’s driven about half a mile when he suddenly, instinctively slammed his foot on the brake. Tyler stared at the reason for his abrupt stop. In the middle of the road, fear and panic etched on his face was Jenny Pearson’s boy – Kyle. Kyle was well known in the village. Some of the less kind locals referred to him as ‘the village idiot.’ Kyle had learning difficulties, but even now in his mid twenties, it was something his mother steadfastly refused to accept. Kyle was mouthing something, but Tyler couldn’t quite make out what. Tyler started to climb out of the pick-up.

  “You alright Kyle?” asked Tyler.

  “You got to help … I need help … You got to help ….”

  “Okay … calm down. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  Kyle looked at him, for a moment. Then he started to back away.

  “No … no.”

  “It’s alright Kyle…”

  But Kyle took no notice of Tyler’s attempt to calm him and screaming aloud, “No….! You and … ” he turned and ran away into the field adjacent to the road.

  It was then that Tyler saw the knife sticking out of Kyle’s back, right between the shoulder blades. He shouted after him:

  “Kyle … Kyle …!”

  But Kyle kept running. For a moment Tyler was unsure what to do. Then he jumped into his pick-up, slammed it into first gear and continued at speed to The Black Dog.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DI Jack Wood waited outside the pub until the search team arrived complete with a warrant. Wood had his doubts, but he also had his instructions. As always when the victim’s not a drug dealer, knife wielder or a prostitute the police want to show the public that the streets, or in this case the moors, are still a safe place to walk. Wood had talked to his Superintendent who hadn’t hesitated in giving Wood a directive.

  “Forget the CPS … we can sort them out later. We need action and swift action.”

  But Wood wasn’t convinced they were going after the right man, however he knew his thoughts carried no sway.

  Jed was still in the pub knocking back the scotch. He wasn’t usually this big a drinker, but the situation had got the better of him. Meanwhile Charlie was wondering how he’d allowed himself to be talked into staying at The Black Dog. This was going to be one long, tension-filled night and that was without the police’s untimely intervention.

  Wood with four uniformed officers and six search team officers all decked out in boiler suits with the word ‘POLICE’ across the back, marched into the pub. There was no doubting they meant business.

  “Mr Jed Ashton,” Wood announced unnecessarily. “We have a warrant here to search these premises and I’d like to speak to you alone. Everyone else remain where you are until the search is complete.”

  From his arrival in Beck le Street Charlie felt like he’d been drifting into some surreal nightmare. All he wanted to do was get back to London, get back to Devika and get back to his job. But he knew that if things continued in this direction, then his one night stay could end up being a lot longer.

  The police started their search of The Black Dog. Charlie waited and chatted with Farrah, while Wood talked with Jed in the upstairs lounge. Charlie had no idea what the outcome of this invasion would be, but he guessed it wouldn’t be good. Then Tyler arrived and he knew things were slipping from bad to worse. />
  “ I need to speak to the police – now!” was Tyler’s opening demand, words in The Black Dog that nobody could ever remember being spoken before.

  One of the search team had no choice but to shepherd Tyler upstairs where Wood broke off his interrogation of Jed, because there was no doubt that was what it was, even if it was disguised as something more conversational.

  Tyler didn’t seem to notice Charlie, he probably thought he was a policeman. However Charlie couldn’t miss Tyler, just over six foot, a permanent five o’clock shadow and looks that most girls would appreciate. His fashion sense was very much that of fifteen years ago. He’d found his time and was comfortable with it.

  In the lounge above the pub, Tyler related his encounter with Kyle Pearson. How he saw the boy, everyone referred to Kyle as ‘the boy’ even though he was now twenty-seven, how he was in his shorts, he always wore shorts, summer or winter, and his AC/DC tee shirt, that once after seeing the band in concert he refused to take off for over six weeks. He told him about the knife and his flight across the fields. Wood couldn’t see there was any connection between this incident and Caroline Ashton’s death, but what he did know was he’d be remiss if he didn’t check it out. He dispatched two-uniformed Bobbies straight away to accompany Tyler to the spot where he’d encountered the unlucky Kyle.

  In the interlude created by Tyler’s interruption, Charlie joined his father upstairs in the lounge. This room too was very much as he remembered it. It was lighter than any other room in the pub. The walls had light blue and cream striped wallpaper and light cream curtains. It couldn’t possibly be the same soft-furnishings as when he left, his parents must have kept on renewing them with exactly the same products.

  Wood, now with Charlie present, started to ask Jed some more questions about his movements on the morning he found Caroline was missing. As Jed went through the whole thing yet again, Charlie tried to figure out what Wood was about – somehow Charlie knew his heart wasn’t in policing. He wore the same expression that actors wore when attending the premiere of their new film that they knew to be a turkey.