by Tony McHale
As he crossed back over Strait Lane, his mind wondering where Cassie would be at this time of day, he saw two youths pull up in their small Ford Focus with its oversized exhaust. He couldn’t help but speculate about what they were doing there. At the same time he couldn’t resist taking some shots of them.
Set against the a background that hadn’t really changed much in a hundred years, the youths looked very incongruous, like a nun in a brothel, or a soldier in a children’s playground. They had on the obligatory street gear. The taller of the two, whose head at a distance looked completely shaved, but in fact just had a very … very close cropped haircut, wore a tee shirt which was a homage to The Heavy Metal Kids, shabby track suit bottoms and trainers. The shorter one had a dark blue hooded sweatshirt, the hood covering his head of course, baggy jeans that hung around his backside and trainers. They headed into Jenny Pearson’s shop, totally oblivious of either Charlie or his camera.
Charlie was wondering how to get hold of Cassie, he didn’t have her phone number – it didn’t seem appropriate to ask for it the night she arrived with Kyle’s body in the back of the pick-up. He could always go to her cottage he mused, but then quickly decided against it. He didn’t want Tyler getting the wrong idea and if he knew about his teenage romance with Cassie, then Tyler could quite easily get the wrong idea. What Charlie did remember about Beck le Street was that both males and females were very defensive about their sexual territory. Invade it at your peril. He decided he didn’t want to have Tyler Samson baying for his blood.
The Black Dog seemed the best option. He could get Cassie’s number from either his dad or Farrah. At which point he heard the sound of a throaty car rattling down Strait Lane. He turned to look and saw an old gold Porsche indicating to stop adjacent to him. The car was over twenty years old, a 911 Carrera, which was in need of some serious work. However the electric windows still worked, as was proved by the passenger side window being slowly opened. Charlie looked tentatively into the car; something in the opening window had clearly invited him to do so. Seated behind the wheel was Cassie. Her expression was open, half smiling as if this meeting had been arranged.
“Hi,” she said in the warm way Charlie always remembered.
“Hi.”
“I saw you, so I thought I’d stop.”
“Good. Didn’t recognise the car. Thought you drove a pick-up.”
“That’s Tyler’s … and the police have got it. Forensic and all that. Teach me to try and do the right thing.”
There was a pause as if both were too scared to speak.
“I normally drive an Espace,” Cassie continued, “but Tyler was taking Georgie to school, so he needed something he could put his chair in.”
“Right,” was all Charlie could say.
“This …” she was meaning the Porsche, “… has been in the garage forever. Tyler was meant to be doing it up for me, but never got round to it. I was surprised when it started.”
“I think it’s pretty cool.”
“Cool,” she reiterated and smiled as if it was a word she wasn’t familiar with. “Sorry I didn’t say anything the other night, it’s just you were the last person I expected to see.”
“Same with me.”
“How long you staying?”
“Till this is all over.”
Cassie looked at him, there was a sadness in her eyes. Charlie knew she was feeling for him.
“I never expected to see you back here. I thought you were through with our little village,” she eventually said.
“No. I just wasn’t the best son.” She gave him a little smile. “ I was about to ring you,” he continued.
“Didn’t know you had my number. It’s not the same one I rung you from fifteen years ago.”
“To wish me a Merry Christmas.”
“You remember …?” She was genuinely surprised.
“Yeah … I remember every word.” As soon as he’d said it he wished he hadn’t. It was too much … it was a play, or at least that’s the way it sounded. He didn’t want to play; he didn’t want to get involved, not with anyone or anything in Beck le Street.
“So do I,” was Cassie’s reply. And Charlie couldn’t help but think – Game on.
“I wanted to talk to you about my mum’s death. I thought you’re the one person that wouldn’t bullshit me.”
Again Charlie knew what all this sounded like. It sounded like he was flirting. Flirting over his mother’s murder. He had to stop. He didn’t want to do it. He had to get it back to the right side of that sexual territory divide.
“Don’t think there’s much to tell you. It was a shock to everyone here.”
“So you think it could have been an outsider.”
“Yeah - it has to be. Can you think of anyone here that would raise a finger to your mum? We all adored her. I just assumed it was a robbery that went bad.”
“Not suicide?”
“Yeah … at first. But I heard the police had ruled that out.”
“They have.”
“So I thought robbery. I still think robbery. Maybe Kyle disturbed them …”
“That’s possible,” agreed Charlie. “After all he was living in the cellar.”
“He disturbed them and he had to be dealt with … which is why he was murdered.”
Cassie’s theory seemed to make sense. But yet there was still a nagging feeling in the back of Charlie’s brain, that this was something else. His mother’s murder was too brutal, too final, too much of an execution to be a botched robbery. But the real motive for this brutal crime he feared might elude him forever.
They chatted for a good fifteen minutes about how things hadn’t changed, where she worked, how Tyler and she coped with Georgie and how she was glad she’d stayed in Beck le Street. But Charlie didn’t believe any of it. What he heard was a girl who was putting on a brave face, a girl who never asked him about his life, because she was afraid her true feelings would surface and she’d be unable to control them.
All Charlie wanted to do was ask her out for a meal. Lunch, supper … breakfast even, he didn’t care. He just wanted to sit across a table and find out what was happening deep down inside of her. Or at least that’s what he told himself. If he had been able to search his own soul he would have known that what he really wanted to know was whether she still in any way, shape or form, wanted to be with him. That’s what he wanted to know. But he wasn’t going to admit this, not even to himself. He was going to blissfully continue believing his motive altruistic.
The invite was on the tip of his tongue when out of Jenny Pearson’s shop tumbled the two youths each carrying various papers. They half ran half stumbled to their Ford Focus, laughing and sharing some joke.
“Hey!” It was Jenny now in the door of her shop. Her whole stance was one of fear mixed with distress. Charlie knew instantly these boys had done something to hurt her.
“Those are mine,” Jenny set off across the road. “Give ‘em back!”
Instead of fleeing the youths turned and stood their ground. If they were aware that Charlie was watching they showed no concern. There was no desperation to escape, in fact it seemed they were relishing the idea of confrontation
“What’s going on?” Cassie asked trying to turn her head to see, the action happening all behind her.
“Two youths,” was all Charlie said as he set off towards the middle of Strait Lane, where Jenny was now approaching the youths who were already starting to taunt her.
“Got a problem …?” the hooded youth took up the aggressive stance, legs apart, hands at his side beckoning the old lady as if she were some revival gang leader.
“Give it back.”
“No these are ours. So fuck off you stupid fucker!”
“Give them to me!”
“You fucking deaf!”
Jenny wasn’t giving up.
“What’s going on?” he bellowed.
The youths turned and saw Charlie striding towards them. Charlie didn’t look particularly threatening, his suit, fitted shirt and long hair, didn’t generate an image of violence. But his approaching presence was enough to make the youths decide it was time for them to leave.
Jenny however wasn’t just going to let them depart with her belongings and made a grab for the papers in their hands. The taller youth, the one without the hoodie, lashed out with his fist, making contact with Jenny’s face. Jenny went sprawling backwards, the blow sending both her mind and her body reeling. She ended up on a crumpled heap in the middle of the road.
With the onset of physical violence Charlie broke into a run. The taller youth decided that he wanted to take Charlie on, he’d got a taste for blood, but the hooded youth wanted out. Grabbing his mate by the arm he dragged him to the car. The taller youth was still shouting hostile profanities as he jumped into the passenger seat. The hooded youth revealed he was a seasoned pro at fast getaways, for no sooner had his backside hit the drivers’ seat, the key was in the ignition and the engine was roaring to life.
Charlie got to the car just as the engine kicked in. He grabbed the passenger door and managed to open it before the hooded youth floored the accelerator and the car started to pull away at speed. Charlie hung onto the door as long as he could, but eventually he knew it was a pointless exercise and let go, much to the delight of the taller youth who laughed and gestured with the V sign with both hands as the car tore away out of the village.
By the time Charlie had turned back to see what devastation the youths had left behind, Cassie was already by Jenny’s side. Another car had stopped and was also coming to her aid.
Jenny’s nose was bleeding and it looked like her cheekbone was fractured. The quite North Yorkshire village was turning into some Clockwork Orangesque territory.
As he stared in disbelief at the battered shopkeeper, Charlie took out his mobile and spoke to both the ambulance service and the police.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
That night in The Black Dog talk naturally revolved round the attack on Jenny Pearson. There was much speculation about whether the youths could be the killers of Caroline and Kyle. They targeted Jenny, Kyle’s mother and they were clearly ruthless. If Charlie hadn’t intervened then Jenny’s injuries could have been fatal … that was the consensus of opinion.
When Charlie came down from his room Farrah was at the end of the bar e-mailing her son Aaron who was in Bangkok. She hadn’t heard from him for a few days. She’d been asking for some photos, Aaron was the complete opposite to Charlie. He’d told his mum that he’d always found cameras an invasion of privacy and they only captured falsehoods, not truths. Nevertheless she’d managed to persuade him to buy one and he’d sent her various photos of various places and various girls, only now to have his camera stolen by a couple of youths on mopeds. Talk of this naked theft was the natural lead in to what had happened that morning.
“Do we know what they stole?” asked Charlie who wasn’t really bothered about Aaron’s Thai exploits.
“Yeah … Jenny told Cassie.”
Charlie waited to hear, but Farrah had more to tell before she answered his question directly.
“You know what they did, don’t you?” she continued.
Charlie shook his head.
“One of them said they were ill. He asked if he could sit down in the back. You know she has that little sitting room at the back of the shop. Of course she says yes – you know what Jenny’s like, she’d see the best in Peter Sutcliffe.”
“I know – I’d just been in there myself,” Charlie stated.
“Anyway she says she’ll make him a cup of tea … thinks it might help him feel better, and while she goes up to the kitchen to get some more milk, they rifle through her things. They take all the photos of Kyle and anything to do with him. He had them colouring books, you know like kids have, he liked to colour them in, well there were a couple of those hanging around and they stole them. There was also a certificate he got from when they let him win at sports day … they had that away. Bastards.”
“Why? What good are they to them?” asked Charlie.
“They reckon they’ll try and sell ‘em to the papers.”
Charlie went silent. He knew what she was thinking already.
“I suppose it’s only what you do, isn’t it?”
“No.” Charlie’s retort was too quick. He knew that. It made him seem very defensive. Perhaps he was. “What I do is totally different. I photograph people who make a living out of being in the papers. It’s not the same.”
“Oh … right.” Farrah clearly didn’t see the difference.
“I take it she didn’t know them,” he said moving the subject on.
“No … everyone reckons they must be from Whitby. You speak to the police?”
“Yeah. I’m going tomorrow - make a statement. They also want my photos.”
“What photos?”
“I saw them arrive. They stuck out like a sore thumb. Contrasts always make good photos.”
Farrah’s mind was changing gear. And was still changing gear when she went to serve one of The Black Dog’s regulars.
But talk of the photos had made Charlie curious. He wanted to see what he’d captured … if anything. He went back upstairs to his bedroom. It was a slight haven in a world that stagnated in permanency.
Sitting on the end of his bed he checked the photos on his laptop. There they were seven shots in total and a clear reading of the number plate on the Ford Focus. Charlie wondered why the police hadn’t asked to see the photos straight away.
There was a knock on his bedroom door. Charlie opened it.
“Do you have them photos?” Farrah asked straight away.
“Yeah.”
“Tyler would like to look at them.”
“Tyler Samson?”
“Do you know another Tyler?”
The answer was obviously – “No.”
Tyler Samson, now married to Cassie. Do all roads lead to Cassie? He was beginning to think so. Tyler was a few years older than him, a contemporary of Lucas and Amos. The three of them used to be as thick as thieves. They were often seen hanging around the school gates years after they’d left. Maybe it was because his dad was landlord of the local pub that Charlie seemed to have less bother with them than most. They were at that age that they couldn’t risk the landlord banning them or refusing any of their underage girlfriends. However it didn’t stop Charlie being wary of them.
Charlie went back to the bar carrying his MacBook and wondering what Cassie had told her husband about the day’s events.
Farrah followed him in and nodded directing his attention to the corner of the pub. There was Tyler. And he wasn’t alone. Next to him were Cassie and Georgie. Cassie looked younger than she had done that morning. She was dressed in a light summer frock and Charlie could see the outline of her figure. In his mind she still had the same figure she had when she was fifteen. Charlie couldn’t help look at her and it was only Tyler’s voice that stopped him.
“ You want a drink?”
“Er … no thanks.”
“Sorry to hear about your mum,” said Tyler. Was this sentiment genuine …? Charlie had no way of knowing as it was said in such a matter-of-fact tone he could have been referring to the size of eggs.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah … really sorry Charlie.” It was Cassie and there was no doubting her depth of sympathy, only it was as if they’d never discussed the subject before and their morning meeting had never happened.
“You know any more about what happened?” Tyler asked.
Charlie just shook his head, thinking how strange it was th
at Tyler was conducting this conversation as if he’d never left.
“This is Georgie …” Cassie used her son to change the subject for some reason.
“Hi Georgie.”
“Hi …” said Georgie in a way that elongated the vowel sound.
Charlie held out his hand and Georgie’s twisted arm managed to go someway to meeting Charlie’s. Charlie shook his hand gently.
“It’s okay. He won’t break. He’s as tough as old boots is our Georgie.”
Georgie liked the compliment from his dad and smiled whilst nodding his head. It was clear to Charlie that Cassie and Tyler brought their son up with an attitude that he was just like everyone else. Here he was with a pint of lager in front of him, gear primarily Nike and a pair of glasses that any ‘A’ list star would have purchased. Even his wheelchair they’d tried to give style by having waves painted on it that seemed to ripple when the chair moved.
“I hear you took some photos,” continued Tyler.
“Yeah.” Charlie was desperately trying not to look at Cassie, but at the same time didn’t want to seem to be ignoring her.
Charlie flipped open his computer, hit the mouse and the photos appeared on the screen. Tyler stared at the photos, while Charlie sneaked a glance at Cassie. She felt his eyes on her and for a moment she glanced up and they looked straight at each other. But it was only for a moment.
“This their car?” asked Tyler indicating one of the photographs.
“That’s the one they got out of.”
“Got a pencil?” Tyler looked at Charlie just expecting he’d have one.
“Er …” Charlie started to search his pockets.
“I’ll go to the bar…,” offered Georgie in his elongated speech.
Georgie with the use of his left hand started his chair in motion and guided it to the bar.
“Great boy you got there.”
“Don’t patronise us,” Tyler retorted with a sudden menace in his voice. “You want to say how the fuck do we manage. Well we do … and he does. That’s all that matters.”
“I wasn’t patronising you, I was making an observation,” Charlie hit back.
