by Tony McHale
“You’re not here to complain about your father’s arrest then?”
“No. I’m here to find out what the hell’s going on.”
Wood just looked at him not sure how to reply.
“Yesterday Jenny Pearson, the mother of Kyle Pearson …”
“I know who she is.”
“… was attacked and robbed.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes. Didn’t anybody report it?”
“I’m sure I would have been informed if it had been reported.”
“Don’t you find that strange?”
“Depends on how bad the attack was.”
“They thumped her in the face, broke her cheekbone and stole a number of her son’s belongings.”
Wood was at sea.
“Those same two youths were then stripped naked, hooded and jabbed repeatedly with a cattle prod, before being dumped on the moors,” said Charlie whilst observing Wood’s expression. There was genuine surprise on Wood’s face, either that or he was a good actor.
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“This police officer that warned them …”
“These are the same two youths?” Wood interrupted seeking clarification.
“Yes. Same youths. I talked to one of their mothers. She seemed to believe that Beck le Street was a law unto itself.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Wood snapped.
“So this officer doesn’t exist.”
“Course not.”
“They made it up.”
“I can’t see there being any other explanation.”
“The uniformed officer that warned them, from their description was no ordinary PC. He was of a higher rank. Maybe somebody of your rank.”
“Only time I wear a uniform is at funerals or commendations.”
“Then do you know who they’re talking about?
“No. Because as I said - he doesn’t exist. The whole thing doesn’t make any sense.”
“So you know nothing about it?”
“No … because there’s nothing to know.”
Charlie looked at him, then stood up.
“I don’t believe you, but I’ve never been keen on banging my head against a brick wall. Thanks for your time.”
Once Charlie had left, Wood started to try and work out what had gone on. He knew about Beck le Street. Officers were very rarely, if ever sent there, but that was simply because the place had very little crime. Or at least that’s what he’d been told.
What he’d never asked was … why there was so little crime there? He didn’t socialise with any of his work colleagues and he always felt they were guarded when he was around, so it was unlikely that he would pick up any juicy tit-bits about the village.
Which ranking officer was out two nights ago? He picked up the phone and was about to make some enquiries, then he thought better of it. The fewer people who knew about this the better.
At the rear of the police station was the garage where the police cars, vans and bikes were housed. Wood came into the garage. A PC, dressed in dark blue overalls was in the process of making notations on a pre-printed sheet. These notations showed the various bumps and scrapes that an unmarked Audi had acquired on its last outing. Wood didn’t know the PC, but the PC knew him. Wood nodded at him, hoping that would be the end of their how do you does. But it wasn’t.
“Can I help you?” asked the PC.
“Just something I need to check,” replied Wood hoping the nebulous answer wouldn’t be challenged. It wasn’t.
Wood went into the little office at the side of the garage and straight away saw what he was looking for … the logbook. It was open and there were the registration numbers of all the vehicles that were out that day and in the next column the names of the officers who were in those vehicles.
Wood flipped the pages back until he got to Tuesday night … the 14th. Charlie said it was night so he started looking from 1800 hours. He didn’t have to search for long. The number of police vehicles out on the roads that evening totalled six. The majority of them had the names of PCs next to them, however there was one exception. Against one registration number was the name Chief Superintendent Naylor. Naylor was the man who’d told him to arrest Jed. Naylor was the man who insisted The Black Dog was searched. Naylor was the man who, when Jed was released without charge, offered nothing in way of an alternative. What the hell was a Chief Super doing out on the road stopping youths? Normally it was God’s own job to get them out from behind their desks.
“Looking for something Jack?”
Wood turned and standing there was Chief Superintendent Sam Naylor. He was a big man, over six foot and broad, but not fat. His cheeks were constantly flushed, like he was always in the middle of a drinking session.
Wood looked across at the PC, who quickly averted his eyes. News certainly travelled fast in this police station.
“I was looking at the vehicle log.”
“For anything in particular.”
“I’ve just received information that a police officer warned two youths from going into Beck le Street. They were told that they couldn’t be protected.”
Naylor studied him for a moment. Wood found him impossible to read.
“That would have been me.”
“You?”
“As you’d already worked out.”
“Why would you tell them we couldn’t protect them?”
“Beck le Street can live without sightseers, wouldn’t you agree.”
“Yes … but I wouldn’t have thought that it warranted the personal intervention of such a high ranking officer as yourself.”
“I did it because I have respect for the people that live there. I did it because I couldn’t justify putting men out there to do what was basically a job for traffic wardens.”
“So you went out there yourself … in full uniform …” continued Wood, still trying to understand what this was about.
“I’ve never been afraid of getting my hands dirty.” Naylor stared at him defiantly. Wood realised he was getting nowhere, so he decided to come from an unexpected angle.
“What do you make of the Jenny Pearson incident?”
Naylor visibly wobbled. Wood had hit him in an area he was insecure.
“Jenny Pearson?”
“Attacked and robbed.”
Naylor looked at him for what seemed an eternity, so Wood continued.
“I’ve been told Beck le Street is a law unto itself. Jenny Pearson’s attackers have been dealt with.”
“ Who told you that?”
“Charlie Ashton.”
“Now he’s the Oracle is he? Suddenly the new kid on the block knows all there is to know about the place. Charlie Ashton knows a good pic when he sees one and that is about fucking it.”
“Why would he lie?”
“Because that’s what he does - lies! He makes things up. That’s his job. As long as it’s newsworthy, who cares if it’s true. Jack …” it came out almost gently, “concentrate on finding Caroline Ashton’s murderer, leave the rest. I promise you it isn’t important.”
Naylor turned his back on him and walked away.
Wood watched him go knowing that if it had been unimportant Naylor would never have mentioned it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
By the time Charlie returned from Whitby, Amos and Lucas were already entrenched in their regular places, while Farrah Gregory was reading an e-mail on her lap top which seemed was a permanent feature on the end of the bar.
Charlie needed to speak to Jed. Needed to know what was true and what was a lie. As he passed Farrah to go behind the bar he casually and politely smiled and asked, “My dad around?”
“Out back,” Farrah informed him without taking her eyes off the screen.
“Thanks,” said Charlie and continued on through.
“He’s in Phuket.”
“Sorry?” said Charlie, not sure what she was talking about or even if he’d heard correctly.
“Aaron … he’s in Phuket. Can you imagine that … my boy in Phuket. I’d love to go there.”
“You could fly out and join him,” Charlie suggested, by way of something to say.
“She’s a barmaid, not some paparazzi photographer,” Amos chirped up.
Charlie realised how glib he must have sounded.
“Why don’t you pay for her Charles?” said Lucas. “You’ve got enough mazuma.”
“We’ll see …” Charlie kept on walking. He just heard Amos call,
“Well is that a yes … or a no …?”
It seemed every time Charlie navigated the bar he became involved in some banter that was inevitably aimed at insulting him. In his existence as a ‘celeb’ photographer he’d suffered far worse jibes, but probably none that were quite so consistent.
In the back yard Jed was seated on an up ended beer crate, whilst pulling on a cigar. Since the smoking ban he’d taken to doing this a few times a day. He turned as he heard Charlie come out of the pub. When he saw who it was he just turned his back and took another drag on his cigar.
“I’ve just been to Whitby,” stated Charlie.
“How was it? Busy?” asked Jed.
“Not sure. Didn’t see much of the town Centre.” Charlie looked at his dad waiting for a reaction, but there wasn’t one, so he continued. “I was dropping off two youths I found up at Viking Rocks.”
“I heard,” was Jed’s surprise response.
“How?”
“When you going to learn - word gets round.”
“They could have died.”
“They wouldn’t have.” Jed was still appearing to be quite calm about the occurrence.
“Dad … they were out there naked, anything could have happened to them.”“What like? A rampant band of nomadic homosexuals just happened to be passing by and buggered ‘em to death?”
“Who knows?” replied Charlie flippantly.
“Tyler was teaching them a lesson – nowt wrong with that.”
Jed took another pull on the cigar and blew out the smoke. Charlie hated cigars, always had. Hated the smell of them, the look of them and more importantly he hated the pretentiousness of them. It was like a sign about how much money a person could actually burn. His father continued in his own time.
“Any other dead-legs will think twice about trying to pull a similar stunt. Word will get round like wild fire.”
“But it’s wrong. It’s not right.”
“What … a bit primitive for your liking, is it?”
“Primitive. It’s barbaric,” said Charlie indignantly.
“But it works. It has the right effect. None of this mamby pamby community service shit, none of this reduced sentencing crap. This deals with the problem there and then. If the government had any sense they’d let the people of Beck le Street run the criminal justice system in this country. We’d sort out the problem and we’d save the country a fortune in the process. And you need to be careful about who you’re calling barbaric. In my book what you do is far more barbaric.”
“I don’t ruin people’s lives …” Charlie was getting agitated.
“What about that footballer with the prostitute … who was he hurting. You don’t think the day that hit the papers his life wasn’t ruined. He liked dressing up in nappies … Jesus Charlie, if you think that’s okay to tell someone’s wife that, then God help you.”
Charlie wasn’t quite sure how to defend himself, even though he’d done so on many an occasion. It was a job, it was in the public interest, if he didn’t take the photos someone else would and the excuse he liked the best - it’s the price of fame. But as he stood there looking at his father, he couldn’t help but wonder if the real problem wasn’t his. Was he in fact jealous of all the stars and celebs he had no conscience about humiliating? Deep down he couldn’t help but think that the majority of them had just got lucky. But in his mind he’d never got lucky. If he’d got lucky he’d be a fashion photographer or a photo- journalist, not a paparazzi, celeb snapper.
“Then there was that TV presenter who fell over drunk,” Jed was pressing on. “Hey … which of us hasn’t done that, but most of us don’t lose our job for it.”
“Those were extreme cases,” pleaded Charlie, surprised how much his father had followed his career.
“And so were those two youths … It was an extreme case and they paid the price and now it’s all over as far we’re concerned. If they don’t try anything as stupid again, then it’s gone … forgotten. You see we don’t ruin people’s lives … not like you, not like the justice system. There’s no stigma to them lads, they can still get a job. They won’t get sacked. And you’re calling us barbaric.”
Charlie still wasn’t sure how to respond. He couldn’t help but see the logic in his father’s thinking, but his civilised lobe told him it wasn’t right. Rescuing the youths, speaking to Wood … that had to be the way to do things.
“I went to the police,” Charlie confessed, expecting a big reaction from his father. There wasn’t one, in fact there was no reaction at all. Jed just took another drag on his cigar.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Charlie eventually asked.
“Nothing to say. Obviously nothing happened, because we wouldn’t be here now if it had. You’re out of your depth son. In the big bad city people probably jumped when you told them to, but here … different rules.”
“Would you prefer it if I left?”
“You do what you want? You walked out once before … I’m not going to try stop you walking out again. You didn’t care then … you don’t care now.”
“Didn’t care about what?”
“Your mother …”
“That’s not true,” protested Charlie.
“It’s totally true and you know it.” Jed was starting to breathe a little heavier as he glared at his son. This confrontation was reminiscent for both of them. This type of row was commonplace two or three years prior to Charlie leaving Beck Le Street. “You were never a son to her,” continued Jed, “but she was always a mother to you. You should have shown her some respect … just some.”
Charlie was defiant. “I learnt at the knee dad. I learnt my respect from you …”
“You’re trying to blame me for your selfishness?” There was an incredulous tremor in Jed’s voice.
“If that’s what you want to think.”
“It wasn’t me who cut you off. It wasn’t me that stopped you picking up the phone and calling. It wasn’t me that made you walk out. It was you! You … not me! You chose to leave …” Jed left the sentence hanging in the air.
“I chose to escape …”
“To escape from what?” Jed screamed. “To escape from what?”
“You …!” Then as if all the fight had suddenly left him, Charlie simply and almost inaudibly uttered, “ To escape from you dad.”
Jed looked at his son. He’d never thought ever that he could be the reason his son had left. Why would he be? As far as he was concerned he’d never done anything wrong. This was just typical of Charlie’s generation; they always had to have an excuse for their bad behaviour. It was never their fault. Jed looked at his cigar that had gone out and then took out a gold lighter and relit it, whilst Charlie was wishing he’d never allowed himself to be dragged into this.
“I’m sorry dad … I’m just a bit upset … like you.”
Another excuse for his behaviour. If he was a man he’d admit the true reason – he’s a selfish bastard.
“All I want to know is what happened to mum.”
“And you don’t think I do?”
/> “She left everything to me in her Will …”
“Meaning?
“What was going on? What had happened between you and her?”
Jed could feel the anger boiling inside him, but he was determined to keep his cool. “Nothing. Nothing was going on.”
“What about Kyle?” Charlie had told himself this was territory that he wouldn’t explore, but somehow he found himself knowing he had to.
“What about Kyle?’
“He was living here … in the cellar … and you didn’t know?”
“No.”
“But mum knew?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could Kyle have killed her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You know what he thought of her.”
“What? What did he exactly think of her?”
“She saved his life. She was like a mother to him.”
“And that was it?” probed Charlie looking for some glimmer in his father that meant he could forget this line of questioning. But instead of a glimmer there was something in Jed’s brown eyes that told him he was hiding something.
“Where’s this going?”
“I’m just asking … about her being like a mother to Kyle …”
“Come on spit it out,” Jed’s desire to remain placid was starting to waiver.
“The woman who picked up the youths, said there was a rumour …”
“About Kyle …?”
“Yes ...”
“What did she say?”
Charlie suddenly didn’t want to go there. Ever since the woman first muted the suggestion that there was something between his mother and Kyle, he’d found it impossible to get it out of his mind, but now faced with the chance of the rumour turning into reality, he didn’t want to know.
“ It was just a rumour …”
“Tell him Jed … just tell him.”
Charlie turned to see Farrah standing there. She wasn’t looking at him; she was looking at Jed with a look that Charlie didn’t quite understand.
“You should tell him the truth,” Farrah continued looking at Jed. “Tell him what we know.” There was a familiarity about Farrah’s tone, which Charlie knew he didn’t have with his father.
