Stench

by AB Morgan

  ‘Yes, er … that is, Yes, I think you can help.’

  He then told a whacking great lie.

  ‘My name is … Keith Grayson and I’m manager of the Great Culverstone Early Intervention Service. We were contacted by one of our old clients who moved to your area. Her name is Anna Chamberlain. She sounded very unwell and I’m making enquiries to see if she’s been picked up by you yet.’

  ‘Where did you say you were from again?’

  ‘Devon. Great Culverstone in Devon.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I remember you. We spoke last week, didn’t we?’

  Rory’s face screwed up at this news. The real Keith must have phoned.

  ‘Sorry Keith, but we haven’t even found her to be able to assess. Her GP referred her on Friday afternoon, which, as you know, is the busiest time for us. We phoned Anna’s home and her mobile but there was no answer.’

  ‘Did anyone actually go looking for her?’

  ‘Well, no. There was no point really.’

  Rory could feel the pressure building inside him. No point? What the hell was that supposed to indicate? Caring, sharing, and a loving concern about a fellow human being who was in dire need of help? No point?

  ‘I don’t really know what to say to that … would you please let me know when she does appear? The police have her as a missing person so it might be an idea to keep them in the loop too.’ Rory ended the call by repeating the telephone contact number for Keith Grayson, which he knew off by heart.

  ‘Useless. Bastard useless,’ he bemoaned. ‘Steve. There’s a possibility that Anna may have trashed the place. I’ll call the police and let them know.’

  * * *

  Later that same afternoon, on the day of his final test, Grant returned to the portacabin.

  ‘No door? Had a bit of trouble have we?’ He was fidgeting and chewing gum, like a cow does the cud, as if his life depended on it.

  ‘Bad day to give up smoking, eh?’ Steve noted, eyeing the packet of Nicorette gum that Grant had in his hand.

  ‘I haven’t. I’m topping up. It’s ludicrous at my age being this nervous, but it’s getting the better of me today.’

  Steve had advice to give. ‘My old mate Dave Brady - who was an instructor here before he went and got rich on the lottery - he used to repeat the same phrase, “keep it simple, stupid”. I reckon that was it, anyway.’

  Despite the stress of the day Rory put his professional head on.

  ‘I think what my colleague is trying to say is – don’t over complicate things. Breathe and focus just like you did before. You’re a car driver. Follow the rules of the road and listen to the instructions from the examiner. Stick this in your ear for now,’ he said, handing Grant the radio set through which he would give directions and comments during their practise ride through town.

  Steve was left waiting for the locksmith.

  28

  A Testing Time

  Sitting in the test centre, willing his pupil to pass, Rory fidgeted.

  Grant had a practise ride-out full of errors and Rory was left clinging to the belief that a bad dress rehearsal was a good omen when it came to the real examination. Forty minutes of tension was interminable, leading to pacing like an expectant father. As usual he handled the waiting by casually chatting to other instructors and candidates.

  Charlie Brooks from Goodwheels cut him short and headed down a corridor to make a fictitious mobile phone call. At first, when he approached him, even jovial fellow instructor Tim Evans seemed avoidant of Rory’s polite enquiries about business, but as soon as the break-in at Ride-Right was mentioned he responded.

  ‘I should imagine you have a certain Wayne Fewtrell in your sights. He came to see us the other day. He’s not your number one fan. Apparently, you refused to take him for his CBT, so we’ve booked him in. When I saw him at the steam rally yesterday he said you were still gunning for him. He also told me you were the last person to see that missing woman alive and he saw you drag her cousin off as well, right in front of him. Only she hasn’t been seen since either … so they say.’

  Rory gave a derisive snort.

  ‘Is that right? Did he also tell you that he can’t do his CBT because he hasn’t actually applied for his licence?’ Tim deflated slightly at this news. ‘Look, Tim, that boy is pissed off with me and to be honest I’m fucking furious with him. I can’t think who else it would be coming into the compound and trashing the portacabin, can you?’

  ‘No, but it’s not just Wayne, other people are talking about you and that girl … it does look a bit suspicious you going to her house and stuff.’

  ‘What “other people” are we talking about here?’

  ‘You know. Locals. They hear things.’

  Rory had always appreciated the benefits of living a genteel rural life, but standing there he realised the disadvantages of working in a close-knit community when the local rumour-mongers had the wrong information.

  ‘Tim, do me a favour and take my word for it. I’m not involved with Anna Chamberlain, I was trying to help her mother-in-law to find her, but now I wish I hadn’t bothered. Oh, and if you see Wayne Fewtrell on your travels, let him know the police want to see him.’

  Tim made a feeble excuse about needing to talk to the administrator about something and moved off. Thirty seconds later Rory caught them both glancing back at him, huddled in hushed conversation.

  After twenty minutes of Grant’s test had gone by, Rory distracted himself by composing an email to the local authority pest control department, requesting assistance with a suspected rat infestation. This led to exploration of humane rat traps on Amazon.

  Lost in the labyrinth of online shopping, Rory nearly failed to catch the return of his pupil followed shortly by the examiner, both highly fluorescent. Rory checked his watch. ‘Oh no. They’re back too soon.’

  Grant’s facial expression gave nothing away as he followed the examiner into the test centre. ‘Are you happy for your instructor to hear your results?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ replied a trembling Grant, barely able to hold on to his crash helmet.

  ‘Well, I’m pleased to say that, on this occasion, you passed.’ Grant looked across at Rory, eyes and mouth wide open, eyebrows at the extreme of their travel upwards.

  ‘There were only two minors …’

  Rory sent Steve a text with the good news before heading back to base. They knew head office would be pleased to hear one piece of positive news that day. The Lower Marton branch of Ride-Right’s franchise was not doing nearly as well as their nearest rivals and, to add to the misery of the vandalism, bookings were waning which was highly unusual for late summer and early autumn when they should be oversubscribed.

  Drop-out rates for the month hadn’t been helped by Anna Chamberlain or Wayne Fewtrell.

  * * *

  When Rory arrived back at base Steve handed him a set of new keys before heading home. The portacabin was tidy, the bikes locked away, and even the sink had been cleaned. Rory knew he should have been concentrating on plans for managing with at least one bike out of action for the foreseeable future, but what Tim had said started to plague him.

  Another call to the police was needed to settle his agitation and on this occasion the request was dealt with efficiently. Rory managed to have a sensible conversation with an officer who, on the surface, appeared to understand.

  ‘We have your report on the system, but she’s not flagged as a vulnerable adult so nothing has been put in motion as far as her status as a missing person.’

  ‘You have to be kidding me. She has significant mental health problems, and she hasn’t been seen since last Thursday. What about the assault on her relative Mrs Brenda Chamberlain? Are you still seeking to interview Anna about that?’ Rory could hear himself steering the officer towards action.

  ‘Hang on, she’s been reported again as a missing person by a relative. It’s just popped up on the screen. Right then, we can get moving. Do you have a picture of the missing lady?’<
br />
  The best Rory could do was a description and to repeat the details of his last sighting of her as she rolled beneath the hedge opposite his cottage. Having been reassured about action to find Anna Chamberlain, he phoned the hospital and spoke to Brenda with the good news.

  ‘You are a lovely man. Thank you for taking the trouble to keep me informed. It’s such a shame that other people don’t seem to have the same positive impression of you.’

  ‘Sorry? I’m not sure what you mean?’

  ‘Anna’s cousin came to see me yesterday.’

  ‘The spikey Gemma Waterford.’

  ‘That’s the one. She tells me you broke into Anna’s house. Now you shouldn’t have got yourself onto the wrong side of the law on my account. That was unnecessary, and I can’t condone what you did.’

  ‘Brenda, please stop right there. I did not break in. The front door was open.’

  ‘Oh. Don’t tell me you weren’t rummaging through her knicker drawer either.’

  ‘No I wasn’t. Who told you that?’ Rory couldn’t help the rising volume and his tone of objection. He was thrown by the glaring inaccuracies that now formed hearsay.

  ‘The vicar mentioned that you’d been arrested for trespass and that you’d been found in Anna’s bedroom, and also that Dr Dalby is suing you for harassment because you pestered her for two days solidly and repeatedly hassled her at the rally. Her husband had to protect her from your ranting enquiries.’

  ‘No, that’s rubbish. Utter rubbish. I wasn’t arrested, I wasn’t in anyone else’s bedroom and I certainly didn’t approach Dr Dalby in an aggressive manner, even if I did want to strangle the bloody woman. If that’s what people think then I dread to find out what else is being said.’ Rory paused to draw breath.

  ‘You know what Churchill said, dear, “a lie will have made it half way around the world before truth has got its pants on”, or something along those lines. Try not to worry, I’ll put them straight.’

  ‘I’d be grateful if you could. What is it with that Gemma anyway? Why has she got it in for me?’

  ‘She’s overprotective, that’s all. Anna had a difficult childhood and Gemma became the only one she could trust. She practically grew up with her. Why do you think her parents live in Spain?’

  ‘Whose parents? Anna’s?’

  ‘Yes, dear. We hardly see them. They didn’t even stick around when she went into hospital after Damien’s funeral, probably because she said the most dreadful things about her father once she was completely off her rocker. Awful accusations. He was too upset to see her. They don’t speak to Gemma because she believed what Anna said was true. There was a catastrophic rift in the family as a result of that.’

  ‘Thanks. I think that goes some way to helping, not far, but it gives me some hope.’

  Rory didn’t know what else to say to Brenda. A deep sense of regret was knocking on his subconscious as he ended the call. He glared at the phone. ‘Why did I end up living here? Why did she decide to take bike lessons? Why can’t I simply walk away?’

  His final administrative task that Tuesday was started nearly an hour later. Rory sat at the laptop typing the results of the day into the company database when he heard a vehicle pull in. He meandered absentmindedly to the door expecting to see a parent with an awkward teenager making an enquiry. It wasn’t. A smartly dressed and tanned couple had alighted from a car and were striding towards him. Fixed stares. His first thought was that Steve had managed to generate another complaint about blasphemy, but he soon dismissed this when he noticed how firmly the man in sunglasses held the woman by the hand. There was an urgency about the way they approached him.

  ‘Are you Rory?’

  ‘Yes. Can I help you?’

  ‘We hope so. I’m Scott Pardew and this is Joyce, my wife.’

  The names meant nothing to Rory, even though they had been said in such a way as to insinuate that they should.

  ‘Sorry I …’ Rory’s blank expression gave a clear sign to the couple before him.

  ‘Anna Chamberlain’s parents.’

  Rory reversed.

  ‘Please come into the office.’

  ‘No, thanks. We can’t stay for long. The police want to speak to us. We just wanted to introduce ourselves. Brenda says you’ve been instrumental in forcing the search for Anna and that you were the last person to have seen her. How bad was she? What sort of things was she saying?’

  29

  Wednesday - A Discovery

  Barney lumbered out into the road, flagging Rory down. ‘Can’t let you drive by. You’ll have to come in for a cuppa.’

  ‘I can’t, I need a shower.’

  ‘The shower can wait. We need an update.’

  ‘Which update do you want? The saga of mother and Robert The Brave, Wayne Fewtrell the vandal or where’s Anna Chamberlain?’

  After arguing for a while, Barney shooed Rory towards the kitchen at the back of the house where Annette was loading a plate with cheese scones. ‘We were still peckish after dinner. You’re late going home.’ She regarded Rory over the top of her glasses, which had slipped down her nose. ‘You know, most people’s eyes light up when they smell a plate of warm scones such as these beauties. You don’t have a healthy relationship with food, do you?’

  ‘It’s not on my list of major interests and pastimes, no.’

  ‘I knew you were a weirdo,’ Barney piped up as he slathered copious amounts of butter onto the cheese scone he had cut in half on a plate. ‘That explains why you’re so bloody thin.’

  ‘I’m not thin, I’m slender… athletic.’

  ‘Is that right? Well in this household we call that “emaciated” - now get one of these down your neck and stop wittering.’

  Rory wasn’t convinced that he had been wittering, but he did as he was told. Annette handed him a mug of strong tea and he caught her doubting expression. ‘How can anyone not like food? It simply can’t be possible. Does not compute. Anyway, changing the subject, what is the news on Anna Chamberlain and dear old Brenda? We’ve been asking around and no one has set eyes on Anna since she arrived at your place covered in dirt.’

  It took very little time to ensure Annette and Barney were abreast of the current situation.

  ‘That’s a relief. At least the police are taking this seriously at last,’ Barney concluded. ‘Mind you, I’ve yet to see a jam sandwich pass by here today and, now that you mention it, there were only a few plod to be seen at the steam rally, which was fun when it kicked off in the fairground just like it does every year. Have you been asked to make a statement?’

  ‘About Anna? Not really. I told them my concerns, gave a description and that was about it. Her parents will most likely be the ones they’ll liaise with, I would think.’

  When Rory touched on the amount of misinformation that was being spread like wildfire about his run-in with police at Anna’s house, he saw the exchange of glances between his friends and knew then that the gossip had been rife.

  ‘I can’t believe what people will accept as being the truth. Why would I be furtling around in the woman’s underwear drawer? The only thing I touched was this,’ he said as he produced a creased sheet of paper taken from Anna’s lounge. ‘She’s really lost the plot. Have a look.’

  Annette grabbed at the paper, reading it aloud. ‘“The itinerant workers are collected from the motorway services and housed in the mobile homes on site. They appear undernourished and exhausted”. That’s the typed bit, and then there is red pen with arrows everywhere. What is this? “Industrial acid and tanks for disposal of bodies”; oh dear, she really has got a ticket to the moon. “Lifting women off the streets rolled in carpet for sex slaves”, that’s what it says.’ She looked up at Rory.

  ‘I think she’s on a mission to prove her theory and she’s driven by her own delusions. I would suggest there’s a distinct possibility that she’s been staking out Fewtrell’s Yard and may be trying to smuggled herself in there.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Bar
ney said, buttering another warm scone. ‘I’ll phone Joe up at the farm tomorrow and ask him to keep an eye out in the hedgerows. He can take that dog of his.’

  Rory made the short journey through the dark of the unlit lane, taking it steady as he rode his motorcycle towards home. He’d stayed with his friends far longer than anticipated, enjoying the warm company at Ribble’s Garage. The end of August saw the night’s drawing in again, and although it was still balmy for England, the wind had picked up with great gusts threatening to unseat Rory from his bike as he passed by a gap in the hedgerow on the tight bend in Quarry Farm Lane. Having regained his balance, without too much hardship, he was forced to brake hard when his headlights picked out Joe’s tractor parked half on the verge, rear end on the narrow road. With the main beams of the tractor aimed at the spinney, Rory had not immediately worked out that it was sideways on. He slowed, flicking down the gears and turned alongside the farm vehicle, keen to discover what Joe was up to. In the shafts of light originating from the bike and the tractor, Joe could be seen pulling at a branch of a fallen tree, his dog helping by tugging with his mouth at a lower part.

  ‘Joe? Are you alright?’

  ‘Kip. Stay. Rory, is that you? Some bugger has dumped a car in my spinney. Why they couldn’t get it a few hundred yards further along into the scrapyard defeats me. I wouldn’t ’ave seen it but by pure chance the headlights reflected off the glass or the chrome or whatever.’

  ‘What were you doing out on your tractor in the dark?’

  ‘Can’t say. Might incriminate you. It involves foxes.’

  ‘Say no more.’

  The two men worked together to clear the dozens of intertwined branches from around the car, aided by the discovery of a bow saw left by its owner in the long grass. Despite the poor lighting Rory soon recognised whose car it was that had been left abandoned.

  ‘Shit. I think we have to stop. I need to call the police.’