Stench

by AB Morgan

  ‘Shouldn’t we check inside it first?’ A knowing look passed between them and a shiver made its way up the back of Rory’s neck as the possibility of Anna’s suicide lodged in his mind. Through the passenger window they peered, hands cupped on the glass and around their eyes. ‘Nothing. No body. Should we search the spinney?’

  ‘I think we should wait for the police to do that, in case we contaminate a crime scene.’

  ‘What bloody crime scene? This ’ere is a dumped car.’

  ‘No. Well, yes, it is, but it belongs to someone who’s gone missing. If her car is here, then she must be around somewhere.’

  ‘She? A girl is it? Well let’s ’ope she ain’t gone anywhere near the Fewtrells’ place.’

  Rory was having the same thought.

  They both turned in the direction of the compound. Bright halogen security lights beamed down from each upright of the grey metal entrance gates giving more menace to the barbed wire that stretched across the ridge of each.

  ‘Like a POW camp ain’t it?’

  ‘Yep. Only noisier.’

  ‘And smellier, and more violent. ‘Specially this week with them gypoes and didds from the rally turning up. They’re a bunch of trouble, mark my words. Best call the Old Bill then.’

  * * *

  It was a good forty-five minutes before a patrol car appeared, during which time Joe had killed the engine of the tractor having driven it up the track and off the road. One fresh-faced police officer approached them. Rory guessed he was no more than twenty years old. He had come alone.

  ‘Evening gentlemen, I’m PC Armitage. Now then, you believe you have stumbled across the car belonging to a Mrs Anna Chamberlain. Is that correct?’ The constable called in to the station via his radio giving the registration details of the vehicle and his position and waited for a response.

  ‘Don’t you lot work in pairs no more?’

  The policeman laughed at Joe as he put on a pair of blue nitrile gloves and took out a torch. ‘Those were the good old days. We don’t have the manpower for two officers to deal with missing persons and abandoned cars anymore, not unless we think it’s more serious than that. Anyone in the car?’

  He shone the torch through the windows, and tried the door handle on the driver’s side. The car was unlocked. ‘What is this?’ The young constable smelt the black substance that had been smeared over the door handle and which now resided on his gloves. ‘Smells like old engine oil. Maybe she broke down.’

  ‘And pushed the car backwards into a spinney?’

  ‘No, you’re right, that doesn’t make any sense, does it? Stay here while I have a look in the immediate vicinity in case she’s collapsed nearby. Do either of you gentlemen know if she has any medical problems?’

  Rory answered, ‘She has a serious mental health problem.’

  ‘No, I meant one that could affect her ability to seek help for herself.’

  ‘Yes. She has a serious mental health problem.’

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

  ‘Not at all. I used to work as a mental health nurse. The last time I saw her she was behaving bizarrely; covered in black oil, just like the stuff on your glove, and she ran away to hide in a hedge over there opposite my house.’

  PC Armitage turned his torch on Rory making him cower away from the direct light blinding him. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised before confronting Rory. ‘You left her like that? Didn’t you think to call for help at the time?’

  Rory couldn’t control himself. His irritation and resentment rose to the surface, his index finger was directed at the police officer’s sternum. He let fly. ‘Now who’s trying to be funny? As it happens - and please don’t think I’m being rude- but the services around here are diabolical. I have been trying to get help for Anna since last Wednesday, and her mother-in-law has been seeking assistance for the poor girl for longer than that. It has taken me, her cousin and her parents flying in from Spain to achieve anything in the way of action since she’s been missing.’

  Joe smirked. ‘That told you, sonny. How about we start looking for this ’ere girl instead of bickering? Now then.’

  ‘She was following the Fewtrells every day, so I would suggest you start there,’ Rory said changing the direction of his index finger and swinging it like a weather-vane towards the stark outline of the compound not half-a-mile away.

  ‘That’s Leonard Fewtrell’s place. What on earth was she doing following his lot?’

  Rory let out a long, weary lungful of air. ‘As I said, she has a serious mental illness. She believes she is an undercover researcher and is convinced that the Fewtrells are flaunting employment law, engaging in modern day slavery and disposal of bodies. I’ve no idea what else she was assuming because she didn’t say. It was hush-hush for a documentary.’

  ‘Is this documentary being filmed?’

  ‘No. It does not exist. There is no documentary. It’s not really happening. This is part of her illness.’ Rory was gesticulating wildly with both hands moving up and down in karate chop unison. ‘I’ve told you lot this already today. Don’t you coppers talk to each other?’

  The affronted look that had arrived on PC Armitage’s face only seconds earlier, changed to one of enlightenment. ‘You’re right. I know who she is now. She’s the nutter who keeps sending emails and photos in to us making accusations left right and centre about the Fewtrells.’

  Rory had to stride off into the trees in an attempt to restrain himself. Joe heard him swearing, and chuckled.

  ‘You must be one of those new rural police officers. I ’ope so, cause you know bugger-all about real criminals. You’ll ’ave to get backup from the riot police if you’re thinking about going to see Mad Leo, and that’s a fact. No one goes in there without an invitation.’

  ‘Who lives next door?’

  ‘I bloody well do. Weren’t you listening when you wrote down my details?’ Rory said as he plodded back to his bike, swung his leg over the seat and began to put on his helmet. Joe was a stride or two behind him with Kip at heel.

  ‘You know where I am if you want me,’ Rory shouted. ‘Goodnight, Joe. Sorry to leave you but I can’t cope with any more ignorance and incompetency. I’m about three seconds away from getting myself arrested for breach of the peace and assaulting a police officer.’

  ‘He’s a constable.’

  ‘You mind your language, Joe. Use of the “C” word is unacceptable.’

  Joe’s broad grin was caught by a narrow beam of light from the constable’s torch as it flashed towards them, highlighting wonky teeth as the farmer laughed at Rory’s ready wit.

  ‘Before you go, can I take your name again, sir?’

  There was no answer. Rory snapped the visor shut on his helmet and headed the short distance home, exhausts thundering.

  30

  The Crime Scene

  Rory could tell they were police officers by the way they walked from their car to the portacabin.

  ‘How do you know that, eh?’

  ‘If it walks like a duck and looks like a duck, then it’s a duck.’

  ‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘They just are the police. Do me a favour, if they lock me up can you phone head office for me?’ Rory asked from his position by the window.

  ‘Sure thing bro’, but I thought you said you left the scene before assaulting the copper.’

  Two suited and booted men entered the building without knocking.

  ‘Rory Norton? I’m Detective Sergeant Quinn and this is Detective Constable McArthur.’

  Steve pursed his lips and nodded at Rory, clearly impressed by his ability to correctly identify the men’s professions.

  ‘That’s me,’ said Rory raising his hand. ‘Any news on Anna Chamberlain?’ The question was ignored.

  ‘We’d like to ask you some questions about your neighbours, if you can spare us a few minutes.’

  The two detectives entered the portacabin without being invited and DS Quinn motioned tow
ards the seats laid out in a semicircle in preparation for the afternoon students.

  ‘I can manage thirty minutes at a push,’ answered Rory glancing across the room at Steve. ‘Do you need my colleague here as well?’

  ‘Not unless he was witness to events in your neighbours’ scrapyard between the hours of midnight and ten o’clock Monday morning.’

  Taking the hint, Steve took his mug of steaming coffee and headed out of the office building without protest. He removed the vape pipe from its leather holder around his neck, putting it to his lips as he strode through the door, his leathers creaking.

  DS Quinn delved into his jacket pocket producing a large handkerchief. He excused himself and blew his nose. ‘Sorry, bit of a head cold.’ He blasted again, more loudly and wiped the end of his nose several times before placing the handkerchief back in his pocket. ‘We’ve had a report of rape which we are taking extremely seriously. Are you able to shed any light on activity in Leonard Fewtrell’s yard late Sunday night and into the early hours?’ The detective’s head cold lent a nasal quality to his voice.

  The guilt that Rory had felt while watching “al fresco” sex acts from his bedroom window now twisted in his stomach. Flashbacks in his head to the sights and sounds of the shameless indecency he had witnessed filled him with uncertainty. The scenes were like an orgy spread out in front of him and yet he hadn’t given a second thought to the female participants. The noises he heard that night, as he’d stood gawping, were congruent with consenting parties enjoying rough sex. Weren’t they?

  ‘Four local girls, possibly five, were taken from the fair at the Swandale steam rally taking place at the country park. They consumed alcohol but it’s possible that other substances were introduced, which may have made these girls unnaturally compliant with the men they accompanied. They were seen leaving the rally car park in a white utility vehicle and an old green Land Rover. At least two men in each, and the girls, of course. Did you see them arrive at the scrapyard?’

  Rory had to think back to the events of that night.

  ‘I’d had a few beers and walked home late from The Valiant. One pickup arrived at about midnight I would guess, shortly after I made it back to the cottage, but there were already two or three girls standing with the men around an oil drum where they had a bonfire going. They do that quite a lot.’

  ‘Where were you watching this from exactly?’

  ‘In my bedroom, but I didn’t stay long because of the noise and the lights in the compound. I had to sleep in the spare room.’

  ‘Would you be able to name any of the people you saw that night?’

  ‘I know one or two by name, but there were a lot of new faces and vehicles I didn’t recognise.’

  ‘Did you see any sexual acts taking place?’

  Rory bit his lips together, gazing down momentarily at the floor. ‘There was some groping going on. You know, touching up, snogging, that sort of thing. As I said, it was late, I’d had a few beers …’

  The detective sergeant leant forward and held up one hand. ‘We appreciate how threatening Leonard Fewtrell and his employees can be. I use the word “employees” advisedly, of course. Being his only neighbour must require you to have considerable discretion, I imagine.’

  DS Quinn’s manner was brash. His gaze hardened. ‘However, diplomacy is not required in this case, there’s no room for niceties or poorly judged allegiances. The alleged crime is violent in the extreme and you may be our only reliable witness to events in that yard.’

  Detective Constable McArthur added, ‘The woman who made the report has been through the most terrible ordeal. We owe it to her to investigate thoroughly and to see that justice is served. The yard will be searched today, so if you can give us more factual information it will help us, and the victims.’

  Having looked up briefly, Rory’s head dropped again. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. ‘Can you ensure my name is kept out of this?’

  DS Quinn was quick to reply. ‘You have nothing to worry about. Witness protection is our highest priority, short of a methodical investigation and arresting the guilty party. Help us out here. You seem like a decent man. In fact my lad thinks you’re great. You remember my son Kyle?’

  DS Quinn shook his head from side to side, tutting. ‘He’s a waste of space, that boy. Weedy and afraid of his own shadow. Takes after his mother. God knows what we’re going to do with him. I understand you saved him from a good kicking by Wayne Fewtrell, and somehow nursed him through his CBT. I wouldn’t have the patience.’

  Rory hesitated. ‘I didn’t really save him, but yes, I remember him.’ The nervous lad with blue hair had taken three additional lessons before being safe enough to be awarded his certificate.

  ‘You should really thank Steve, he’s the one who worked hard on building your lad’s confidence.’

  It occurred to Rory that Kyle’s anxiety was likely to have been the result of his father’s critical nature and crass insensitivity. He hoped the achievement of riding a motorbike would set the lad on a road to better self-esteem and freedom.

  There was silence. Rory was expected to detail exactly what he saw and he was uncomfortable with the prospect. He swallowed twice trying to compensate for a dry mouth.

  ‘I think this is going to take more time than my lunch break allows for. Shall I come down to the station after work?’

  ‘We don’t have the luxury of time.’ DS Quinn sniffed. ‘There are a couple of men in custody and the clock is ticking. Can you name any of the men you saw that night?’

  ‘I saw Dylan, Leo Fewtrell’s cousin or brother, I’m not sure but he’s a close relative and they’re always together. There was a man they call Frank and a couple of others I know by sight but I have no idea of names. There was one huge bloke in a top hat and a leather waistcoat who was with them at the fair. I’d never seen him before but I’d recognise him again if I saw him.’

  ‘Was Leonard Fewtrell there?’ Quinn asked, taking out his handkerchief again.

  ‘Yes. He arrived later with his wife. She was driving.’

  As he spoke, Rory became aware of DC McArthur’s reaction as a half-smile lifted one side of the policeman’s mouth, creating a dimple in his left cheek.

  ‘You have invaluable information and we’d really like to take as much detail from you as we possibly can. Would you mind coming with us back to your home address to continue these questions? There are several matters that need to be cleared up. Your information is key and we will need you to confirm the identification of the people you saw that night.’

  ‘What? Now?’

  Steve was leaning against the portacabin in the shade, daydreaming; he then jolted suddenly when the door opened.

  ‘Sorry, Steve …’

  ‘Bugger. They really are arresting you then, eh?’

  Rory called out to him over his shoulder as he was led towards a waiting saloon car. ‘No, I’m helping them with their enquiries.’

  ‘That’s the same thing. All the bad guys have to help the cops with their enquiries. Standard fuckin’ procedure. What did you do? Kidnap Anna Chamberlain?’ Steve presented a jovial front, but his quizzical look belied the outward confidence. ‘I guess I phone head office then. Right?’

  The gates to Leonard Fewtrell’s yard were wide open. Inside, the police forensic team could be seen at work as Rory arrived by unmarked police car driven by DC McArthur.

  Rory stood at his bedroom window with DS Quinn at his side. The man had spent the last twenty minutes questioning him and was not satisfied with the answers.

  Staring into the yard below, Rory had been amazed to see how many bags of old clothes and other items were being handed from officers in the caravans to their colleagues. He and the two detectives had arrived in time to see Carmel Fewtrell being bundled into a police car. Her swearing had been epic and had aroused Chopper who had barked and growled at the animal welfare officers. They resorted to use of a long pole with a snaring loop at the end in order to restrain the muscle-b
ound guard dog before loading him into the rear of an RSPCA van.

  ‘As I said, the oldest white pickup, the fifty-two plate, was parked near the factory unit and Dylan was …’ Rory turned to Quinn for guidance.

  ‘Use your own words, it won’t be anything I haven’t heard before.’

  ‘Dylan was giving one of the girls a shafting from behind. Bent over the bonnet.’

  ‘This is the dark-haired girl with a long plait?’

  Rory nodded to confirm. ‘That was when I saw the bearded giant in the top hat drag the other woman, the blonde one in the maxi-dress, towards the caravans. Maybe “drag” is not the right word, but he was holding her up, like she was drunk, but she was laughing and smiling at him. Patting his chest.’ Rory had his own hand placed over his heart, tapping his fingers in rapid rhythm.

  ‘Thanks for giving us so much detail. Perhaps you were standing here for longer than you thought.’ This seemed like a casual comment from the detective but Rory suspected otherwise.

  ‘Then you had a shower and went to bed.’

  ‘Yes that’s right.’

  ‘Show me the other bedroom.’

  They made their way to the front of the house, into the smaller of the two bedrooms and looked out from the window onto the lane and the fields beyond.

  DS Quinn was distracted. ‘See the couple standing in the lane talking to the bloke on the tractor, down there past the last van. I don’t suppose you know them do you?’

  Rory gave a snort. ‘Yes, I do as a matter of fact. That is Scott and Joyce ... bugger, I can’t recall their surname. Begins with a “p”. They are the parents of the missing girl I keep asking you about. Anna Chamberlain.’

  ‘Oh that’s right. You were the last person to see her and you stumbled across her car hidden in the spinney over there didn’t you?’ Quinn directed a long forefinger towards the trees where Anna’s car had been discovered.

  ‘Not by me. By Joe there, the farmer. He found the car. I just phoned it in to report it.’