'You mean the bugger might still be knocking around?' Ronnie asked in surprise.
'It's impossible to say but I can't see the point in taking any unnecessary risks.'
'We won't be taking anything for granted, Sergeant.' Susan replied, her voice hard, a stern look on her face.
Ronnie cleared his throat and licked his lips nervously.
Hopkins turned to Jenna. 'And in my opinion, that means no wandering off into the countryside with virtual strangers.'
Jenna's mouth dropped open, the condescending bastard.
'Don't worry, we'll be keeping a close eye on our daughter.' Susan replied.
Jenna thrust her hands onto her hips and looked at her mother in dismay. Susan looked back with a closed expression while Ronnie seemed to have suddenly found something of immense interest in the bottom of his cigarette tin.
Hopkins nodded and smiled in satisfaction as if his mission had been accomplished, then he spun on his heels and headed for the door. He left without looking back.
As soon as the door closed, Jenna spun to face her mother. 'I hope you're not going to take that man seriously, he's an idiot?'
'Idiot or not, he does have a point, we can't simply let you go wandering all over the place until they catch whoever's responsible for this.'
'But…'
Ronnie snapped the lid shut on his tin. 'Your mum's right, sweetheart, it ain't safe.'
'But Patrick wants me to show him the needle house and the gardens!'
'I'm sorry, Jenna, but that's not going to happen, at least not yet.'
'You can't do that, I mean, I'm not a child, not that you'd guess it with the way you lot carry on.'
'That's beside the point; anyway, I think Patrick will agree with us and even if he doesn't, there's no way I'll allow my daughter to go wandering around the countryside when there's a maniac on the loose.
Jenna opened her mouth, convinced she was going to say something she would later regret, but in that moment, she couldn't have cared less.
Her father suddenly appeared in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, he yawned.
'I thought I heard a noise.'
Great, Jenna thought, just sodding great.
17
The beam of torchlight wavered as he climbed the steps, the light picking up ancient cobwebs littered with the tiny corpses of mummified insects.
As he reached the top, the narrow passage opened into a broad wooden platform. Re-arranging the weight on his shoulder he heaved the body through the trapdoor before climbing in after it.
Dead birds littered the floor; he could hear the flapping of agitated wings in the rafters above.
Narrow slots had been built into the tower for ventilation and under normal circumstances he would have switched the torch off, on a clear night such as this the tower could be seen from miles around. Any light seeping from the windows would have turned the building into a landlocked lighthouse.
However, over the past couple of weeks, the man had cut lengths of plywood to cover the apertures; this stopped any light leaking into the night whilst he was working. Moving into a corner he retrieved the thick rope and tossed it over the beam above, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he made the noose. When satisfied, he placed it around the boy's neck and heaved the body upwards, securing the end of the rope into a metal spike driven deep into the mortar.
He stood back and shone the light on the cadaver as it twisted and settled, the rope making a satisfying creaking sound.
Lighting a cigarette, he switched off the light, the darkness settled around him like a filthy shroud. Every time he took a pull on the smoke, the tiny light illuminated the dangling legs.
He thought back to the old man in the woods and tried to figure out if it would have any bearing on his plans. Putting the plastic bag over the rambler's head had been inspired thinking, no one would question an elderly man whose heart had given out under the strain of walking up the steep hill, whether it would fool the authorities was another matter. In an ideal world, he would have disposed of the body in a more satisfying manner. Although in many ways he had been fortunate as the walker had been alone and the woods deserted. By the time he'd finished the cigarette and placed the butt into his pocket he decided he'd made the right decision. Trying to hide the body would have been a mistake; the police would have been out in force looking for an elderly man lost on the moors. Now, with luck, they would dismiss the whole episode as a tragic accident.
He flicked on the torch and looked at the body, pleased with his handy work.
18
When the clock started to bleep incessantly, Lasser reached across the bed, picked it up and skimmed it across the room in anger before going back to sleep. Now the ringtone on his mobile droned its way into his brain.
'Hello,' he yawned into the mouthpiece.
'Morning.'
Lasser reached for his cigarettes, already convinced it was going to be a bad day.
'What can I do for you, Colin?'
'You asked me to ring immediately if anything serious came up.'
Lasser swung his legs out of bed and checked his watch, almost nine o'clock, Jesus. 'Fire away, Colin my man, I'm all ears.'
'When I came on duty this morning I obviously went through the calls logged during the night.'
Lasser began to lose interest; that was the trouble with the desk sergeant, you got no information at all out of the bugger, or you got the complete unabridged version.
'For Christ sake, Colin, get to the point.'
Meadows cleared his throat. 'Sorry. You see the thing is they've found the body of an elderly gent at about six o'clock this morning.'
'Anything suspicious?'
'Not as such, apparently one of our lads responded to a call last night. A Mrs Kitts reported her husband missing after going out for a walk and someone called Crombey discovered a body this morning that seems to fit the description.'
Lasser stood up and crossed the room, pushing into the bathroom he started to take a leak. 'Look, I know I said I wanted to be informed when something serious came up, but some old guy croaking is hardly front-page news.'
'I realise that, but the body was discovered in Rivington.'
Lasser heard the smug tone floating down the phone. 'I see.'
'Apparently, he was lying in woodland about three hundred yards from where they found the clothes and the er…'
'I think the word you're searching for is entrails.'
'Thanks for that, that's just what I need as I tuck into my sausage butty.'
'No, Colin, thank you, I appreciate the call. I don't suppose you have any idea where Hopkins is?'
'He left for home at four this morning, so I would imagine he'll be at home getting some sleep.'
Lasser grinned, a bit of good news at last. 'And what about the body?'
'Still up there.'
'Right, I'm on my way.'
'Very good, I'll log the information into the system.'
Lasser grunted and ended the call.
Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and with a slice of burnt toast clenched between his teeth, he climbed into the car. The heat was already building, the traffic through the town centre clogged with commuters heading for work.
Lasser sat in a queue of stationary cars waiting for the lights to change.
After his late-night conversation with Michael Jones, he'd called back at the station to log the information about the missing Billy Jones.
The lights changed, and he got his foot down.
Chances are this Kitts fellow would be a straightforward heart attack; that was the problem with the elderly they never knew their limitations. If he ever made old bones, then he intended doing nothing that would cause him to perspire. Forget taking up jogging and skydiving. Only last week the local paper had done an article on one of these elderly daredevils. The headline proclaiming that 'Perky pensioner George, ninety-six years' young takes up snowboarding,' it was all bollocks.
Free of the tow
n centre, the traffic thinned out and Lasser made good time as he headed out into open countryside.
He knew he would have to tread carefully with the forensic team but part of him was itching to know what they had discovered about the remains they had pulled from the septic tank, and even though he thought Hopkins an idiot, he was still in charge of the case. Lasser thought about his conversation with Connelly. If he hadn't pressurised the little scrote then he wouldn't have the ace he now held up his sleeve. If it did turn out to be Billy then he would receive a pat on the back from his superiors and that would get right up the nose of Hopkins, which was always an added bonus.
As the body had been found so close to the old house, it would give him the perfect excuse to have a proper look around without Dick Dastardly throwing him black looks.
Lasser clicked on the radio, singing along to Pulps 'Common People' as he lit his second cigarette of the day.
19
Jenna spent the morning locked in her room stoking the burning anger. Every few minutes she would think of another injustice her parents had inflicted upon her, and the anger would reach a new peak.
It was all a lie, a farcical act, they pretended to treat you as an adult, they nodded and smiled in all the right places, as if they actually gave a shit about what you had to say. When all along they were just mugging you off like some imbecile, unable to make any decision without their express permission.
She peered out of her bedroom window, the fears of the night before were already fading. It was going to be another scorcher and she'd have to spend it cooped up in her room, because as things stood she didn't trust herself to speak to any of her family, the bastards.
When a knock came at the door, she ignored it.
A few seconds later and the tap came again.
'Who is it?' she shouted.
'It's me, love, is it all right to come in?'
OK, Grandad, if you want to try and worm your way out of this, let's see you try.
'Come in.'
Ronnie opened the door just enough to poke his head into the room. As if he expected Jenna to be waiting on the other side, ready to throw some hard object at him. He visibly relaxed when he saw her standing there empty-handed.
'I was wondering if you fancied coming to help me feed the hens.'
Typical, she could imagine her family discussing what they could do to 'cheer up their little poppet,' and the best they could come up with was feeding the sodding chickens.
'Look, Grandad, I don't mean to be rude, but I stopped helping you with the hens when I was about ten years old.'
'Aye, lass, I know,' he ventured into the room, still looking uncertain. 'I just thought it might help cheer you up a bit.'
'And why would I need cheering up?'
He began to twist the flat cap between his hands, as if wringing out an old dishcloth.
'I thought you might be upset about what went on last night.'
'Why, Grandad, what went on last night?'
Ronnie sighed. 'You're not going to make this easy, are you, lass?'
'No, I'm bloody well not!'
'Listen, we're just concerned, that's all.'
'I understand that but what you lot fail to realise is that I am not little 'poppet' anymore!'
He held up his hands as if Jenna had just pulled out a gun and told him to 'stick 'em up'.
'I know, love, and you're right, we shouldn't have been so…' he hesitated, at a loss for the right word.
'Dictatorial?'
'Aye, I suppose that word will do as good as any.'
Jenna sat on her bed and gave her grandad a cool look of reproach. 'It's just not on. I mean, I'm as shocked as anybody about the murder, it's horrible and vile and if you want the truth then wild horses wouldn't drag me anywhere near the old house. But I don't want to be told where I can go and who I can see.'
Ronnie plopped the cap back onto his head. 'I know you're a sensible girl, love…'
'But that's just it. I'm not a ''girl''. I don't need people making decisions for me anymore. You know how hard I've worked. I did well in my GCSEs, I'm doing fine at college and then there's all the research…'
'I know, lass.'
'Will you stop saying ''I know, lass'', it doesn't help.'
'I'm sorry, I…' Ronnie snapped his mouth closed so fast Jenna heard his dentures click together.
Despite her annoyance, she couldn't help but smile, her grandad looked at her hopefully and Jenna wiped the grin from her face and replaced it with a stoic expression of determination.
'Listen, love, I didn't come up here to argue.'
'Then why did you come?'
'I thought maybe we could try and sort this out.'
Jenna sighed. 'What's the point, you heard what they said. I have to stay close to the farm until college starts next week. If they don't find the person responsible by then either Mummy or Daddy will run me into town, so I don't have to stand around waiting on my own for the bus. I mean, have you any idea how patronising that is?'
'Aye, I can see your point, but…'
'And what about Patrick, he asked me to take him to the gardens and the needle house. But how can I do that when you lot want to keep me locked up in here?'
'Hang on, love, you're hardly being locked up.'
'Oh, so it's all just my imagination, is that what you're telling me?'
'No, of course not.'
Jenna turned, opened up her laptop, and clicked it on.
'Look, I've got nothing else to say and I'd like to check my emails,' her fingers moved quickly over the keys. Ronnie remained standing in the middle of the room like a spare part.
She checked her inbox and her heart skipped. A message from Patrick, she clicked on the envelope and began to read.
'I suppose I'd best go then.' Ronnie turned for the door.
'He wants to know if I'm free this afternoon to take him up to the woods. He says he's had a look at the disk I gave him and he's very impressed with my research.'
'And so he should be, lass, I know how hard you worked putting it all together.'
'But don't you see, it means nothing if I'm stuck here?'
Ronnie could see she had a point. This had all been part of her dream and now she was being stopped from following it through and it just didn't seem right. 'Listen I'll tell you what, I'll have a word with your mum and dad explain things properly to them.'
'Thanks for the offer but it won't make any difference.'
'Ah but it might, especially if I come with you.'
Jenna's eyes widened as the penny dropped.
'Do you really think so?'
'I'm not making any promises, but I can try. Besides you're right, it's not up to us to say what you can and can't do. You're a young woman and that has to count for summat.'
Jenna felt a glimmer of hope.
'Besides, I can always bring the owd shotgun with me,' he smiled.
Jenna nodded. 'Go for it, Grandad.'
20
As he drove away from the centre of Manchester, the intense dislike that Ashley felt for his father had solidified into outright hatred. He'd spent the morning with the family solicitor, a poisonous old vampire, who in Ashley's opinion had bled the family dry for more years than he could count.
Walters had sat in his walnut-lined office like some stick insect dressed in a thousand-pound suit, watching Ashley with a half-smile on his lips.
Of course, he spouted all the old platitudes, claiming he was sorry that the Radfields would no longer be requiring his services, especially after so many years, but the smile told a different story. As the family solicitor Walters was well aware of the financial situation that the Radfields now found themselves in, after all he'd caused a lot of them himself.
By the time he left the office, Ashley had been convinced that if he'd had one of the shotguns in the boot of the Jaguar then he would have gladly gone back inside and given the old bastard both barrels.
He forced his fingers to ease their vice-like grip
on the steering wheel and thought about what to do next. The sale of the estate in Scotland was going ahead, though the price had been greatly reduced, the agent, another bloodsucker, had said that it was due to the present economic climate.
Ashley ground his teeth together in anger. Despite its condition, the Scottish estate was still a beautiful place to live. It was where he had spent the best years of his life, probably the only place he had ever been truly happy. From the age of sixteen he'd been shipped up there to attend boarding school – a family tradition – and then onto university. Once he had his degree, he'd taken on the task of looking after the estate.
He had made a good job of it as well, opening the doors to the paying public and cutting back on staff had brought money in, and for a while, everything had looked economically sound. Then they had suffered three terrible winters in succession, the weather a mixture of relentless driving rain mixed with heavy snow showers that had kept away even the hardiest of punters. Soon the slippery slope had suddenly become steeper than a ski jump.
All the effort, all the sacrifices had, in the end, counted for nothing.
In an ideal world, he would have sold the Pennine land and the house and stayed in Scotland. Nothing would have given him greater pleasure than selling the place his father called home. He could have stuck the bastard in an old peoples' home and forgotten about him. Though that was not going to happen, the estate in Fife was not self-sufficient, the house down here was.
The answer was the quarry; William Radfield had used it to make the family fortune and Ashley intended doing the same. Any farmland that still belonged to the estate was virtually worthless, only good for grazing sheep. His grandfather, another wastrel had sold all the profitable land to fund his gambling addiction. A succession of worthless men who had added nothing to the family coffers, grabbing all they could whilst dragging the family name through the dirt.
He pulled the car onto the gravel driveway, parked in the front of the house and sat for a moment looking at the sandstone building that loomed before him, its bulk casting huge shadows onto the unkempt lawn. He eyed the paint peeling from the mullioned windows and the weeds growing in the wrought iron gutters. It was a disgrace, a complete and utter disgrace.
The Needle House Page 8
