He could picture the scene; young men in flannels dotted around the field, the sound of leather on willow and the older members of the family clapping politely as they watched their team from the terraced roof, while sipping cold champagne.
He had to admit; the more he saw of this place the more it intrigued him.
'You know, Jenna, from what you've shown me so far, this place is too big to fit into a section of the next book.'
He saw her face suddenly crumple with disappointment. 'Oh, right.'
'What's up, lad, all this not interesting enough for you?' Ronnie snapped, pushing the cap back on his head.
'No wait, what I mean, is that I may have to reconsider how I normally do these things.'
Jenna looked at him uncertainly. 'I don't follow.'
'What I meant to say is that this area deserves more than just a few short passages.'
'You mean you want to do a full chapter?' Jenna could feel the excitement building, it felt like when she had been a child and she was ripping the paper from a present under the Christmas tree. It was thrilling but there was always the chance you'd be disappointed once the present was revealed.
'To be honest, I think this place could fill a small standalone book.'
'You're kidding.' Jenna squealed.
'Absolutely not,' he paused, watching in amusement as Jenna threw her arms around Ronnie and hugged him, the ever-present cap slid down over his eyes as she nearly bowled him off his feet.
'Oh, Grandad, this is fantastic!'
'Careful, Jenna love, you'll have me on my arse.'
'Oh sorry,' she pulled away and turned to Fossey, her eyes shining. She couldn't believe it; this was just so unreal and then before she could think about it or stop herself she was hugging the writer. She spun away her face flushed with embarrassment; Ronnie looked on with a broad smile across his weather-beaten face.
'Right then, next stop the needle house.' Fossey said.
She threw him a quick look over her shoulder and then hurried away across the field.
'Thanks for that, son, you've made her day.'
'No need to thank me, Ronnie. She's the one who's done all the hard work; it's her belief that's sold this place to me.'
'Aye well, she knows her stuff that's for sure.'
Jenna strode through the tall grass, the butterflies fluttering away in delicate panic. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment; it was unbelievable, he wanted to do a whole book not just a few chapters but a full sodding book!
She risked one more glance just to make sure it wasn't some dream. As she turned she slammed into something hard, the air flew from her lungs in a loud gasp. Jenna felt herself falling and then large hands were gripping her shoulders, steadying her.
'Sorry, love, are you OK?'
26
Molder peered at him over the top of the file, his half-moon glasses perched on the end of an aquiline nose. Lasser had often thought that the Chief Pathologist wouldn't have looked out of place in some Nazi death camp.
'Do you want a mint?' Molder asked holding out the pack.
'No thanks.'
'Are you sure now?' he shook the bag as if Lasser was a shy child who couldn't make up his mind.
'Course I'm bloody sure,' Lasser snapped. 'Just get on with it.'
Molder frowned and pushed the mints into his pocket.
'Firstly, you have to understand that without an actual cadaver then I'm limited to what I can tell you.'
Here we go 'Mr Evasive' is in town. Lasser thought peevishly.
'But what I can say is that the body tissue you found had only been in the water for a short time.'
'Could you be more precise?'
'It's difficult, though decomposition wasn't evident, so I'd say less than forty-eight hours.'
Lasser pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and finger, yesterday's headache resurfacing.
'And what about the sex?'
Molder raised an eyebrow. 'There has to be a better way of phrasing that question, officer?'
Lasser shrugged, if there was then he couldn't think of it.
'Well, once again it's hard to be certain but the general rule of thumb is that the male internal organs are slightly larger and heavier than the female. Therefore, if you were to push then I would have to say that the organs in question belonged to a young male. But don't quote me on that.' Molder warned.
So, that was it, the body of Billy Jones was out there somewhere minus his vital organs.
'Any idea what was used to remove them?'
Molder dropped the file back onto his desk and stood up. 'Do you fancy a cup of sludge from the machine of death, my treat?'
'Yeah, go on then.'
The drinks machine stood in the corridor just outside the path labs.
Molder began to feed loose change into the slot. 'You know of all the machines in the hospital this one takes the least amount of money.'
'Are you really surprised about that?'
Molder looked bemused. 'Well, the one on the maternity ward is always running dry.'
'Must be all those nervous fathers pacing up and down wondering if their life will ever be the same again.'
'Coffee?'
'Hot chocolate if they have it?'
The little plastic cup dropped into its holder and started to fill.
'Now, with regards to what the killer used…'
'Don't tell me, without a body you can't be precise?'
'Correct.' Molder handed the cup over and punched a couple of buttons.
'So, what's your educated guess?'
The pathologist didn't answer until his cup had been filled, then he pulled it from the machine and looked up and down the deserted corridor as if checking for spies.
'What you have to understand is that the clean precise removal of certain organs is no easy task. But I'm quite sure the heart was removed by a blade, approximately four to five inches in length, straight edged and probably tapering to a very thin point.'
'What about the rest?'
Molder took a sip of his drink. 'Pulled.'
Lasser frowned. 'What do you mean pulled?'
'Exactly, what I said. The lungs are rather tricky things to remove with a knife, the ones that you brought had been twisted and then yanked from the body cavity, it's the same with the intestine although obviously, they would be easier to extract.'
Lasser swallowed, finding the things had been bad enough but to hear Molder describe their removal was making him feel sick.
'And I'm afraid until the rest of the body turns up, I can't really tell you anything else.'
Lasser dropped his drink into the wastebasket, he thought about shaking Molder's hand but changed his mind when an image popped into his head of the pathologist holding Billy Jones's heart in his hand like some demented Dr Frankenstein.
Lasser slipped his hands into his pockets. 'Well, thanks for your help, Doc.'
'Not a problem and good luck with finding the body,' he spun on his heels and vanished back into his lair.
27
Ashley was considering killing his father.
Perhaps he could push him down the stairs, after it was probably how he would go in the end. He could see it as though it had already happened, his father emerging from his bedroom en route to the drinks cabinet, shuffling along in his carpet slippers. He played through the delicious image in his mind, his father's head slamming against each step, the crack of fragile bones snapping on the way down. He would lie at the foot of the stairs with dark blood leaking slowly from his ears. Maybe it was just what the place needed, a haunting, the tour guides pointing down at the floor saying, 'and this is the exact spot where the late Lord Radfield met his end.'
Although it was hard to plan someone's demise when you couldn't find them.
He stalked through the old house, entering rooms that he hadn't been in for years.
Rooms mothballed like museum pieces, pale-grey dust covers thrown over antique furniture as if they belonged on the set of so
me period drama. Each room was a testament to the failings of his father, like another bit of land sold off to fund his squandering ways.
He lingered in the doorway of the library and looked around at all the leather-bound books. Occasionally his father would come down here, not to brush up on his Latin but simply to get drunk and fall asleep on the huge sofa. He crossed the room and, peering out, he could see his father's car parked in its usual spot onto the driveway.
Ashley considered shouting out his name but instantly dismissed the idea. Shouting could be misconstrued as concern, so he sat on the Chesterfield and waited, his anger building to volcanic proportions.
28
'Good God, Ronnie, what's the world coming to?'
Jim Woodman shook his head in disbelief before taking an appreciative bite from one of Jenna's cheese and pickle sandwiches.
The four of them were sitting in the shade of a large elm tree, somewhere close by a jackdaw squawked.
'Aye, Jim, it's a rum 'un.'
'So, what have the police said?' Woodman asked.
'Bugger all really.'
Jenna fumbled in the rucksack, pulled out a bottle of ginger beer and handed it over to Jim.
'Thanks, Jenna.'
'You think this Kitts fella might have headed this way?' Fossey asked.
Woodman shrugged. 'There's no way of knowing but it seemed as good a place to start as any. I mean, a lot of walkers head into the gardens.'
'Don't sound good if he went missing yesterday afternoon.' Ronnie said, before lighting a cigarette.
'Claire brought his wife over to our place; they'd been staying in one of the caravans. Apparently, she had the police out late last night and they said he'd probably ended up in some boozer and lost track of time.'
'Bloody useless they are.' Ronnie grumbled.
Jim took a small sip from the bottle as if he expected to be marooned in the middle of the desert with no idea where the next drink was coming from.
'I've never even met the bloke.' Jim said. 'But apparently he's clocking on a bit and doesn't carry a mobile with him. I mean, can you credit it in this day and age?'
Ronnie fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a phone that was slightly smaller than the average house brick.
'I always carry mine; you never know when you might need it.'
Fossey tried to think back to when he had last seen a phone like the one Ronnie was brandishing, probably twenty years ago and back then it would have been a yuppies latest toy.
He dropped it back into his jacket and patted the pocket as if it contained a loaded gun.
'Anyway, what are you doing up here?' Jim asked.
By the time Ronnie finished explaining things, Fossey had finished his drink and Jenna was red-faced with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.
'So, you're thinking of doing a book about the Radfields? Jim asked, raising an eyebrow at Fossey.
'That's the general idea but I want to concentrate on the area not just the family.'
Jim stood up and brushed dry grass from the seat of his trousers. 'Well, just be careful, I don't know about Ashley Radfield, but his father was always trying to sue some bugger or other, weren't he, Ronnie?'
Ronnie looked embarrassed. 'That were a long time ago, Jim.'
'Aye I know but people like the Radfields never change. I mean, they didn't end up with all that money through being right with folk that's for sure.'
'Well, Malcolm's getting on a bit now, so he might have mellowed.'
'Aye, you could be right, besides according to Bill Roberts, his Lordship spends most of his time sitting in the garden with an empty whisky bottle by his side, reckons his gout gives him gyp. '
'What's gout?' Jenna asked.
'It's what you gets when you eat too much rich food and sup all them fancy wines.' Ronnie explained.
A mobile started to ring, a plain old beep, beep.
Jim fished it from his pocket. 'Hello, Claire love, what's up?'
Jenna started to pack away the sandwiches, rolling up the empty tinfoil and putting it into the rucksack.
'When was this?' Woodman's face crinkled with concern. 'Right, I'm on my way,' he pushed a button to end the call and sighed. 'The police have turned up at our place; apparently they found him this morning down at the bottom end of the woods, it looks like a heart attack.'
'He's dead!' Jenna said, rising to her feet.
'Afraid so, according to Claire someone from the village was out walking this morning when they came across him.'
'That's terrible,' she said, chewing a fingernail.
'Right well, I'd best get a move on. Claire says his wife's in hysterics.'
Ronnie brushed some crumbs from his jacket. 'Aye, say hello to Claire for us, will you?'
'No worries, I'll see you all again,' he turned and strode off down the path, a big man in a checked shirt and jeans, tan rigger boots swishing through the tall, dry grass.
Fossey picked up the rucksack and hoisted it over his shoulder. 'Do you still want to go to the needle house, Jenna?'
'Oh sure,' she replied distractedly.
'If you prefer we can always leave it for another day?'
'No honestly I'm fine. I was just thinking about that poor man.'
'Just out of curiosity how big are these woods?'
Ronnie paused for a moment to calculate. 'Well, from the needle house, which stands at the top end, down to the cottages is just short of two miles.'
'So, when Jim Woodman said that Mr Kitts had been found at the bottom end that would be down near where your own land starts?'
'That's right but the woods stretch for over three miles along the bottom end.' Ronnie eyed Fossey from under his thick eyebrows. 'Why, what are you getting at?'
'Nothing, I'm just trying to get a sense of scale.'
Jenna had been standing quietly listening to the conversation, then her eyes widened as if she suddenly understood some hidden agenda. 'You don't think Mr Kitts had anything to do with what's going on at the old house, do you?'
'Don't be bloody daft, Jenna, you heard what Jim said, this bloke were an old man.'
'I'm not saying he actually killed anybody.'
'Well, what are you saying?' Ronnie sounded flustered.
'It just seems strange that a man should die so close to where we know someone's been murdered.'
'Don't even go there, Jenna, I mean, he could have snuffed it right at the other side of the woods. And besides the police told Claire it looked like a heart attack.'
Jenna sighed, although the air around her remained agitated.
Fossey adjusted the backpack. 'Anyway, we'd better get going otherwise we'll never get there.'
They set off, after a few minutes Fossey started to sweat again and Ronnie continued to stroll along as though the heat was only an illusion.
Fossey tried to keep track of where they were going but after a series of right and left turns he gave up and concentrated on trying to breath, the air felt heavy as if it wasn't really air at all but rather the rarefied atmosphere of some alien planet.
Insects buzzed around his ears as if attracted to the sweat that was seeping from his open pores. Jenna came to a stop at the bottom of a long flight of stone steps.
Fossey looked up, the steps were in sets of twenty, then they levelled off and began again.
'Don't tell me we have to climb this lot?' he asked.
'Afraid so,' she set off with Ronnie close on her heels.
Fossey took a deep breath and followed. By the time he'd climbed four sets the muscles in his legs were beginning to throb. A minute later and he knew he was going to have to ask the others to stop, however, just as he opened his mouth to admit defeat Ronnie piped up.
'Hang on, Jenna; I'm going to have to stop for a couple of minutes.'
'Oh OK,' she looked at Ronnie in surprise and then skipped back down.
Fossey stood with his hands on his hips breathing deeply. 'I need to do more exercise.'
'You know when I was a
kid I used to be able to run up and down these bloody things all day.' Ronnie said.
Fossey could believe it, putting an exact age on the farmer was difficult but he had to be into his seventies. 'I'll tell you, Ronnie, if you hadn't stopped then I would have been on my knees in the next thirty seconds.'
Jenna rocked back and forth on the heel of her trainers, her cheeks were a little flushed, but apart from that, she appeared unaffected by the tortuous climb.
Ronnie puffed on a roll up, as if it contained pure oxygen, a minute later he dropped it onto the floor. 'Right I'm sorted.'
Fossey felt like crying.
29
The grilling from DCI Simms had gone better than expected. After explaining about the missing Billy Jones and the link to the old house, Simms had given him the job of breaking the bad news to Sarah Jones.
Once clear of the office, Lasser had arranged to meet PC Harper at the house.
Turning onto Lancaster Road, he spotted the blue and white car parked by the curb.
When he tapped on her window she turned, a cautious look on her face; around here kids would often take the piss. His own car had been spat at on more than one occasion. He didn't blame her for staying in the car, a PC standing alone on a street like this one was asking for trouble.
She smiled in recognition and opened the door.
'Right come on, let's get this over with,' he said.
Climbing out, she adjusted her belt, giving the baton a sharp tug. 'I'm ready, sir.'
He walked up the grubby path, knocked on the door and waited; he could hear Harper behind him, shuffling her feet nervously.
When the door opened, Michael Jones stood in the hallway looking at them with suspicion.
'What do you want?'
'Is it all right if we come in, Michael? '
He shrugged and walked back into the house, Lasser followed, Harper crossed the threshold and closed the door quietly behind her.
Some things never change, Sarah was as permanent as the moon, she probably only ever moved from the sofa when she had to go to the toilet or answer the door to the take-away man on his little moped. 'I've no money, darling, but I'm sure we can come to some agreement.' Lasser shuddered at the image.
The Needle House Page 11
