She was watching one of the never-ending reruns of Jerry Springer, the volume turned up loud as if she were hard of hearing.
Michael strode across the room and turned the set off.
'Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing? I was watching that!'
Michael didn't reply, he simply nodded his head towards Lasser; Sarah turned and glared at them both.
'What do you want?'
'Sarah, we have some news about your missing son.'
'What's the little sod done now?'
'I think you should prepare yourself for a shock.'
'Little bastard will end up tagged before he's done,' she continued as if Lasser hadn't spoken.
'Shut up, Mother, and listen!' Michael snapped.
She shifted her bulk, like some obscene, beached whale. 'Don't you tell me to shut up, who the fuck do you think you're talking to?'
'Sarah, we have reason to believe that Billy's dead,' Lasser said, trying to imagine he was breaking the news to a mother who actually gave a toss.
Sarah blinked; Michael looked at them in disbelief.
'Dead, what the hell do you mean he's dead?' she reached for her cigarettes, her fat fingers caught the packet as it slid across the small coffee table, teetering on the edge before falling to the floor.
Lasser sighed, under normal circumstances PC Harper should take over from here, comforting the distressed mother but Harper remained rooted to the spot and to be honest he didn't blame her, how could you comfort a monster like Sarah Jones?
The woman in question was trying to get to the packet but her bulk was making it an impossible task.
'Michael, you can see I'm struggling,' she gasped.
Her son watched her with cold eyes.
'This is your fault.'
'Pass me my cigs!' she shrieked.
Michael ignored her and turned to Lasser.
'How do you know he's dead?'
'We found some clothing, Michael, and we believe it belonged to Billy, now…'
'What, that's it, just some bloody clothes?'
Lasser could hear the attempted sneer in Michael's voice but for all his bravado, he was fooling no one.
'Unfortunately, no, we also found some other evidence that leads us to that conclusion.'
'Pass me the fucking cigs.' Sarah was rocking back and forth on the sofa trying to build up momentum.
Lasser opened his mouth and Michael turned and launched himself at his mother, by the time Lasser scrambled across the room Sarah Jones's mouth was spewing blood from where her son had planted his fist.
Grabbing him from behind Lasser pulled the boy away, his arms and legs thrashing, from the corner of his eye he saw Harper yank the baton from its sheath.
'Leave it!' he shouted as he manhandled the struggling boy across the room, the last thing he wanted was Harper wading in with the bloody stick. Over Michael's shoulder, he could see Sarah with both hands clasped to her face the blood seeping out between her entwined fingers. That must have hurt, Lasser thought but you would never guess it looking into her eyes. They appeared detached as if they were working their way through some complex puzzle. Lasser saw the exact moment when the penny dropped, when everything slotted into place with a satisfying click. Sarah's eyes sprang wide.
'I want to press charges; you two saw how he went for me.'
Michael tried to pull himself free and it took all Lasser's strength to keep him heading towards the door.
'I want to sue the little shit!' her voice rang around the room with a kind of maniacal glee.
Harper stood in the doorway of the living room the baton still in her hand.
Lasser saw her take a couple of steps towards Sarah, the stick beginning to rise.
'Harper, get out here now!'
She turned and looked at Lasser with a bemused expression and then she shook herself and headed quickly out of the room.
By the time they got to the front door, Michael had ceased to struggle, just like Pinocchio with his strings cut. Lasser steered him through the front door and into the derelict garden.
Harper came out behind him, slamming the door hard in her wake.
'Fucking bitch.' Michael sobbed.
'Come on, son, let's go for a drive.'
He kept hold of Michael's sleeve as they headed towards the car.
'He can't be dead?' The boy sounded shell-shocked, tears slipping from his eyes.
'I'm sorry, Michael.'
'Was it Miller or Connelly?'
Lasser didn't know how to respond, it was bizarre, but the thought had never occurred to him that one of Billy's own 'friends' could be responsible for all this.
'Come on, let's just get in the car.'
Michael snatched his arm free. 'Because if it was one of them then I'll fucking kill them.'
Lasser opened the passenger door and Michael slumped into the seat, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.
Harper looked at Lasser across the roof of the car, a heat haze shimmering between them.
'Jesus, I can't believe what just happened in there. Do you think she meant what she said about pressing charges?'
Lasser thought for a microsecond before answering. 'Oh, you can bet on it, if she thinks she can make money then she'll go for it.' He could see the front page, a close up of Sarah Jones holding up a photo of her youngest son in his school uniform, big fat crocodile tears leaking from her sly eyes, her features crumpled in a parody of agony.
Harper shook her head as if she couldn't comprehend that women like Sarah Jones actually existed.
'Do you think I should go back in there?'
'You want to give her the chance to add police brutality to her list?'
She nodded in understanding.
'Just get an ambulance down here, let them see to her.'
'I understand, sir.'
Lasser climbed into the car and Harper watched as he drove away, before sliding the baton back into its socket.
30
The tower reared upward, arrow straight, a perfect example of Victorian architecture. Fossey knew it was an illusion but the building appeared to sway towards him as if ready to uproot itself from the earth and crash down, burying them under tons of weathered sandstone.
At the base, ferns grew in abundance, vivid green against the darkened stone.
'So, do the Radfields still own the tower?' he asked.
Jenna shook her head. 'The water board took it over in nineteen seventy-one, along with the woods and gardens.'
'Any idea why they sold it?'
'Same reason people always sell summat, because they needed the money,' Ronnie replied and then added. 'Besides, when the water board bought the place it was on the understanding that the buildings and gardens had to remain intact.'
'I see, so the Radfields didn't have to fork out the money for the upkeep of the place any longer.'
'That's about the size of it.'
It made sense, if you found yourself on the skids then the last thing you would want is to spend money on the upkeep of a building that you never used anymore.
'Have you any idea why they actually needed money?' Fossey asked as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
Ronnie's lips were a thin line, he looked like a man who thought he'd already said too much. He glanced at Fossey then spun away and wandered off around the corner of the building.
Jenna, who didn't seem to have any problem dishing the dirt, took over. 'To be honest it was William Radfield who made the families fortune.'
'By doing what exactly?'
'Quarrying local stone.'
Fossey slid the rucksack from his shoulders and slipped his jacket on. In the shade of the tower the temperature had plummeted.
'So, are the Radfields still involved in village life?'
'Not really, like Grandad said Lord Radfield is an old man now and his son lives in Scotland most of the time.'
'So, what was the purpose of this place?' he asked slapping his hand against the stone stru
cture.
'That depends on who you believe, some say it was built for the female members of the family somewhere they could come and relax.'
Fossey frowned, the views from the top would no doubt be spectacular but from where he was standing, he couldn't see any windows to enjoy it from, just narrow openings like arrow slots in a castle keep.
'And what do the others say?'
Jenna shoved her hands into her pockets and chose her words carefully. 'Well, according to some, the Radfields were into practical magic,' she shrugged. 'They used it to help make their fortune, and this is where they used to come to hold their,' she paused, as if she couldn't find the right word, 'meetings.'
Fossey watched as Jenna blushed.
He knew how she felt, whenever he talked about this kind of stuff he always felt slightly ridiculous as if he should know better, a man of his age.
'Right, so that's another angle we'll have to look into.'
'Do you believe it?'
'We can't discount the possibility. I mean, we have to look at this from the mind-set of how people thought back then. Talk of witchcraft and dark magic was a common occurrence. For example, if you were living a life that consisted of abject poverty, having hardly any money for food let alone anything else yet here was a family who seemed to have an endless supply of wealth, then people would become suspicious of how that wealth was being obtained and rumours would spread.'
Jenna looked disappointed. 'So, you think it's just rumours?'
'Not necessarily but in situations like this we have to be one hundred percent certain before we commit anything to print.'
Jenna nodded gravely. 'I understand.'
Ronnie reappeared from his trip around the building, a cigarette clasped between his lips.
'It looks as if someone's been inside.'
'Inside?' Jenna headed over as Fossey hoisted the rucksack over his shoulder and followed.
The door to the tower was housed in the north-facing wall, a stout metal slab painted dark green. He could make out names that had been scratched into the surface, the earliest one from nineteen seventy-three. The door itself was secured by a large padlock.
'Maybe the water board have been doing some maintenance work.' Jenna said.
'I've had a look around and I can't see owt.'
'Well, they might have been doing something inside.'
'Aye, love, I suppose so.'
Fossey rapped his knuckles on the door as if he expected someone to open it from the inside.
Ronnie pulled off his cap and scratched at his head. 'The last time they did any work on this place was over twenty years ago, a winter storm blew a few slates off the roof and they had the scaffolding up to replace them.'
Jenna nodded as if she remembered the incident even though it happened three years before she was born.
Ronnie began to back away from the structure, making his way up the hill, the ground was steep, though he was sure footed, like an old mountain goat in a flat cap.
'Grandad, what are you doing?'
'Well, some buggers definitely been in, the windows have been boarded up.'
Jenna shot up the hill, Fossey clambering up after her.
'See.' Ronnie pointed a bony finger at the apertures.
'Oh, yeah.' Jenna shielded her eyes against the glaring sun.
'It was most likely done to keep the birds out.' Ronnie said.
'Have you ever been inside, Ronnie?' Fossey asked.
'Only once when I was a nipper.'
Jenna turned to her grandad. 'I never knew that.'
Ronnie cleared his throat as if he'd just let slip some great secret. 'Oh, I was only a kid, to tell you the truth I'd forgotten all about it.'
'So, come on what was it like inside?' Jenna asked.
'I can't really remember, love, it must be sixty odd years back.'
Jenna frowned as if the answer was unacceptable. 'But you must remember something?'
'To tell you the truth I shouldn't have really gone in, Sid Williams was the gamekeeper back then and he used to keep all sorts of bits and bobs inside.'
'Go on.' Jenna prompted.
'Aye well, I was out nesting one day, and I sees him come out with a gin trap in his hand…'
'What's a gin trap?'
'Believe me, love, you don't want to know. Anyway, I sees him leave and he didn't lock the door, so, being a nosey little sod, I waited until he'd gone and then I sneaked in.'
Jenna sighed as if she were used to her grandad dragging out his tales. 'Come on, Grandad?'
'You have to understand it was dark in there, but I remember the stone steps leading up and bloody cobwebs everywhere.'
'Did you go to the top?' she asked a hint of excitement in her voice.
'Did I buggery.'
'Oh, Grandad,' it was like listening to a long-winded joke with a feeble ending.
'Aye well things were different back then, I mean, nowadays if you get caught somewhere you shouldn't be then nobody bats an eyelid but back then you'd cop it if you were caught.'
'I suppose so,' she replied, unable to hide her disappointment.
'I mean, Sid had hands like bloody shovels and if he'd caught me he'd have used them to tan my arse.'
Fossey checked his watch. 'Right, if you two are ready we should be making our way back.'
Just then Jenna's mobile twittered, she pulled it from her pocket and frowned.
'Mum checking up,' she moved away before answering it.
Fossey finished the last of his drink.
The heat of the day was beginning to subside, the shadows beneath the trees lengthening and pooling together.
'She was just seeing if we'd set off home.' Jenna said with a frown, as she headed back towards them.
Ronnie looked up at the sky, 'Aye, we'd best get a move on.'
Jenna huffed, 'Or she'll have the search parties out looking for us.'
31
'How did he die?' Michael's voice was no more than a whisper.
Lasser rubbed a hand across his face, the whole thing was ridiculous. What had he been thinking bringing the lad out in the car, acting as if he was some kind of do-gooder social worker? Yet in all honesty he hadn't known what to do, if he simply let Michael go he would have gone straight round to pay Miller or Connelly a visit.
'We're not sure.'
They were parked outside the local B&Q store, Lasser was waiting for his phone to ring.
'What do you mean; you must know how he died?'
'Look, Michael, I'm not going to say I can understand how you feel but I can't go into detail, at least not at this stage.'
'You're all the fucking same, aren't you?' he spat.
Lasser shrugged, it was a fair comment but the last thing he was going to do was tell Michael that they'd found his brother's internal organs dumped in a septic tank. Oh, and by the way we'll get round to finding the rest of him as soon as we can. 'I'm sorry, Michael, but I have to stick to the rules.'
'Stick to the rules, yeah right,' there was no mistaking the anger in his voice.
A moment later Lasser felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
'I won't be a second,' he climbed out and wandered a few feet from the car. 'Thanks for ringing back.'
'No problem, what can I do for you?' Fossey asked.
Lasser suddenly felt ridiculous, he'd already dropped a bollock, he should have locked Michael in the car and then gone back into the house to check on his mother. He was the attending officer and he'd literally fled the scene leaving an inexperienced PC in charge of a volatile situation. The more he thought about it the more he broke out into a cold sweat and now he was going to top it all off by disclosing information to someone he hardly knew.
'Lasser, are you still there?'
'What… Oh yeah, sorry, I was miles away,' he gnawed at his bottom lip trying to come to a decision.
'Is everything OK?'
Lasser drew a deep breath. 'Listen, you know the B&Q in town?'
'Yeah.'
'Look.' Fossey said. 'I can be there in about twenty minutes.'
In the end everything came down to trust, Lasser pushed a hand through his hair. 'OK. I'll be waiting on the car park,' he said as he ended the call.
He turned; Michael had climbed from the Audi and was watching Lasser with narrowed eyes.
'What are we waiting for?'
'A friend of mine, he might be able to help.'
'I don't need any help.'
If Michael wanted to leave, then he'd be in no position to prevent him. The kid couldn't be more than eighteen and Lasser ate too many curries, washed down with too many cans of booze to be able to keep up with him. In addition, he didn't fancy the embarrassment of chasing the boy across the busy car park. Lasser took a step towards him and then stopped; for one, he had no right to hold him and two, he would look totally fucking stupid trying to stop him. It would end with Michael leaping over the chain link fence that bordered the car park without breaking sweat while he pitched a fit. He could just imagine Fossey turning up as they wheeled him into the store on a trolley, parking him by the returns desk while they waited for an ambulance to arrive.
'Who said anything about you needing help?' Lasser said.
'What the fuck are you talking about?'
'Look, Michael, I know you probably think all coppers are tossers and…'
'I never said that, I just want to know why we're sat here like a couple of dumb bastards.'
For that particular question, Lasser had no answer.
32
Molder dropped the scalpel into the metal receptacle, his domed forehead creased in puzzlement. The newly deceased Thomas Rodney Kitts lay on the slab, his hiking days well and truly over. Molder looked at his notes, aged sixty-four, height five feet seven inches and a little over ten stone in weight.
In the past five years, Kitts had been to see his doctor twice, on both occasions it was with asthma related problems. The GP had followed the standard procedure by prescribing an inhaler.
The Needle House Page 12
