The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  'If you don't want to go to your mum's, you could come home with me?' she smiled sadly, as if she already knew he was going to refuse her offer.

  Michael hesitated and then shrugged. 'Why not, the way things are at the moment she's the last person I want to see.'

  She looked at him aghast. 'Are you sure?'

  'Yeah, why not.'

  They set off, as they walked past the ice-cream van Michael watched the owner hand over a pouch of tobacco to a kid who looked about ten.

  'I hate this frigging town.'

  She looked at him, a crooked smile on her face. 'I know what you mean.'

  'Do you still do art and stuff?' he asked.

  'I was going to college…'

  'I know; I've seen you there a few times.'

  'Yeah well, the baby's due at the end of the holidays so I don't know whether I'll be able to keep going.'

  'What about your mum, won't she watch the kid when it's born?'

  'You're joking, right? She didn't even want me to keep it in the first place.'

  'What about your old man?'

  Tina snorted. 'He's even worse; he told me he wants nothing else to do with me. I wouldn't mind but he's got kids everywhere.'

  Michael grimaced. 'Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?'

  'They couldn't tell but I'm hoping for a girl.'

  'Why's that?'

  She paused for a moment. 'Then I can dress her up, you know buy her nice things'

  Michael found himself smiling. 'Have you thought of a name yet?'

  'If it is a girl I wanted to call her Becky.'

  'What if it's a boy?'

  'Christ, don't say that I don't want a boy. I mean, you know what it's like around here, all the lads are a pain in the arse,' she spoke without a hint of irony.

  'Hey, Jones, how's your Billy doing!'

  Michael stopped in his tracks and looked across the road, Brett Halliwell was leaning against the bus stop, a sneer on his face, another lad by his side that Michael didn't recognise.

  'What did you say?'

  Halliwell grinned. 'Didn't say anything, pal.'

  Michael checked the road and began to cross, halfway over he felt a tug on his sleeve.

  'Don't, Mickey.' Tina looked at him warily. 'He's just a scumbag druggie.'

  'Tina making it all better is she, helping you forget? Yeah well, she's good at that aren't you, Tina?'

  At the look of fury in Michael's eyes, she released the sleeve and took a backward step.

  He stormed across the road; Halliwell pushed himself away from the bus stop and began to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet. 'Come on then, big man, Kyle reckons you're a hard fucker so let's…'

  Michael suddenly lunged forward, Halliwell raised his fists and Michael lashed out, his trainer sinking deep into Halliwell's crotch. As he doubled over, Michael snapped his knee up, smashing it into the boy's mouth. Halliwell crashed to the pavement, the other boy backed away with his hands half-raised.

  'It's fuck all to do with me, mate,' he said nervously.

  Brett Halliwell lay sprawled on his side, his eyes flickered but refused to open, he coughed, and two teeth slipped from the wreckage of his mouth.

  'Jesus.' Tina looked down, her eyes wide in shock.

  'Come on, let's go.' This time Michael was the one pulling her away. The ice-cream van drove past, the sound of 'Popeye, the sailor man' blasting from the speaker on the roof. When she glanced over her shoulder, the unknown boy had vanished but Halliwell remained rooted to the pavement.

  'Christ, did you see the state of his mouth?'

  Michael could feel the adrenaline surging through his body; he quickened his pace with Tina struggling to keep up.

  'Slow down, Michael,' she gasped, he stopped and turned, her cheeks were flushed, she saw his eyes shining, and then the tears broke free. Tina looked on in shock, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen anyone cry, least of all someone like Michael Jones.

  She opened her arms, a reflex action and he took a hesitant step forward into her embrace.

  48

  Jenna stood at the kitchen sink, lopping the leaves from a cauliflower, her mind in turmoil. When Patrick had told them about the missing boy and Thomas Kitts, she'd felt her world unravel, her grip on normality slipped and now she was hanging on by her fingertips.

  To try to keep herself sane she'd fed and cleaned the chickens, she'd even run the Dyson through every room in the house. What she really needed was to be outside; under normal circumstances she would have taken herself off for a long walk and thought things through in a rational manner. As things stood, that was an impossibility, the media were still parked on the lane and there was no way her parents would let her out of their sight.

  For the first time she considered the possibility that the murders would taint the whole area for her, the places she loved would forever be linked with the slaughter of William Jones and Thomas Kitts. She tried to imagine walking through the familiar countryside without having to look over her shoulder, without feeling like there was a killer hiding behind every tree.

  A figure walked past the kitchen window, her breath caught in her throat, a sense of panic fluttered her senses, her hand tightened on the handle of the knife. A few seconds later, and her grandad strolled in through the back door.

  He stopped and looked at her in surprise. 'Bloody hell, Jen, things must be bad if you're peeling veg.'

  She dragged up a smile. 'I'm just trying to keep busy.'

  'Where's your mother?'

  'Upstairs, she's on the phone to Claire Woodman.'

  As if on cue, Susan came through the door, her face flushed with anxiety, ignoring them both she went straight to the kitchen window.

  'Mum, what's the matter?'

  'I've just come off the phone to Claire; she said four police cars have just gone flying past her place with lights and sirens flashing.'

  'Any idea where they were going?' Ronnie asked.

  'She said they were heading towards the Chinese Gardens.'

  Jenna looked nervous. 'I wonder if they've found something.'

  'You mean like a body?' Ronnie said.

  Susan frowned at her father. 'Honestly, Dad.'

  'It's OK, Mum, I'm sure we were all thinking the same thing.'

  She let the net curtain swing back into place. 'She also said the police were being followed by a line of vans with satellite dishes on the roof.'

  'Reporters! That's why you went to the window to see if they'd left?'

  'Yes, but unfortunately they're still there.'

  Jenna peeled back the curtain. 'Why can't they just leave us alone?'

  'Claire said she'll see if Jim knows anything and get back to me.'

  'Does Dad know what's happened?'

  'Hang on, Jenna; I've only just come off the phone.'

  'Do you want me to give him a ring?'

  'No, thanks, love, I'll do it.'

  'Perhaps I should give Patrick a call.'

  Susan turned. 'Jenna, he only left an hour ago, give the man some peace.'

  Jenna felt the tension flood through her system. 'What do you mean by that?'

  'Look, I am pleased about the book, we're all proud of you, sweetheart, but the man does have other things to do.'

  Jenna felt her face burn, score another point for her mother. 'I was only going to tell him about the police and the reporters. I mean, it's no different than you ringing the Woodmans.'

  'Jenna, it's completely different, Jim and Claire are friends of ours, they're our closest neighbours, and what's happened here can affect them as well as us.'

  'But…'

  'I'm not saying Patrick isn't a nice guy but at the end of the day he doesn't have to carry on living here when this is all over.'

  'What has that got to do with anything?' she took a step forward, all the anger and frustration welling up inside. From nowhere a sudden tension had been injected into the air like some odourless nerve agent.

  Susan sighed. 'Lo
ok, I'm not trying to be awkward…'

  'Well, it sounds like it to me.'

  Jenna felt a hand on her shoulder. 'All right, Jenna, calm down, love.'

  Susan saw the look of anger flash across her daughter's face as she spun away to face her grandad. 'What do you mean calm down? I'm sick of you lot treating me like some kind of infant.'

  'Oh, for God's sake, Jenna, stop over-reacting.' As soon as the words left her mouth, Susan cringed.

  When Jenna turned, it was with slow deliberation. 'So, you think I'm over-reacting?'

  'Look, I didn't mean it to come out like that.'

  'If you didn't mean it, why did you say it?'

  Susan tried to backpedal. 'We're just concerned, Jenna, this is a stressful time for us all.'

  'I know that, but this has nothing to do with what's going on here.'

  The kettle began to boil; Ronnie eyed it, watching the water bubble away in the little see-through plastic slot.

  Susan looked baffled. 'I don't understand.'

  Jenna knew what she wanted to say but her brain suddenly felt heavy and sluggish. 'I'm seventeen and I feel like a prisoner,' it was a weak response, her chance to tell her mother what she really thought. Yet that was the best she could come up with?

  'Oh, so you mean we should just let you go wandering off, is that what you are saying? I mean, there's a maniac out there who's already killed two people, but we shouldn't bother taking precautions.' Susan was aware that her voice had taken on a mocking quality, horrified at how much she sounded like her own mother.

  'I'm not saying that at all, but I need to be given some responsibility. I need to feel that you trust me to do the right thing and I'm not talking about wandering off on my own.'

  'Of course we trust you.' Ronnie flicked off the kettle.

  'Then prove it.'

  Susan frowned. 'And how do you propose we do that?'

  'I don't know how; just don't make me feel like you're watching me all the time.'

  'But we don't; up until all this started you could do what you wanted,' she paused, 'within reason.'

  'Oh come on…'

  'Look, I know it's not always easy living out here and you've missed out on certain things…'

  'But that's just it; I haven't missed out on anything. I mean, do you think I want to hang around in town getting a drug habit and losing my virginity to one of the morons who hang around on the street corners.'

  Ronnie couldn't remember the last time he had blushed; it might have been on his wedding night over fifty years ago when he saw his new wife naked for the first time.

  'I love living here, I just want,' she paused, 'things to get back to normal.' It sounded lame, pathetic.

  'Right, who wants a cup of tea?' Ronnie asked.

  Jenna glared at her grandad, when she saw the upset etched onto his face; she suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She was pathetic, moaning because she felt smothered when the reality was her family loved and cared about her and all she could do was throw it back in their faces. Jenna sighed, 'Why not.'

  Ronnie smiled tentatively and turned to the sink glad to be doing something with his hands. It took him a moment to realise that something had changed with the view. 'The vans have gone!'

  Daughter and granddaughter peered over his shoulder; Jenna rested her hand on his arm.

  Susan sighed. 'Thank God for that, maybe now your dad can relax a little.'

  Jenna blew out between pursed lips; her dad wasn't the only one.

  49

  Lasser was furious when he found out Hopkins had stumbled onto something. Meadows had sounded smug on the two-way, claiming he didn't really know what was happening but whatever it was it was big.

  He was steaming towards the Chinese Gardens, his mind fizzing with anger. He slowed as the lane began to narrow, trees crowded in on either side, as if deliberately trying to slow him down; the surface of the road growing patchy forcing him to dodge numerous potholes. Fumbling in the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out his cigarettes and pressed the lighter into the small socket. A moment later, the front wheels dropped down a long gash in the road, the suspension grinding as the wheels struggled free.

  'Fuck!' The cigarette dropped from his fingers and rolled into the footwell.

  If Hopkins solved this thing he'd be unbearable, he could picture his smug face on the news, the hero of the hour, lording it over everyone at the station. Lasser's teeth took a battering as he ground them together in frustration, the urge to get his foot down tempered by the state of the road. As he rounded the corner, he saw a white transit van dipping and leaning as it moved along in front. He could see the logo splashed across the back doors, the words Orbital Television curling around an image of the earth.

  This just got better; it seemed everyone knew what was going on apart from him. They pulled up on the left, two men climbed out, one of them holding a camera on his shoulder. By the time he reached the van the men had vanished into the trees. An assortment of police vehicles and white transit vans stretched along the narrow lane.

  Lasser slammed the car door before scrambling over the wall and heading off into the woods. He could see the reporters thirty yards ahead, weaving their way through the trees, it seemed they had no trouble knowing which way to go.

  The ground beneath his feet began to grow steeper, the leaf-littered floor causing him to slither and slide his way down, in the distance he saw the unmistakable flash of a yellow hi-vis jacket.

  The tower seemed to materialise out of the browns and greens of the forest, a group of reporters were talking amongst themselves, a couple of photographers snapped off images of the uniforms as they beat their way through the undergrowth.

  He spotted Carl, dressed in a white-paper boiler suit, which probably meant they'd found something grim.

  'Afternoon, Carl,' he said, as he approached.

  Carl pulled down the paper mask that covered his nose and mouth. 'All right, boss, I didn't expect to see you here.'

  'Why do you always say that, I mean, why should it be such a bloody surprise?'

  'Well, I just thought with DS Hopkins being in…'

  'Fuck him, now what have you got for me?'

  Carl looked surprised by the outburst then he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. 'The dog picked up the scent.'

  Lasser sucked his teeth. 'Bad?'

  'The body is at the top of the tower; what's left of him is hanging from a crossbeam.'

  'Is Hopkins inside?'

  'He was but he came out pretty sharpish.'

  Lasser smiled grimly. 'Not got the stomach for it, eh?'

  'It's not that, it's just as soon as the cameras turned up he went out to be interviewed. In fact, he's over there now.'

  Lasser looked towards where Carl was pointing, and sure enough he could see Hopkins standing amongst a patch of ferns, surrounded by reporters, tiny lights lancing out from the cameras all trained on the immaculately dressed Hopkins.

  'He should be doing his job, not preening for the media,' Lasser snapped.

  'You know what he's like; he's only interested in number one.'

  'Yeah well, I might as well take a look around while he's having his fifteen minutes.'

  'I've seen nothing.'

  'Good man.' Inside the tower the air was musty with age, sunlight pooled in through the open door flooding the narrow space with light; apart from a couple of tea-chests stacked against one wall the small space was empty. To his right, stone steps spiralled upward; he could hear the muffled sound of footsteps from above, so he began to climb. He caught the scent when he was halfway up, the unmistakable stench of decomposing flesh. By the time he reached the trapdoor entrance his stomach was twitching and rolling at the fetid onslaught. As he poked his head through the gap, a camera flash lit up the gruesome scene. Billy Jones hung from the end of a thick rope, his face a swirling kaleidoscope of black and blue flesh, the eyes swollen shut. Lasser closed his eyes but the image remained seared into his brain.

  'Hello, Lasse
r, you have one twisted individual to catch.'

  Monty Marsh held the camera loosely in his large hands; his huge frame seemed to fill the tiny space.

  'Not me, Monty, that's Hopkins's job.'

  'Does he know you're here?'

  'What do you think?'

  Marsh smiled. 'I take it he's still auditioning for Crimewatch?'

  Lasser nodded and hauled himself up onto the platform. 'How did you guess?' he asked, before turning his attention to the hanging slab of meat.

  'Welcome to the world of the sick mind.' Monty said.

  'That's mild for you.'

  Monty shrugged. 'I'm trying to get out of the habit of using expletives; the grandkids were starting to pick up some of my more colourful phrases.'

  Lasser smiled and then looked at the boarded-up slots in the walls, reaching out he gave one a tug, but the timber held fast.

  'We either need to get these boards off the windows or get some lighting up here.'

  'That's up to Hopkins isn't it?'

  'Come here, Monty, see if you can get one of these boards loose.'

  The crime scene photographer reached out and gave the sheet of plywood a pull. 'You do realise he'll go mad when he finds out?'

  'Not interested, now come on, pull,' both men yanked and slowly the board began to come loose, sunlight spilled into the small space, Monty gave one final tug, grunting with the effort then the wood came free, the nails sounding like a small animal caught in a trap. Lasser took the board and placed it carefully against the wall. Dust motes spiralled in the air, the sight of the corpse swinging was both pitiful and grotesque. Billy's bare legs were lathered with the dried blood, the incision started at the neck and ended an inch above the pelvic bone. The body cavity was a red maw of ragged flesh, the skin mottled with mauves and blues.

  'Poor little sod.' Monty snapped off another picture.

  Lasser looked at the floorboard beneath the corpse, the dust had turned ochre where it had soaked up the blood. He frowned, then crouched on his haunches, the tiny metal square glittered in the half-light.

  Pulling an evidence bag from his pocket, he slipped it inside.

  'What have you got there?' Monty asked.