The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  'Something you wouldn't expect to find in a place like this.'

  Monty took the bag and held it up close to his face. 'It's a bloody cufflink.'

  'Mind your language, Monty.'

  The cameraman smiled ruefully and handed it back. Lasser opened the bag and jiggled the cufflink around, then peered closely at the small gold plate. The crossed guns inscribed onto the metal were tiny, Lasser grinned. When he'd gone up to the Radfield's home, he had noticed the same emblem carved into the stone lintel that spanned the huge front door.

  'Right, Monty, I'll leave you to it.'

  'Leaving so soon?'

  'Unlike some, I prefer to follow up on a lead rather than practising flashing my pearly whites at the camera.'

  'What about the evidence, are you going to pass it onto Hopkins?'

  Lasser grimaced, that was the big question, if he decided to keep hold of it then he ran the risk of Hopkins finding out and then he would go straight to Simms, bleating about how a fellow officer had held back vital evidence in a double murder case. As much as he despised the man, he didn't want to give him any bullets to fire.

  'No, I'm not going to give it to him.'

  'Are you sure that's wise?' Monty asked with a frown.

  'I only said I wasn't going to personally hand it over, that doesn't mean I can't leave the bag in your capable hands.'

  'You want me to do it?'

  Lasser held the bag out, after a few seconds Monty shrugged and plucked it from his fingers.

  'By the way you know what Hopkins is like when he's in the starring role, he hates to be interrupted.'

  'So, I shouldn't disturb him, is that what you're saying?'

  'That's up to you but I wouldn't want to be the one who stops him in mid flow.'

  'I'll wait until he pops up here then.'

  Lasser began to disappear back down the steps. 'I'll catch you later, Monty.'

  Back outside, he glanced down the hillside, Hopkins was still busy making a name for himself, pointing at individual reporters, turning this way and that to offer the camera a profile shot. Shaking his head in disgust, Lasser began to clamber back up the steep incline.

  Once back in the car, he slapped on the air con. His shirt clung to his back as he swiped the sweat from his face with the back of a hand. In order to turn around he had to travel further up the rutted lane until he found a spot where he could attempt a three-point turn. Facing the right way, he set off, his head buzzing with the need to get a move on, though the derelict road had other ideas.

  As the car banged down another pothole, he thought of Sarah Jones trying to sell her story to the local rags.

  He hoped she was the one to identify the body, perhaps she'd look upon the wreckage of her son and realise that she bore some responsibility. The kid had been fourteen, yet he'd lived the life of someone older. Cheap booze and even cheaper drugs coupled with a mother who didn't care where her son was or what he was up to. A father who was in and out of jail, both willing to turn a blind eye when their offspring turned up with stolen goods, giving them a pat on the back, instilling in them that only mugs worked for a living.

  At last the road began to widen and Lasser got his foot down, Billy might have been a thief and a tearaway, but he hadn't deserved to die, especially not like that.

  He grimaced; when he'd made the link between the button from the Barbour jacket and the murder, he had been elated though the feeling had been short lived. Even now after finding the cufflink, he still couldn't see the late Malcolm Radfield as the killer. At the junction he turned left, a cow peered at him over a five-bar gate, its jaw moving lazily as it chewed on a clump of clover.

  So, where did that leave him? Well, a button was one thing, but a cufflink with the family coat of arms inscribed on the surface, went way beyond mere coincidence.

  He slowed as a tractor and trailer rumbled past, a few seconds later the rich smell of liquid cow shit drifted into the car. He grimaced at the onslaught, slid the windows up and lit a cigarette to help mask the stink.

  If old man Radfield had been incapable of murder, then that left his son with some serious explaining to do. He flicked on the radio and tuned into the oldies station, John Lennon's nasal tones singing about the 'Nowhere Man'.

  50

  The sun was sinking towards the wooded hills, a raspberry-coloured sunset.

  Fossey headed around the back of the house, weaving his way through the small apple orchard, the fruit-hanging heavy on the gnarly branches. He stopped and picked one, rubbing it to a high sheen on the sleeve of his jacket before taking a bite. This time last year, he'd been travelling the country doing book signings and the fruit had been left to rot on the branch.

  Perhaps Ronnie could take them off his hands; after all, he liked to make his own cider and besides, it would give him the opportunity to pick the old farmer's brains. When they'd been walking up to the tower, he had the distinct feeling that Ronnie knew more about the Radfield family than he had prepared to divulge.

  On the other side of the trees, he cut through a gap in the bushes and headed out into open fields. The dog dashed about amongst the tall grass, occasionally leaping into the air to get his bearings.

  The heat of the day bled away, a faint mist rising from the ground.

  His phone began to vibrate, he checked the screen, Jenna's name flashed on and off in time to the beat.

  'Hello, Jenna, I was just thinking about you.'

  'You were?' she sounded shocked and more than a little pleased.

  'Mm, how are things at your end?'

  Her sigh sounded like a light breeze sifting through dry grass.

  'Not too bad I suppose, it's just that with all this going on, I feel like a bit of a prisoner. I mean, my mum and dad are worried, and I understand that,' she paused, 'I just wish the whole thing had never happened.'

  'Well, I might be able to offer you and your grandad a bit of a respite…'

  'A respite?'

  'You see; I have a small orchard in the garden…'

  'Wow really?'

  'It's only a few trees but it's been a bumper crop this year and I know Ronnie mentioned he liked to make his own cider. So, I was wondering if the two of you would be interested in coming over to help me pick the apples. I mean, Ronnie can have the lot, I just don't like to think of all the fruit going to waste.'

  'That would be brilliant.'

  He could hear the change in her voice, melancholy replaced by unbounded excitement.

  'Right well, you clear it with your mum and ring me back with a decision.'

  'When do you want us there?'

  'I'm no expert but I think they are ready to pick now; in fact, I've just eaten one.'

  'So, we could come tomorrow?' she asked tentatively.

  'I don't have a problem with that, in fact whatever suits you best.'

  'I'll ring you back in ten minutes,' she paused, 'possibly less.' The phone went dead.

  He whistled, and the dog leapt to its feet, in the distance he heard the boom of a shotgun, in the next field a murder of crows took to the sky.

  51

  Michael squinted as he stood on the threshold of Tina's bedroom; all the walls were painted bright pink; the bedding was pink even the curtains were a shocking cerise colour with red sequined hearts stitched onto the cloth. A multitude of soft toys covered the bed.

  'Sorry about the mess,' she said.

  'What mess?'

  She smiled in embarrassment. 'I know it looks like a ten-year-old's room,' she shrugged. 'I keep meaning to change things around a bit, but I don't see the point until the baby gets here.'

  'I just didn't think it would be so,' he paused, 'pink.'

  She handed him a can of Coke and sat down on the bed, Michael looked around for somewhere to sit but the only chair in the room had a giant teddy bear on it. Tina shuffled higher up the bed scattering the soft toys onto the floor. He perched on the edge of the mattress; sunlight filled the room, spilling across the crimson carpet, it was
like sitting inside a giant boiled sweet.

  'I can't believe what you did to Halliwell.'

  Michael rubbed his knee, he could feel the swelling from where he had made contact with Halliwell's face. 'He's a prick.'

  She took a sip from her can, looking closely at his profile. She had always fancied him though when they had been at school together he had continually ignored her. Occasionally, she would catch his eye and flash him her best smile and he would simply look through her as if she didn't exist. In fact, for a while getting Michael Jones to notice her had become something of an obsession. Her skirts had become shorter, her makeup thicker, the false tan coating her legs browner. Trouble was the less she wore the more he ignored her, of course she got plenty of attention from other boys but that wasn't what she had wanted.

  Now he was in her bedroom, something she had dreamt about and although he still looked gorgeous, there was a sadness etched on his face. She thought about how he had felt in her arms, it had been heart-breaking and thrilling to feel the sobs wracking through his chest, slamming against her own heart.

  'Are you OK?' she asked, her voice little more than a whisper, as if afraid that she would break some imaginary spell and he would vanish in a puff of smoke.

  He dragged up a smile that was full of heartbreak. 'I just can't believe he's gone,' he rubbed at his eyes. 'I mean, he could be a little shit at times, but…'

  'He was still your brother.'

  His shoulders slumped, the adrenalin that had swept through his body had long since abated, leaving him feeling battered and drained.

  She tried to think of something to say, something that would offer some sort of comfort. At seventeen, she was used to offering advice though it was usually to girlfriends who were having boy trouble. She ran through some of the stock phrases she had used in the past, though nothing seemed appropriate. When she did open her mouth to speak, she wished she had kept it shut.

  'Do you know how he died?'

  For a few seconds he continued to look at the carpet, when he did turn to look at her his eyes were ignited with fury. She resisted the urge to jump from the bed and dash from the room. 'I'm sorry; I shouldn't have asked, it's none of my business,' she tried to keep the panic from her voice, the words tripping over one another in her effort to defuse the situation.

  'I haven't got a fucking clue; I mean, how sad is that? When the copper said he couldn't go into detail I just nodded my head like a dumb fucker.'

  His voice started to rise, and Tina cringed inside, any minute now, her mother would come barging in and then God knows what would happen.

  'What copper?'

  'His name's Lasser, he was the one who told me about Billy, he was there when I hit the fat bitch.'

  'You hit your mother,' she whispered, her own mother could be a nightmare. In fact, there had been plenty of times when they had stood toe to toe, screaming at one another although Tina had always known that it would never get physical.

  'Believe me, she deserved it.' Michael said darkly.

  She picked up a cabbage patch doll and hugged it to her chest.

  'So, you can't go home?'

  'I'm never going back there, besides knowing her, the place will be crawling with reporters by now.'

  'What makes you say that?'

  He told her about seeing his mother on the TV screens in Tesco, his voice faltering in shame.

  Tina chewed a nail. 'That must have been awful?'

  'She was acting like this perfect mother who'd lost her little baby, it made me want to throw up.'

  'But why would she do that?'

  'Look, you don't know what she's like; the only thing she'll be interested in is how she can make money out of this.'

  Tina plucked at a thread of cotton on the duvet, in a town that had more than its fair share of dysfunctional families, the Jones clan stood out more than most.

  'So, what are you going to do, I mean, if you can't go home where are you going to stay?'

  He stood up, suddenly agitated. He hadn't thought this through, the urge to get hold of Kyle Connelly and make him pay had turned into nothing and he had no intention of setting foot in the family home again. He knew he could call on certain people who would let him doss on their sofa for a few days, the trouble was they were the kind of people he was trying to break away from. Perhaps he should have stayed at Fossey's house; maybe the writer had been in a position to help him find out more about what had happened to Billy. He should go back; Michael checked his watch and was shocked to discover that it was almost six o'clock.

  'You could always stay here if you want?' Tina was looking at the floor, her face obscured by her long, blond hair.

  'What about your mother?'

  She shrugged. 'If she'd been bothered about lads staying over then maybe I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.'

  'Do you know who the dad is?'

  'What sort of question's that? I mean, I know what people like Halliwell are saying, Tina Sheldon the slag, opens her legs to anyone.'

  'Hang on; I never said that, I was just curious that's all.'

  'Well, for your information I do know who the father is,' she snapped.

  'OK, take a chill pill.'

  She glanced up and smiled. 'So, do you want to stay?'

  'Just for one night if that's OK?'

  'You can stay as long as you like.'

  'Tomorrow, I'm going to see a man who might be able to help me find out what really happened to Billy.'

  'Is it the copper?'

  'Nah, his name's Fossey,' he took a long drink from the can and swallowed down a burp.

  'So, does he live around here?' she asked.

  'Horwich.'

  'So, how are you going to get there, I mean, have you got any money?'

  'I've got a bit of cash, but I can always walk it.'

  'Jesus, Mickey, it's miles away, it'll take you hours.'

  'Two and a half, that's where I was last night, so I know how long it takes.'

  She leaned over and slid open the drawer on her bedside cabinet. 'Here, take this,' she held out four twenty-pound notes.

  Michael held up his hands. 'I can't take your money, Tina.'

  'Of course you can, listen I don't need it. Honestly I want you to have it.'

  'No way,' he backed up shaking his head.

  'Please,' she pushed the money towards him. 'Whatever you don't use you can just bring back.'

  'But you're having a kid you're going to need all the money you can get.'

  'I'm not bothered about that.'

  Michael looked at her outstretched hand. 'I don't get it; why would you want to help me?'

  She didn't reply, he watched as she rolled the money into a narrow cylinder.

  'Listen, what are you doing tomorrow?' he asked.

  'I'm not doing anything, why?'

  'Well, why don't you come with me?'

  'What to see this…?' she tried to remember the name.

  'Fossey.'

  'But why would you want me tagging along?'

  He tried to think of another reason and found that he couldn't. So, he settled for the truth. 'I just want you there.'

  She looked at him perched on the edge of the bed, the hardness had gone from his face, replaced with bewilderment.

  'Are you hungry?' she asked.

  Michael sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. 'Starving.'

  'I can make beans on toast.'

  'Sound.'

  She stood up, pulling the T-shirt down over her bump. 'Well, if we have a busy day tomorrow, we might as well have something to eat,' she smiled. 'I have to keep my strength up you know.'

  'You don't have to come, I mean, if it's too far.'

  She ignored him. 'Do you want a brew with your tea?'

  'No thanks, I'm fine with this,' he shook the can at her.

  'OK, I won't be long,' as she walked past he took hold of her arm and stood up, dipping his head he brushed her cheek with his lips.

  'Thanks.'

 
Tina felt herself blush. 'It's no problem, Mickey, I want to help.'

  She turned and hurried from the room, Michael kicked off his trainers and lay on the bed, two minutes later he was asleep.

  52

  'I promise you this, when my solicitor gets here I'll make sure he puts in a formal complaint about your behaviour, Sergeant.'

  Lasser looked at Ashley Radfield, his aristocratic face bone white with anger.

  'We're not here to discuss my behaviour, Mr Radfield. What I'd like to know is why a cufflink bearing your family coat of arms was discovered beneath the hanging corpse of a fourteen-year-old boy?'

  Ashley crossed his legs and pulled a small silver case from his pocket.

  Lasser waited until he had extracted a cigarette and pulled out his lighter. 'You can't smoke in here,' he said with a smile, pointing to the 'no smoking' sign pinned to the wall.

  Radfield's lips became a thin bloodless line. 'I've already explained I'm saying nothing until I've seen my solicitor.'

  'And why would that be? I mean, it doesn't look too sparkling – you refusing to help the police in such a serious matter. If you genuinely have no idea about any of this, then why don't you open your mouth and say so?'

  'And you'd believe me, would you? I tell you I have absolutely no idea what you are referring to. You'll be satisfied and apologise, is that what you are saying, Sergeant?'

  'Hardly.'

  'So, you can understand my reluctance?'

  'Not really, I just know that if I was in your situation I'd want to get the whole thing sorted. I understand that you value your privacy, it's natural, though once the rumours start it'll impact on you more than most.'

  'Meaning what exactly?'

  'Well, nobody likes to have their family name splashed all over the tabloids, do they? Though to be honest you've probably had dealings with them in the past…'

  'Just what the hell do you mean by that?'

  'You know the type of thing, opening summer fetes, judging the weirdly-shaped vegetables at the agricultural shows.'

  Radfield's eyes narrowed until they were no more than slits. 'I have friends who work in the media. When all this is over I'll avail myself of their services to make sure they turn their attention in your direction.'