The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  'And where did your father go?' Lasser asked.

  'I am not,' he paused, 'was not my father's keeper. The following day I had an appointment in Manchester with a solicitor. I got back to the house by two and looked for him but as you well know he was probably already dead by then.'

  'When you said you looked for him, what do you actually mean?'

  'If you are asking if I looked under all the beds and checked in the wardrobes then the answer is no.'

  'I am not interested in where you didn't look,' Lasser said with a smile.

  'Look, I had a walk around the house, checked the rooms but I had no reason to believe that anything was amiss, so it was not an intensive search if that is what you are implying.'

  'So, you have no idea of his whereabouts from the time your conversation ended until you discovered him the following night in the greenhouse?' Lasser asked.

  'That's correct.'

  Lasser decided it was time to change tack. 'Now moving on to another matter, can you give any explanation as to why we should find a cufflink belonging to a member of your family at a crime scene?'

  Walters suddenly sat up straight, Radfield eased back in his chair.

  'My client is in no position to either confirm or deny that the cufflink belonged to a family member. As for the place it was found, I am sure that you are aware that,' he paused to check his notes, 'the needle house did at one time belong to the Radfield family. Now I am sure it is not beyond the realms of possibility that this item could have been there for a number of years.'

  'Well, hopefully once we've finished searching the house we'll have some clarity on the matter.' Lasser said.

  For the first, time Radfield looked rattled. 'What do you mean; you have no right to search my property?' he tried to stand but Walters took hold of his arm.

  'Calm down, Ashley, the police are within their rights.'

  'But this is scandalous!'

  Lasser had heard enough. 'Look, Mr Radfield, what would you have us do, do you think we should merely ignore this evidence, is that what you are suggesting?'

  Radfield glared across the table. 'But Walters has already explained that cufflink must have been there for years. I mean, members of my family used to use the tower all the time.'

  Lasser nodded. 'We appreciate that, but surely you can understand that we would be failing in our duty if we didn't follow every avenue of investigation.'

  Radfield slumped back into his chair. Simms slipped the pen back into his pocket.

  'Ultimately we want to catch whoever did this as quickly as possible,' Lasser stood up. 'Because nobody deserves to die like Billy Jones, do they, Mr Radfield?'

  Ashley opened his mouth to reply but Walters interjected. 'We could not agree more, Sergeant. However, I believe my client has been most forthcoming in his dealings with you. Now, I would suggest that unless you have any objections, Lord Radfield should be released immediately.'

  A silence fell over the room then Simms nodded to Harper who opened the door; Radfield stood up and removed his camel hair jacket from the back of the grubby, plastic chair.

  Simms turned. 'I am sorry, Mr Radfield, but it'll take a couple of hours to process the relevant paperwork, though you're more than welcome to use the coffee machine if you feel the need.'

  Radfield looked at his solicitor; Walters gave a slight shrug of his insect-like shoulders. Lasser grabbed his coat and followed Simms out of the door.

  In the corridor, Simms spun around. 'Right, get yourself up to the house, I want you to make sure they don't miss anything.'

  'No problem, sir.'

  'I'll make sure admin take their time with the paperwork.'

  Lasser hooked a thumb over his shoulder. 'What do you make of him?'

  Simms removed a bit of fluff from the sleeve of his jacket. 'Well, I'd be lying if I said I liked the man, though that doesn't make him a killer.'

  'True enough.'

  'But you think he's guilty?'

  Lasser thought for a moment. 'It's hard to tell though it seems strange that we found two pieces of evidence pointing towards the family.'

  Simms made his way to the coffee machine. 'What are you having?'

  'Coffee, please.'

  Simms punched in the number; the plastic cup dropped into the holder and began to fill. 'When you say strange, what do you mean exactly?'

  Lasser pursed his lips. 'I don't know exactly but it just feels odd.'

  Simms handed him the cup then punched in another set of numbers. 'Explain?'

  'Well, I can understand one piece of evidence being left behind, in the heat of the moment anyone can get careless, but two?'

  Simms took a sip of his drink and winced. 'We follow clues, Lasser, that's what we do.'

  'Of course, sir, but why would a person go out with the sole intention of killing someone and yet be so careless as to leave a cufflink behind that bears the family crest?'

  'You think someone planted them?'

  Lasser shrugged. 'Not necessarily, the button could have come from anywhere and, like Walters said, the cufflink could have been up there for years.'

  'So, let me get this straight, you're saying Radfield's innocent?'

  'I'm saying I'll keep an open mind until I have more facts.'

  'And what about Thomas Kitts, do you have any theories regarding his death?'

  Lasser blew on his drink and took a sip. 'Well, until Molder looked at the body, we all thought Kitts had died of heart failure.'

  'So, the killer was trying to make it look like natural causes?'

  'It seems that way, which implies that he definitely didn't want us making any links between the two.'

  Simms thought this over for a moment. 'Or perhaps he was just being careful, after all Kitts was killed out in the open.'

  Lasser nodded, Simms might be spending his last couple of years behind a desk, but it was obvious he still had the instincts of a good copper.

  'It's possible; even though the place is pretty remote there was still the chance that someone could have been out and about.'

  'So, you think it was the same man?'

  'If it wasn't then we have two killers on the loose which seems unlikely.'

  Simms nodded. 'Agreed, now I suggest you use this time to get up there sharpish and keep me…'

  'Informed, sir?'

  Simms smiled, Lasser dropped the plastic cup into the bin.

  57

  It was taking an age to pick the apples. Ronnie had adopted the role of slave driver, pointing out the fruit that hung from the highest branches. Fossey and Michael spent the afternoon scrambling amongst the branches of the twisted old trees picking the fruit and dropping it to the lawn beneath. Jenna and Tina were placing the apples into plastic sacks and Ronnie was dumping them into the trailer.

  Tina grimaced, placed her hands in the small of her back, and stretched. Fossey had provided her with a rubber band, and her hair was now tied back in a neat ponytail.

  'Are you OK, Tina?' Jenna asked.

  'My back's a little stiff that's all.'

  Jenna wiped a hand across her forehead, even though they were shaded beneath the trees it was still hot work. 'Right, that's enough. Grandad!'

  Ronnie looked towards his granddaughter. 'What's up, Jenna love?'

  'We're taking a break.'

  He looked bemused as if he was in charge of a crew that had suddenly turned mutinous.

  Fossey looked down from amongst the branches. 'Sounds like a good idea to me,' scrambling down, he dropped the last couple of feet and then ran a hand through his hair dislodging a couple of leaves. 'Right, let's get out of this heat for a while.'

  Michael and Ronnie wandered over. Even though it had to be about eighty degrees, Ronnie was still wearing his jacket, his face serene.

  When they entered the kitchen, he made the grand gesture of removing his flat cap.

  Fossey pulled open the fridge door and pulled out a six-pack of lager, then handed them out.

  Ronnie studied the can
for a moment as if he were checking the ingredients.

  'I've got wine if you'd prefer it, Ronnie?'

  'Pearls before swine, lad,'

  'Right good, now let's go and relax.'

  'Bonny place you've got.' Ronnie said a hint of admiration as they made their way into the lounge. 'How long have you lived here?'

  'Six years, though to tell you the truth the place is way too big for someone living alone.'

  Tina leaned back into the sofa; it felt as if she was melting into a huge marshmallow, Michael smiled at her, he looked more relaxed. During the afternoon, while he'd been scrambling amongst the branches he hadn't said a word, now he looked somehow calmer as if he'd been sorting things out in his head as he worked.

  Ronnie was perched on the arm of the sofa his old work boots planted firmly on the oak floorboards.

  'I take it this place used to be a barn?'

  Fossey nodded. 'Yeah, I knew the guy who owned it and he was selling it off at a reasonable price, so I took the plunge.'

  'It must have taken a lot of work to get it looking like this?' Jenna said.

  Fossey smiled. 'I spent two years living in an old caravan on the front garden.'

  'So, you did some of the work then?' Ronnie asked.

  'I did what I could, though all the structural work was done professionally.'

  'Aye well, they've done a good job.'

  Fossey glanced at Tina, her eyes were closed, a small smile on her face. He wondered if Michael was the father of her unborn child, he hadn't mentioned it. Then again why would he?

  Ronnie pulled out his tobacco tin.

  'Grandad!' Jenna was glaring at him; she made a quick sweeping gesture with her right hand.

  'Oh, right sorry, force of habit.'

  'It's OK, Ronnie, I don't mind if you smoke.'

  'Are you sure, lad?'

  'I'm positive, it doesn't bother me.'

  A few seconds later, Ronnie was puffing contentedly on the cigarette and then he nodded towards Tina. 'She's nodded off.'

  Fossey drained his can. 'Why don't we let her sleep, after all it's hot out there.'

  Michael nodded, 'Yeah, no problem.'

  Ronnie stood up and headed for the kitchen, his old work boots sounding loud on the polished floor. 'We might as well make a start, after all those apples won't pick themselves.'

  Jenna tapped him on the shoulder. 'What did your last slave die of, Grandad?'

  As they left the room, Fossey took a cream-coloured throw and placed it over the sleeping girl; her eyes flickered but didn't open.

  58

  Lasser stood at the upstairs window looking out through the mullioned glass at the group of reporters gathered at the bottom of the long driveway. Behind him, he could hear the sound of drawers being yanked open, the contents riffled through then slammed shut.

  The vista from the bedroom window was spectacular, the house stood on a natural rise, commanding uninterrupted views over the valley below. No other properties were visible just wheat fields and undulating hills.

  Turning from the window he sniffed, the bedroom had an earthy damp smell, the wallpaper yellowing with age, even the furniture looked careworn, in some bizarre way it reminded him of Sarah Jones's living room.

  Either Malcolm Radfield had cared little for the material things in life or he'd been desperately short of cash. Ashley had stated that he'd driven down from Scotland to discuss ''family business'' and with the look of this place Lasser was sure that the family finances would have been high on the agenda. Although he had yet to hear of a case where struggling to pay the gas bill had turned someone into a psychotic killer.

  'Have you checked the bedside cabinet?' Lasser asked.

  Spenner nodded. 'Yes, sir, nothing out of the ordinary.'

  'Right then, I think we've done in here, you can start on the next bedroom.'

  Spenner spun on his heels and strode from the room, a man on a mission.

  As much as he disliked Radfield, Lasser was struggling to come up with a motive, and no matter how bizarre or misguided, there was always a reason for murder, the problem was finding it. Radfield had no alibi for the Jones killing and asleep in the armchair was lame by anyone's standard. However, if he had been responsible then why move the body from the old house to a place that was bound to lead to suspicion, and why leave a cufflink directly under the corpse? None of it made sense, Simms had stated that they follow the facts, though Lasser was starting to think that maybe they were not facts after all.

  Spenner came striding into the room, his face triumphant. 'Look at this, sir,' the shirt was starched white, hanging from an old-fashioned wire coat hanger. Spenner held it up in front of him like a trophy killing. 'One of the cufflinks is missing, sir.'

  Lasser picked up the sleeve; the small gold square was a match for the one he had found in the tower.

  'We've got him, sir.'

  Lasser could hear the excitement in Spenner's voice, his eyes shining with a fanaticism any suicide bomber would have been proud of and yesterday he would have felt the same. Now he felt uneasy, as if he was being led around by the nose, here is clue A, now join the obvious dots to clue B.

  'Good work, Spenner,' the constable puffed out his chest, a big stupid smile on his young face. 'Bag it and tag it.'

  'Straight away, sir.'

  Lasser headed for the door.

  Five minutes later, he was in the car with a cigarette clamped between his lips as he radioed through to dispatch asking to be patched through to Simms.

  'So, that's a definite then?' The DCI's voice crackled through the handset.

  'No doubt, sir, Spenner found the shirt hanging in one of the wardrobes.'

  'Do we know whose bedroom?'

  'Not yet but I am sure Radfield will be able to help us out.'

  'Right, so what are you up to now?'

  Lasser paused, it was decision time he could either try his usual bullshit approach or break a long-held habit and tell the truth.

  'Well, sir,' he paused, 'there is someone I'd like to have a word with if that's all right with you?'

  'Is it connected to the case?'

  'I'm not sure at the moment.'

  The line went quiet. 'OK but remember no cutting corners and do not even think about keeping things to yourself.'

  'I understand, sir.'

  'I hope so, Sergeant.'

  He could hear the underlying threat, he watched as a robin hopped across the gravel drive and disappeared into the long grass that passed as a lawn. 'What about Radfield?'

  'Well, let's just say I'll be looking to keep him in for a little longer, now get your skates on, I don't want you disappearing for the day.'

  Lasser ended the call and blew smoke through the open window, a moment later a scabby black cat emerged from the long grass with the robin clamped between its jaws. With a shake of his head, he started the car and eased down the long driveway. As he approached the gates, the reporters began to move forward, cameras flashed, four constables linked arms shepherding them back to the side of the road. Lasser swept past keeping his face stern and his eyes forward.

  Perhaps going to see Fossey would turn out to be a mistake but the guy was meant to be a criminal psychologist and he needed to run a few things past him.

  Once he hit the B-roads, he got his foot down, the window wide open, the sweet smell of summer flooding the car. At the crossroads, he paused to get his bearings, his fingers drumming an angry tattoo on the steering wheel, then he swung right and slammed his foot down on the accelerator.

  Fossey had spent time in the old house, he'd been the one to raise the alarm, so he must have had a good look around, formed some sort of theory as to the type of man they were looking for. The more he thought about it the more aggravated he became. He'd managed to keep the image of Billy's butchered corpse from his mind, now it came jittering back in glorious Technicolor, the body somehow shrunken, the eyes screwed shut in agony, a dark cavity that used to house a living, beating heart.

&
nbsp; He shook his head in an effort to dispel the harrowing image and missed the narrow right-hand turn. 'Fuck.' he slammed on the brakes, the seat belt biting, black smoke poured from the tyres, leaving smears of melted rubber on the road. He reversed and turned right; the lane began to narrow so he eased off, his temper abating as the car slowed. He braked for the tight right-hand bend and then snapped the wheel left onto Fossey's narrow drive.

  Pulling up behind the Range Rover, he climbed from the car and flicked the cigarette into the bushes. He could hear the low murmuring of voices coming from the side of the house.

  Fossey was sitting on the short-cut grass with some old bloke in a flat cap and a blond-haired girl who looked to be about seventeen. The real surprise was seeing Michael Jones sitting slightly apart from the others, aimlessly picking at the blades of grass.

  Fossey spotted him and raised a hand in surprise. 'Lasser!' he clambered to his feet, Michael turned, a scowl forming on his face.

  'I need a word.' Lasser said.

  Fossey made his way over; Michael leapt to his feet and followed.

  To Lasser, Fossey looked as if he'd been under a sun bed that had just been fitted with new tubes, his face red and blotchy.

  'I didn't have you down as a sun worshipper,' he said.

  'Picking apples to make cider,' Fossey hooked a thumb over his shoulder. 'I'm sure Ronnie will let you have a few bottles when they're ready.'

  Lasser smiled. 'I look forward to it.'

  'Is this about my brother, do you lot know who killed him yet?'

  'Hello, Michael, how are you?'

  'How do you think I am?' It was if someone had slipped some speed into his drink, from being lethargic and distant he was now wired, a black sense of anger coming off him in waves.

  Lasser held up both hands. 'Look, I just need a quiet word with…'

  'Is it to do with my brother?' Michael repeated, colour flying to his cheeks.

  'I'm sorry but I can't discuss…'

  'You're all the fucking same,' he spat out the words, his eyes charged with fury.