The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  'OK, Paul, let's see where he takes us. I can leave you in charge, Carl?'

  The SOCO man nodded, snapping a paper mask over his nose and mouth. 'No problem, boss.'

  'Are you coming, Cathy?'

  She paused for a moment then nodded; Currie let the leash reel out, the dog bulleted forward, the extending lead unravelled with a high-pitch screech.

  Lasser cursed his choice of footwear, he could feel the water soaking through his socks, his feet beginning to go numb.

  Currie was ten yards ahead and pulling away, everything was seen through a jumble of torchlight making it difficult to judge distance.

  When he looked up, Currie had stopped and was looking back towards them. 'He's definitely onto something, sir.'

  Lasser flapped his hands. 'OK, Paul, I believe you, just get going.'

  Dog and handler set off again, further down the hillside they came across a huge, fallen beech tree, its roots and branches snapped and tangled, Currie and the dog scrambled over. Lasser placed a hand on the wood, the surface slick with rain, taking a step back he tried to vault over, when he was in mid-air his right hand slipped and he slammed down hard onto the trunk before slithering into the wet mud on the other side.

  Cathy shone her light over the tree, he was scrambling to his feet, the left side of his jacket and trousers saturated and slicked with mud.

  'Are you OK?'

  He grinned up at her. 'I'm a fucking idiot.'

  She slithered over; her feet splashing in a puddle of muddy water.

  The dog began to bark, Lasser shone the torch through the trees, he could see Collin's hi-vis vest in the distance.

  'Bastard weather men never said anything about this,' Lasser snarled, as they set off again, though running beneath the trees was proving difficult, every time they tried to increase their speed, one of them would slip or stumble.

  Gradually the larger trees began to thin out, laurel and rhododendron bushes taking over. Thin moonlight washed down onto the forest floor. When the trees suddenly ended, it came as a shock, like walking out into an alien landscape. Currie was standing at the water's edge, the reservoir stretched out before them. The dog sweeping left and right sniffing at the ground, the rain hissing into the black water.

  'What's the matter, Paul?'

  'It looks like he went into the water, sir.'

  'Shit,' Lasser looked across the vast expanse; in the distance, he could see the pale-yellow lights of the dual carriageway curving away to the right, overhead, the heavy rumble of a plane, its undercarriage lights blinking.

  Currie reined the dog in and gave it a sharp order to sit. 'Which way do you want me to go?'

  Lasser kicked at a loose stone. 'It doesn't matter, he's long gone.'

  'I'll try left, sir.'

  He shrugged, the killer would have stayed in the water washing as much blood off as possible before heading back to dry land. He looked at his watch, it was half past one, he'd raised the alarm at midnight, so the killer had well over an hour to make good his escape.

  Cathy was wandering along to the right, shining the torch along the edge of the water.

  When his phone began vibrate, he fished it from his pocket before slapping it to his ear.

  'Go ahead, Carl,' a drop of rain slid down his nose and dripped off.

  'OK, boss, I'm just letting you know Simms is on his way.'

  'Thanks, what about the body have you turned up anything useful?'

  'As far as I can tell he died from a single wound…'

  'Jesus, Carl…'

  'I'll know more when we get him back to the lab, I mean, I'm working virtually blind here.'

  'What about the search parties?'

  'Well, there have been no shouts of eureka, so I don't think they've found anything.'

  'OK, let me know if they do.'

  'Straight away, boss.'

  He snapped the phone shut, when he looked up Cathy was trudging back towards him.

  'I can't find any trace.'

  Lasser shivered. 'It's hardly surprising, if Scooby Doo's lost the scent then what chance do we have?'

  Grabbing her ponytail, Cathy rang the water out as if ringing a dishcloth. 'I'm absolutely bloody freezing,' she shivered.

  Lasser looked down at her. 'What time did you come on duty?'

  'Eight o'clock,' she paused, 'Yesterday morning.'

  'Right that's it, we're going home.'

  'But what about all this?' she spread her arms; the water was a black slab behind her, the moon a sliver of silver.

  'Listen, we've done all we can for one night besides there are enough bodies on scene to do the donkey work, plus I don't know about you, but I feel shagged.'

  She looked out across the water. 'I could do with a hot bath.'

  'And I could do with a couple of beers, you want to join me?'

  63

  The first thing he did when he arrived home was strip off the blood-soaked clothing. Opening the door to the wood burner he shoved the bundle inside then lit a couple of firelighters and tossed them in before opening the air vent; the flickering flames suddenly began to rage as air was drawn through, feeding the fire.

  A couple of minutes later he stood in the shower, the fine spray of water needling his face, the burning anger gradually subsiding as he tried to come to terms with what he had done.

  He'd been crouched in the undergrowth as the copper walked past, concealed, invisible. So, why had he broken cover, what had possessed him to move forward in a crouch and draw the blade across the man's throat? He had died without a sound; he tried to remember what he had been feeling, as the man's legs buckled, but his mind seemed to skip forward as if feelings were inconsequential. He had dragged the body to the base of the huge oak and slammed him against the trunk, though he had no idea why.

  The man scrubbed at his face in an effort to clear his thoughts; as soon as he drew the blade across the paper-thin skin, he had ruined everything. The plan to make Ashley Radfield pay for the sins of his family was now meaningless. As soon as the media discovered a senior police officer murdered then the death of the boy diminished. So, why didn't he feel distraught, why wasn't he raging at his own stupidity? Reaching forward he turned the dial on the shower, the cascade gradually turning to ice. He struggled to think of a word that summed up how he was feeling, after a few moments it came to him, invigorated, he felt invigorated.

  Climbing from the shower, he sat naked on the narrow sofa, watching as the flames consumed the clothing. He had spent so long planning, it seemed as if his whole life in one way or another had been absorbed with the Radfields. He smiled, Radfield had pleaded for his life as he led him to the greenhouse, in much the same way an adult would lead a child. All the bluff and bravado vanished as he promised to give him money, power, anything; his voice weak and pitiful, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

  In fact, he was sure the old bastard's heart had given out as he forced him to sit on the dry earth among the plant pots and weeds. His watery eyes had glazed over, any notion of escape had evaporated, and Lord Malcolm Radfield had started to cry. It was no more than he'd expected, after all the family were good at making promises and even better at breaking them. Now, he wished he hadn't taken the time to make it look like suicide, he should have gutted his Lordship, cut off his head and stuck it on the railings of the huge gates, made the killing as horrific as possible. That would have made Ashley Radfield really suffer, rather than this pointless charade. The image of Malcolm Radfield hacked and gutted made his mind jolt with a sudden surge of pleasure.

  Murdering the boy had been the first link in the chain, the sole aim to bring retribution upon a family that had schemed, lied and eventually committed murder. Prospering whilst others had suffered. Over the years, his mind had fashioned a plan that gave him the right to kill within a rigid framework, when in reality the urge to take life, any life, had been there all along. The realisation was like suddenly gaining freedom after years of incarceration, the reason he had killed the
police officer was simple – he had done it because it gave him a sense of joy. He felt the shackles of the plan fall away, everything now seen with a clarity that astounded him, at last, he was in a place where he could admit his true nature.

  He would kill Radfield next, then an image of the young girl with long, blonde hair swept into his head and the man smiled in anticipation.

  64

  Cathy sat on the sofa, legs curled beneath her, the towelling robe felt warm and cosy. As soon as they'd arrived at Lasser's home, he had cranked the heating on full and poured them both a drink.

  'Are you hungry?'

  She had stood in the lounge a small puddle of water gradually forming around her feet.

  'Starving,' she shivered.

  'Right I'll make us some food, the bathroom's at the top of the stairs, why don't you go and grab a shower.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Positive, there's a bath robe hanging on the back of the door.'

  Twenty minutes later, she had come back into the room, her wet clothes rolled into a bundle.

  'Here give me those I'll stick them in the washer.'

  She closed her eyes for a moment; while she had been in the shower he had made them both a cheese omelette, now she was beginning to feel sleepy, the effect of the food, drink and heat making her yawn; she shook her head a little and sat up straight.

  DCI Simms had arrived as they trudged back to the murder scene; wearing a pair of Hunter wellies with a heavy, wax jacket covering his uniform. His face set in a deep frown.

  'Get a bloody move on with that generator; I want lights down here now!' he bellowed.

  Lasser looked up the hill; he could see a couple of uniforms dragging the small generator down the steep decline, the wheels getting bogged down as the ground turned to mush.

  'Right, Lasser, I want to know what the bloody hell has happened here?'

  Fifteen minutes later, he and Cathy were climbing back to the car, the rain coming down heavier than ever, Lasser didn't think he had ever been so cold and wet. Now with the central heating blasting away, the drenching was becoming a distant memory.

  Cathy took a sip of wine. 'Simms didn't look happy.'

  Lasser stuck his bare feet onto the coffee table.

  'It's hardly surprising, he's only got a couple of years to go before he retires, and this is probably the last thing he needs.'

  She placed the glass on the table. 'Do you think they'll find anything?'

  'Not in this weather. I mean, this guy's a maniac but he's no fool.'

  'Still, you never know he might have got careless.'

  'Well, we should know more in the morning but I'm not holding my breath.'

  She looked around the room; it was tidy but lived in. The empty vase that should have had flowers in it, the thin film of dust on top of the television all pointing to the fact here was a man who lived alone.

  'What I can't get my head around is why he should kill Hopkins in the first place?'

  Lasser stifled a yawn. 'I've been wondering about that,' he paused, 'it was dark when Hopkins left you, right?'

  Cathy shivered. 'Very.'

  'So, the killer could have remained hidden, I mean, that place is perfect for it.'

  'I suppose so.'

  'Right, so if this man has gone to so much trouble to convince us that it was Radfield who killed Jones, then why would he suddenly decide to break cover and kill Hopkins?'

  'Maybe he wasn't trying to frame him after all.'

  'Look, I admit coincidence plays a part in what we do. But this guy took the time to move Jones to a place that has direct links with the Radfield family. If you take into account the cufflink we found at the tower, then it all points to a setup.'

  'Maybe the killer just wanted to scare him.'

  He sat up; he could almost feel the lightbulb going off above his head. 'I think you could be right, whoever did this isn't really interested in framing Ashley Radfield. This is,' he paused, 'or rather was, all about revenge.'

  'But revenge for what?'

  'Who knows, but ultimately that's no longer important.'

  'Because of Hopkins?'

  Lasser nodded and drained the glass. 'The man kills Billy Jones, apparently a random act of violence. If he'd left the body intact, then we'd have concentrated our efforts around the old house. But he takes the effort to drag the poor little sod three miles across country to leave him hanging from a crossbeam, complete with a piece of incriminating evidence. Old Man Radfield tops himself…'

  'But did he really?' Cathy asked, she could feel a strange kind of excitement beginning to build in the room.

  'Don't worry, I intend to find out, and, in between, Kitts dies of so-called natural causes that we now know was a load of bollocks. So, at that point the killer was still intent on pointing the finger at Ashley otherwise he wouldn't have been so careful with Kitts.'

  Cathy slid her hands through her damp hair. 'So, why kill Hopkins?'

  'Because, he can't help himself.'

  'I don't follow.'

  'Look, maybe this whole thing started off with the killer feeling he had a legitimate reason for wanting revenge on the Radfield family. Nevertheless, killing Hopkins reeks of someone who has lost the plot; let's face it the man has to be seriously unhinged. Molder said that whoever killed Billy had to have had a level of skill and control but who has the mind-set where they can slice open a fourteen-year-old boy and pull his organs out?'

  Cathy shivered as she remembered the sight of the grey mass slithering from the plastic feed sack. 'God, don't remind me.'

  'So, in reality, this fucker has never been in control of anything. All the effort with Billy was done to give him a twisted sense of legitimacy. It's the same with Kitts, an old guy who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

  'What about Malcolm Radfield?'

  'It might be difficult to prove, but it would hardly be surprising if the killer were responsible. So, that leaves our esteemed colleague.'

  'But why would the killer come back to the tower in the first place, I mean, why take the risk?'

  'This guy knows the area – that much is obvious – he could have been watching the place for hours just waiting in the undergrowth…'

  'I get that, but why bother. I mean, I know some people who murder will return to the scene of the crime but that's usually after a level of time has passed. To do it when the place is crawling with coppers is madness.'

  'Maybe Hopkins wasn't just a random victim.'

  She drained her glass and placed it on the table. 'You mean he was waiting for Hopkins to show?'

  'Well, it's a possibility; we both know he took every opportunity to get himself in front of the cameras. When the body was first found, and I came up here, Charlie was already holding an impromptu press conference; in fact, Simms gave him a right bollocking for it.'

  'What's your point?'

  Lasser thought for a moment. 'If you were the killer and you wanted to bask in the glory of your handiwork then how would you keep tabs on the situation?'

  'You'd watch the media output.'

  'Correct and who would you see when you flicked on your television or opened your daily rag?'

  'Hopkins!'

  Lasser grinned and lit another cigarette. 'Precisely.'

  'I still don't understand why he would want to kill him though?'

  Lasser pulled out a cigarette and rolled it between his fingers. 'It's like I said before, where this nutter is concerned we have to think laterally. I could be wrong about the whole thing or maybe the killer didn't like the things that Hopkins was saying or didn't like the shirt he was wearing. It could be any number of reasons, but he had to have been out at the tower for a reason and let's face it, Cathy, he cut the lights and we both know that he could probably have killed us both, yet he didn't.'

  'So, why cut the lights in the first place, why didn't he just give the tower a wide berth and scarper?'

  Lasser looked at her across the coffee table, uns
ure of how to proceed. Before he could think of what to say he saw her eyes widen in shock. 'He thought I was alone?'

  Lasser smiled grimly. 'If you remember when he sabotaged the generator I was already inside the tower.'

  'And he had no idea you were there, so he killed the light to make it easier to get to me?'

  He saw her swallow and reach for the wine bottle. 'As soon as the generator stopped you shouted up to me.'

  'Jesus, if I hadn't, he could have slaughtered me like Hopkins!'

  'Yes well, he didn't.'

  'But…'

  'Listen, Cathy, it's all ifs and buts, we could be way off the mark. Besides you can't afford to think like that.'

  She filled her glass and took a large gulp.

  Lasser glanced at his watch. 'Jesus, look at the time.'

  'I should get going.'

  'Sleep in the spare room, it seems stupid dragging yourself back into the rain, besides your clothes won't be dry yet.'

  'Are you sure, I mean, I could get a taxi?'

  'Come on, it's been a shit day, just try and get some rest.'

  She nodded and got to her feet. 'Thanks, Sarge.'

  'No need to thank me, it's only a bed.'

  'No, I mean, thanks for everything.'

  Lasser raised his glass in acknowledgment.

  65

  'I can't believe you haven't heard.' Ronnie had his tin out, today he had swapped his old jacket for a raincoat, though during the night the clouds had drifted away, leaving the sky clear once more. The rain had left everything looking brighter; it was as if the fields and trees had been given a lick of vibrant paint.

  They were standing in front of the house, waiting for Jenna to put in an appearance.

  'I was listening to a CD, so I've not had the news on. Why, what's happened?' Fossey asked.

  'What's happened?' Ronnie looked at him in disbelief. 'They only found a copper in the woods, stone bloody dead, that's what.'

  'Are you sure?' he had a sudden image of Lasser sprawled on the wet earth, the rain washing away the blood.