The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  The old farmer threw him a withering look. 'It's been bedlam, cop cars coming and going all night. I tell you it's a good job it's not lambing season otherwise the place would be littered with dead lambs.'

  A moment later, Jenna came out of the front door, the air around her agitated.

  'It's him!' her face was flushed with anxiety. 'I've just heard it on the news, I can't believe it, he was…'

  Ronnie took a step back from his granddaughter, as if he didn't recognise this force of nature. 'Calm down, Jenna, I don't have a bloody clue what you're talking about.'

  Jenna ignored him and stood in front of Fossey.

  'It's Hopkins!'

  Ronnie looked at her wide-eyed. 'The bugger that gave us the third degree?'

  'According to the news he died after a frenzied knife attack, so it's job done, Grandad,' her voice was thick with disdain, her eyes flashing anger.

  'Hey, lass, I hope you're not saying I'm glad about any of this.'

  Fossey took a step forward and took hold of her arms. 'What else did they say, Jenna?'

  She looked at him in confusion; it was as if she had voices in her head all clambering to be heard. However, when she opened her mouth she found the words locked in. Her eyes filled with tears and then she fell forward into his arms, the sobs breaking free, her body shaking.

  Ronnie looked dumbfounded. 'Hey, come on, love, everything will sort itself out,' he shuffled his feet. He'd never been any good with emotions, he could never think of the right things to say and when he did open his mouth he usually put his foot in it.

  Fossey eased her back until he could look into her eyes. 'Listen, Jenna, none of this is your fault…'

  'Of course it's not her fault, she knows that it's bugger all to do with us!' Ronnie's voice rose in anger.

  Fossey ignored him. 'Whoever did these things is sick and needs help…'

  'They need a twelve bore shoving…'

  Jenna spun towards him. 'Shut up, Grandad! You just don't get it, do you?' she screamed the words, each one louder than the last. Didn't he realise that everything was falling apart that their lives would somehow be changed forever. Their name would be linked with the murders and no amount of time would change that fact. People would point in the street; college would become a living nightmare.

  Ronnie looked as if he had been pole-axed and then he spun on his heels and strode away.

  Susan appeared at the door. 'What are you two shouting about?'

  Jenna looked at the ground, the sobs lifting her shoulders, tears falling to the ground. Ronnie carried on walking, without looking back; he disappeared around the side of the house.

  66

  'I'd say the man you're looking for is at least six-three.' Molder was standing by the coffee machine feeding it with small silver. 'Are you sure you don't want one?'

  Lasser shook his head, the sight of Hopkins's body, grey and lifeless, on the slab had left him feeling nauseated.

  'And there are no other wounds?'

  Molder pulled the cup from the slot. 'With a cut like that there wouldn't need to be.'

  'So, no struggle?'

  'Absolutely not, he was attacked from behind, the killer simply reached over the shoulder and the rest is self-explanatory.'

  'Anything else?'

  'Apart from the fact that the killer is right-handed, no.'

  'Well, that's not much to go on. I mean, come on I thought you guys were meant to be experts?' he tried to sound light-hearted.

  Molder looked at him over the top of the plastic cup, his eyes cold. 'I'm not in the habit of fabricating evidence, Sergeant, whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. He's big and strong and if you ask me this individual has no moral compass, he's…'

  'Jesus, Molder tell me something I don't know.'

  The pathologist shrugged. 'Sorry, I can't be more helpful.'

  'Right well, if you do happen to find anything else…'

  'It seems highly unlikely.'

  Lasser closed his eyes for a few seconds. 'Fair enough, but if you do, then you have my number.'

  Dropping the cup into the bin, Molder patted the pockets of his lab coat as if he were looking for something. 'Well, don't hold your breath.'

  'And what about William Jones?'

  Molder pulled out a pack of mints and popped one into his mouth. 'I'd say that both the boy and Sergeant Hopkins were killed using the same weapon.'

  'You mean killed by the same guy?'

  'I said weapon, Sergeant, finding out if it was the same man is your responsibility, not mine.'

  'You lot are all the same…'

  'If you mean we're cautious then we have a right to be, I've seen too many of my colleagues badgered into making educated guesses that have ended their careers. So, if you're looking for a scapegoat then I suggest you look somewhere else, because you won't find any here.'

  'I presume it's pointless asking you about Thomas Kitts?'

  'Kitts was smothered, not stabbed.' Molder replied, a slight smile on his commandant-like face.

  'And Malcolm Radfield?'

  'What about him?'

  'Can you be sure it was suicide?'

  Molder sighed, as if he was becoming bored with the conversation. 'Look, Lasser, as far as anyone can tell, Malcolm Radfield took his own life.'

  'But it's possible that he could have been murdered?'

  'Good God, man, you're turning into a conspiracy theorist.'

  Lasser could hear the derision coming through loud and clear. 'It's called doing your job, Molder, you should try it sometime.'

  He turned and began to stride down the long monotonous corridor, what was the point in having an expert when they were unwilling to give an opinion? It was like paying for a prostitute only to discover that she didn't give blowjobs. His shoes squeaked as he walked. Simms had rung him at the crack of dawn and told him to get out to the lab and find out everything he could about the demise of Detective Sergeant Charles Hopkins. He barrelled his way down the corridor until he came to the door of the hospital canteen.

  He spotted Cathy sitting at a corner table, a large coffee cup clamped between her hands. As he pulled the chair out she looked up.

  'Any luck?'

  'Molder loves to point out the obvious but as soon as you get to the serious stuff, you can forget it.'

  'So, what do we do now?'

  He stifled a yawn, he felt like going home, grabbing a beer from the fridge and then crashing out for a few hours. 'Look, I know I said that finding out why the killer wants to frame the Radfields was fruitless, but that family is the only connection we have to any of this.'

  Cathy dropped a sugar lump into the cup and stirred it with a plastic spoon. 'Well, I'd imagine they've made enemies over the years but where would we start. If Ashley Radfield can't point the finger, then what chance do we have?'

  'Maybe he knows and isn't saying?'

  Cathy looked unconvinced. 'If someone were trying to frame me for murder and I could point the finger then I wouldn't hesitate.'

  A couple of nurses sat down at the table next to theirs, both plates heaped with sticky buns and biscuits.

  Lasser felt his stomach rumble. 'Perhaps we should have another chat with his Lordship, maybe we can pick his brains about the family history.'

  'But you said Ashley only came down from Scotland when he absolutely had to.'

  'What's your point?'

  'Well, if that's true then it seems unlikely that the killer would bear a grudge against someone who doesn't even live in the area, surely it seems more likely to be the father he had the problem with and he's dead.'

  'Fair point.'

  'I mean, maybe Radfield did end his own life, perhaps he realised that someone had some sort of vendetta against him or knew of something that would ruin the family.'

  Lasser mulled it over. 'The killer must have known that we wouldn't be looking seriously at Malcolm for the murder of Billy Jones. I've read the autopsy report, the old guy was on his last legs, there's n
o way he would have been able to tackle a kid like Billy.'

  Cathy sighed. 'We're just going around in circles.'

  'Yeah, though if you take into account all of this coincided with Ashley coming down from Scotland then it suggests the killer knew of his visit,' he saw her eyes widen.

  'It's almost as if the killer was waiting until Ashley arrived before he started to kill.'

  Lasser nodded. 'So, if we can find out who knew about his visit then it could at least throw up some suspects.' he said. 'As far as I can see it's the only option we have.'

  She drained the coffee cup. 'I'm ready whenever you are.'

  'OK, I'll just get a coffee and you can drive while I get my caffeine fix.' Lasser slid the car keys across the table and then headed to the counter.

  67

  'It's not bloody right.' Ronnie rested his arms on the top of the gate, looking out onto a view that had changed very little in his lifetime. He could remember sitting on top of the gate when he was a child, his father pointing out the boundaries of the land they owned.

  Swallows flitted back and forth, feeding on the wing. 'It's not that she blames herself…' Fossey said.

  'Well, it sounds like it to me.'

  Susan had taken Jenna back into the house, an arm around the shoulder of her sobbing daughter. 'She's frightened, Ronnie.'

  'But she knows we'd never let anything happen to her,' he pulled out his cigarette tin and fumbled a stump out.

  'This has nothing to do with fear for herself; she's scared of the changes. Jenna thinks this will impact on all of you, not just her.'

  'Look, you don't get to my age without having a thick skin.'

  'I understand that, but you have to see this from her perspective. I mean, can you imagine what it'll be like for her when she goes back to college? The finger pointing, the sly comments. She has to go, Ronnie, she doesn't have the luxury of simply staying on the farm.'

  Ronnie glared through a cloud of pale-grey smoke and then his shoulders sagged. Fossey was right; his life consisted of mooching around the farm and the occasional game of dominoes in the pub. He had no commitments, he could avoid the outside world, but Jenna had a life to build and now she had this hanging over her head, a stigma that could follow her for years.

  'Listen, when we went up to the needle house I got the impression that you perhaps knew more about the Radfield family than you were…'

  Ronnie's face hardened. 'Is that all you're bothered about, your damn book?'

  'This has nothing to do with the book; it's about trying to help your granddaughter.'

  'Oh aye, and how will idle gossip help her, eh?' Ronnie spat.

  Fossey sighed. 'I'm not saying it will, but I know William Jones died so the killer could try and pin the blame on the Radfields…'

  'How the hell do you know that?' Ronnie's eyes sprang wide in surprise.

  'When they found his body in the tower, the police also discovered a piece of evidence that pointed to the Radfields.'

  Ronnie could feel the blood drain from his face, the smoke suddenly making him feel light-headed.

  'But Malcolm was an owd man, I mean, the last time I saw him he was hobbling around with a bloody stick.'

  'That might be true, but someone hates that family enough to try and frame them for murder.'

  'Ah, but what about Hopkins, this twisted bugger can't frame them for that, can he?'

  'You're right but initially laying the blame on the Radfields was all the killer was concerned about. Now, I know you say idle gossip won't help but a family like the Radfields must have made plenty of enemies over the years, so who would hate them enough to commit murder just to point the finger?'

  Ronnie looked flustered. 'How should I know?'

  Fossey rested his arms on top of the gate and looked at the old farmer. 'You've lived your whole life on this farm, according to Jenna's research your family's links go back at least three generations…'

  'Four.'

  'And you're trying to tell me that there've been no rumours about the Radfield family, no skeletons in the cupboard, no grudges?'

  'There are always rumours, lad.'

  'Right, so who would bear a grudge?'

  'Bugger me, you don't get to own half the bloody county by treating folk with respect.'

  'But that's just it, Ronnie, they don't own half the county, do they? You said yourself the family have been selling off huge chunks of land for years.'

  'Aye well…'

  'So, it sounds to me as if maybe the coffers are not as full as they could be.'

  'It's hard times for everyone.' Ronnie mumbled.

  Fossey sighed.

  68

  Lasser stopped the car and slid down the window, the huge wrought iron gates blocking the drive to Radfield Manor.

  'Now then, who have you managed to upset?'

  Spenner peered in through the window, when he saw Cathy he frowned.

  'DCI Simms asked me to keep an eye on the place, sir,' somehow the young constable made it sound as if he were the only man for the job. 'Just in case the media decide to return,' he explained.

  Lasser nodded, keeping his face serious. 'I can't think of anyone more suited for the job, now is his Lordship in?'

  Spenner straightened his shoulders, pulled out his notebook and flicked through the pages, Mr Officious. 'He arrived home at nine twenty-seven, sir.'

  'Right, could you open the gates, we need a word?'

  'Oh right.' Spenner looked confused as if he had failed to understand the request.

  Lasser drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. 'Is there a problem?'

  'Well, sir, I thought PC Harper was here to replace me?'

  'Why have you somewhere you need to be?'

  'Er…'

  'PC Harper is here to assist me, now, of course if you foresee a problem with that…?'

  Spenner blushed. 'No, sir, no problem.'

  'Glad to hear it, now if you don't mind will you please open the sodding gates.'

  Spenner strode around the front of the car and swung the gates open, as he drove through Lasser gave a small wave.

  'You don't like him much, do you?' Cathy asked.

  Lasser looked at her in surprise. 'Spenner's OK, he just needs to realise that this job isn't about sliding over the bonnet of your car and chasing the bad guys over the rooftops, it's about standing around for hours on end with your thumb up your arse.'

  He pulled up in front of the sprawling house; Ashley Radfield was striding towards them; even from twenty yards away Lasser could see the scowl on his narrow face.

  Cathy looked uneasy. 'He doesn't look happy.'

  'Fuck him,' Lasser said evenly, as he opened the door and climbed out.

  'What the hell do you want, Lasser?'

  He didn't bother with a reply until his Lordship was standing in front of him. It was obvious that spending twenty-four hours in police custody had been an ordeal for the man. He had dark circles under his eyes and a five o'clock shadow across his chin, even his hair looked in disarray.

  'I wonder if I could have a word?'

  'Get off my property,' Radfield pointed a quivering finger towards the gate.

  'Five minutes of your time, that's all.'

  Radfield laughed aloud, a brittle, mocking sound. 'You've got a nerve, you accuse me of murder and then you lock me up for over twenty-four hours and now you have the audacity to turn up here. Yes well, I have nothing to say to you, so you had better make yourself scarce before I contact your superior and put in a formal complaint.'

  'You've already tried that, remember?'

  'Go. Now.' Ashley headed towards the front door, his feet crunching on the gravel.

  Lasser followed. 'Listen, I can understand you feeling miffed but we're trying to catch a multiple murderer, who obviously despises you or your family.'

  Ashley stopped and turned. 'And you think I might have an idea who that someone could be?'

  'Not necessarily,' he paused, 'but perhaps your father did?'


  Radfield narrowed his eyes. 'Just what are you implying, Sergeant?'

  Cathy climbed from the car, even in bright sunlight, the house looked drab.

  'I'm not implying anything.' Lasser patted his pocket. 'I just can't fathom why you're being so defensive.'

  'Considering the night I've had; I cannot fathom how you can be so dense.'

  Lasser smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 'Fair enough but I was only doing my job.'

  'Look, don't you think that if I had the slightest suspicion about who was responsible for any of this I would tell you?'

  'I'm sure you would, that's what makes me wonder about your father.'

  'I've already told you about the sort of man he was.'

  'But you said yourself that contact between you both was virtually non-existent, and it seems obvious to me that whoever did this believes that either you or your father have done something to warrant all this.'

  'Well, they're obviously deranged.'

  'Tell me, who knew you were coming down here?'

  'Excuse me?'

  'Did you mention your plans to anyone?'

  'Not that I'm aware of.'

  'So, your father had no idea you were paying him a visit?'

  Radfield smiled, to Lasser he looked like a grinning fox. 'I wanted it to be a surprise.'

  'Was there any particular reason for that?'

  Radfield looked towards the sky and then checked his watch. 'You had better come in,' he said with a sigh before spinning on his patent-leather brogues and heading for the door. Lasser looked over his shoulder and gave Cathy the thumbs up.

  Even if she had a major win on the lottery, Cathy could never live in a place like this, it was dark and gloomy, redolent with age and decay. The room Radfield led them to was huge and full of furniture that belonged to a bygone age. He motioned them to a large Chesterfield before sitting in a chair that resembled a large wooden commode.

  'Right, Sergeant, as I said yesterday, I came down from Scotland to discuss business with my father…'

  'Just out of curiosity,' Lasser interrupted, 'what business are you actually in?'

  Radfield cocked his head to one side and smiled. 'I would imagine you see me as nothing more than some sort of parasite. A privileged life spent shooting grouse and hunting foxes, with no idea how the rest of society lives.'