The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  'I bet you can't tell me how much a pint of milk costs?'

  Radfield ignored the question. 'Look around you, you see the large house and the extensive gardens…'

  'Yeah, but the grass could do with mowing.'

  'Precisely and the windows need replacing and the roof in the north wing leaks. The whole place needs rewiring and the plumbing is antiquated. So, believe me, Sergeant, when I say that paying someone to mow the lawn isn't really at the top of my 'things to do' list.'

  Lasser could see the head of a deer mounted on the wall, cobwebs stretched between the antlers. 'You still haven't said what you do for a living?'

  'I'm coming to that. I just wanted you to be aware that I don't live the privileged life that you undoubtedly expected.'

  If his Lordship was waiting for him to pull out the violin, then he was in for a long wait. 'Well, if times are rough you can always sell off some land, can't you?'

  Radfield peered at him coldly. 'There's been far too much of that done already.'

  'Do you mind if I smoke?'

  Radfield waved a languid hand. 'Go ahead.'

  Lasser lit up then offered the pack to Cathy.

  'No thanks, sir. If you don't mind me asking, how much land do you actually own?' she asked.

  Radfield uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in the chair. 'Just short of ten thousand acres.'

  'Well, it's been a while since I read the Farmers Guardian, but it still sounds like a lot to me.' Lasser said.

  'Yes, I suppose it does, yet if you go back to nineteen-sixty the estate covered over eighty thousand acres.'

  Lasser had failed his A-level maths but even he could see the point Radfield was making. 'And when did your father inherit the title?'

  'I would imagine you could hazard a guess.'

  'And how does that make you feel?'

  Radfield looked at him in amusement. 'Forgive me but you're beginning to sound like a therapist, rather than a police officer.'

  Lasser smiled. 'So, over the years your old man got rid of over seventy thousand acres?'

  'Correct.'

  Lasser looked closely at Radfield, in a strange kind of way he did feel sorry for the man. However, ultimately, he could always sell up and live the rest of his days in some sort of luxury, no one forced him to stay in this draughty mausoleum. 'Tell me; were you aware of just how much land your father had sold?'

  In a darkened corner of the room, a grandfather clock chimed the hour. 'I was aware that land had been sold, of course I was. However, if you're asking to what extent, then the answer would be no.'

  'When did you find out?'

  Radfield paused before answering. 'The day I arrived I went to see the family solicitor, he informed me of the gravity of the situation.'

  'I bet you were upset when you found out what he'd been up to?'

  'Not the vernacular I would use but its close enough.'

  'And how did your father react when you confronted him with the news?'

  Radfield picked up the decanter then topped up his glass before answering. 'He didn't, Sergeant, because when I arrived back from Manchester, he was nowhere to be found, as you are well aware.'

  'What about the house in Scotland?'

  'What would you like to know?'

  'Well, is it as big as this place?' Lasser spread his arms.

  'The estate in Perth is worth a considerable sum of money, however…'

  'It's up for sale, is that what you're saying?'

  For the first time Radfield looked uncomfortable. 'Unfortunately, it's unavoidable.'

  'It's your intention to sell the house in Scotland and move back down here?'

  Radfield sighed, a sound full of regret. 'Yes.'

  'So, over the years your father sold off vast areas of land and yet at the end of the day he had nothing to show for it?'

  'You're very astute.'

  Lasser couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. 'I mean, you seem to have spent your life trying to avoid any contact with the man, so it must have been galling to find yourself in a position where you would be living under the same roof again?'

  'At the end of the day he was still my father,' it was said without a hint of compassion, no more than a stock reply.

  'I can understand that but the chances of your father living a long life were minimal. The autopsy report stated that he was suffering from a heart condition and approaching liver failure due to his consumption of alcohol.'

  'What's your point?' Radfield snapped.

  'Tell me, does this house actually mean anything to you, I mean, is it a place full of good memories?'

  'I fail to see what that has to do with anything, Sergeant.' Radfield was beginning to sound annoyed, it was obvious he didn't like answering questions about his family history.

  'What I can't understand is why you don't sell this place and live in Scotland?'

  Radfield shrugged. 'You're quite right, in an ideal world I would sell this place and what little land remains and live in Perth. Unfortunately, any revenue raised from the sale would be swallowed up by the house in Scotland and I would soon find myself in a similar position to the one I'm in now.'

  'So, this is the lesser of two evils.'

  'Yes,' Radfield paused, 'I was left with no alternative.'

  'In your opinion would any of this have led to your father contemplating ending his life?'

  Radfield smiled. 'Although, I avoided contact with the man, Sergeant, I can safely say that he was not the type to concern himself with the realities of any given situation.'

  'So, you're saying basically he didn't give a toss about the dwindling pot?'

  'Once again, your use of language is somewhat basic, though you're right, my father was the kind of man who lived for today and bugger the consequences.'

  'It almost sounds as if you hated him?'

  Radfield looked at him over the top of his glass. 'I despised him for more reasons than I intend to discuss with you.'

  Lasser nodded. 'I can appreciate your position, nobody likes to have their secrets dragged kicking and screaming into the light but nonetheless we can't lose sight of the fact that someone tried to frame either you or your father for the murder of William Jones.'

  Radfield blinked twice and then placed the glass onto the table. Lasser continued. 'Whoever did this was obviously aware that you would be down here, which leads me to believe that it was you he wanted to pin the blame on rather than your old man. Now I ask you again, have you any idea who would want to go to such extreme lengths?'

  'How many times do I have to say it, Sergeant?'

  Lasser sighed. 'Fair enough, I'm going to need access to all business transactions conducted by either yourself or your father over the last…'

  'I hardly see the relevance…'

  'Maybe not but if you're unable to assist us then we need to look in more detail at your business dealings.'

  Radfield looked annoyed. 'I can assure you the books will make for very boring reading.'

  'And why would that be?'

  'I've already stated that my father was only interested in spending money, now I came down here to put a stop to all that, because for the past thirty years this family has had no income. Do you understand that, Sergeant, I have spent the last five years in Scotland, trying to persuade people to spend their holidays in a stately home that is crumbling to the ground? So, it will come as no surprise when I tell you that as a business venture it is no longer viable. Having to contemplate moving back down here has been a nightmare for me and then I discover that my bastard father has virtually wasted what little money is left.'

  Lasser watched as his Lordship's anger bloomed into outright hatred for the position his father had left him in.

  'So, why not sell both houses, I mean, you'd have money in the bank and you could forget all this.'

  'Because, unlike my father, I care about what happens to the family name, I take my responsibilities seriously.'

  'So, how do you intend doing that? I mea
n, forgive me for saying this but I can't see the public wanting to pay good money to look around this house.'

  'I'm under no illusions, Sergeant, but I have certain business opportunities that I intend to pursue.'

  'Such as?'

  'That's my business,' his face became impassive, his eyes guarded.

  'Look, I don't really care what you have to do to get a new roof on this place, as long as it's not illegal.' Lasser let the sentence hang in the air. 'But I do want to catch the killer before he decides to come after you.'

  It was almost comical to see Radfield's face, first he frowned, and then his features slid into a weird amalgamation of disbelief and scorn, eventually settling on undiluted fear. Though to give the man credit it didn't last for long, he sat up ramrod straight, squaring his shoulders.

  'Look, Sergeant, I have no idea who this lunatic is and why he would want to try and include me in his twisted plans. But rest assured I am more that capable of taking care of myself…'

  'You wouldn't be saying that if you'd seen what this killer is capable of and I would suggest that until we catch this guy it might be a good idea to make use of the house up north.'

  Radfield snapped his head from side to side. 'Out of the question, I have things to take care of here, my father's funeral for one. Then of course I have to try and sort out the mess he left behind.'

  Cathy leaned forward. 'He didn't owe money to anyone, did he?'

  Lasser gave a flicker of a smile.

  'Not that I'm aware of.'

  'But you can't be sure?'

  'Look, I have always known that my father was a wastrel, though I will admit the scale of his deceit has been a surprise even to me. Now, at the moment I can't gain access to his personal papers…'

  'No, but we can.' Lasser said.

  Radfield looked at them both, his eyes sliding from one to the other. 'Go ahead, if you think it might help catch this man.'

  It was strange how cooperative he had become since discovering his own life might be in danger, there was nothing like the fear of violent death to focus the mind.

  Lasser fiddled with the lighter in his pocket but resisted the urge to pull out the pack of cigarettes. 'Can you give us some idea how your family made their money in the first place?'

  'You want a history lesson, is that it?'

  'The abridged version if you don't mind.'

  Ashley Radfield pointed to a portrait hanging on the wall. 'William Radfield made the family fortune. You'll probably think I sound like a pompous fool, but he was a great man, a visionary, who…'

  Lasser held up a hand. 'Like I said the abridged version, if that's OK?'

  Radfield glared and then shrugged. 'He made the family fortune through the quarrying of local stone; the reservoirs were being built and he provided all the aggregate. Then of course there was the dry-stone walling and the roads and the building projects, it was a time of great expansion.'

  'He made a killing?'

  Radfield spoke as if he was addressing an idiot. 'He built an empire, Sergeant, and his philanthropic endeavours are well documented.'

  'Very commendable,' Lasser paused, 'so where did it all go wrong?'

  'It's not a new story, when William died he had two sons, each had their own ideas about how best to take the company forward. Unfortunately, rather like my own father they were both idiots. They spent their time trying to gain full control and while they were fighting, the business suffered.'

  'So, you're saying that things have been on the skids for how long exactly?'

  'Over eighty years.'

  Lasser didn't know if Radfield was taking the piss or not but the idea that a family could have been losing money for that length of time seemed ridiculous. 'Of course, there have been certain members of the family who managed to stop the rot for a short time, though unfortunately there have been an equal number like my own father who have been remiss in their duties.'

  'And you intend trying to turn things around?'

  'I shall do my best.'

  Lasser stood up. 'Right well, just to be on the safe side I'll make sure you have a man on the gates until all this is sorted out.'

  Radfield tilted his head. 'Thank you, Sergeant, and I shall contact my solicitor to make sure you have full access to the family papers.'

  'No problem and if you do think of anything that might be of help then don't forget to get in touch.'

  Cathy stood and followed Lasser towards the door.

  'The policeman who died, was he a friend of yours?' Radfield asked.

  Lasser turned. 'I'm afraid I'm a bit like you, Mr Radfield, I don't have many friends.'

  Radfield raised his glass, a thin smile on his lips.

  69

  'Well at least nineteen, probably more over the years, it were a tough life back then.' Ronnie chewed on a stalk of grass. They had wandered through the gate and into the field. Fossey could see the woods in the distance, a dark-green mass on the steep hillside, giving way to endless miles of open moorland. 'I know for a fact that eight died in a week when they were building the top reservoir.'

  'How did it happen?' Fossey asked.

  'They finished building it in eighteen ninety-five. Radfield made a fortune from the sale of the land and then he supplied all the stone that lined the basin, a canny man, William. Any road it took three weeks to fill it, apparently it's always a risky time, a gang of navvies were working at the bottom of the embankment, shoring it up, when the pressure of the water blew a hole in the side.'

  'Drowned?'

  'Aye, I suppose so. I mean, can you imagine being stood in front of the bloody thing when it went, the force of the water would have taken your head off.'

  'I don't suppose Health and Safety was as strict as it is now.' Fossey said with a hint of irony.

  Ronnie raised a wiry eyebrow. 'No such thing back then.'

  'So, did these men work directly for the Radfield family?'

  'Not a clue, I mean, the reservoirs are built on land that they used to own but they could have been working for some other bugger, you know just contracted out type of thing.'

  'What about the others?'

  'Aye well, they were quarry workers, so they did work for his lordship.'

  'Local men?' Fossey glanced sideways, Ronnie spat out the grass and reached for his cigarette tin.

  'Some of them were.'

  'When was this exactly?'

  Ronnie pulled his cap back down, shielding his pale-blue eyes. 'Nineteen twenty-six, eleven killed.'

  'Do you know what happened?'

  Ronnie shrugged. 'Just rumours really. I mean, back then these things happened but when your employer is a titled gent…'

  'You're saying things were covered up?'

  'Nowt new about that, lad, if you're a big knob folks turn a blind eye, always have, always will.'

  'So, how did the men die?'

  'Some sort of explosion, according to rumours they only found three of the bodies.'

  'And what about since then, have there been any more accidents?'

  Ronnie shook his head. 'Not at the quarry, in fact after the men were killed the quarries were closed down.'

  'Because of what happened?'

  'Nah lad, if there was still money to be made they would have carried on as if nowt had happened. Truth is, people stopped using as much sandstone, after all it don't wear well.'

  'What about elsewhere?'

  Ronnie peered at him, a frown on his crinkly face. 'You're a persistent bugger, aren't you?'

  'Come on, Ronnie, I know Jenna's provided me with background information, but you know as well as I do, it's the rumours that tell the whole story about a family.'

  T reappeared from the tall grass, his tongue lolling, grass seeds trapped in his fur.

  'Two died in the early sixties, they were working up on Winter Hill in one of the old tin mines.'

  Fossey remembered reading a brief section on Jenna's disk about the mines, though he hadn't realised that they had still been working
them into the sixties.

  'So, they owned mines as well as the quarries?'

  'Aye, but the mines never made any money; it was only ever small scale.'

  'For local use?' Fossey asked.

  'Mainly, of course the family were hoping to find a decent seam but there have been mines on the moors for hundreds of years and it's never been more than a cottage industry.'

  'What happened exactly?'

  'Well, unlike the others this one was well documented; they got caught underground in a heavy downpour and drowned.'

  Fossey looked up at the moors, the whole area acted as a huge sponge absorbing the rain and feeding it into the reservoirs.

  'I tell you, if it pisses it down for ten minutes and you're underground then you've had it.' Ronnie said with a sniff.

  'Anything stick to the family?'

  'Not so you'd notice. I mean, it were nearly seventy years since the disaster at the quarry. That's the problem, a family like the Radfields have been around for so long that memories fade between disasters, if that makes sense?'

  It made perfect sense, the passage of time changed people's perspectives, facts became myths.

  'To tell you the truth, the Radfields have been struggling for years. I mean, have you ever been up to the house?'

  Fossey shook his head. 'No.'

  'Well, the state of the place tells you all you need to know.'

  'So, what do the locals think of the family now?'

  Ronnie pulled a match from his pocket and began to chew the end. 'Folk around here don't really bother with the Radfields anymore.'

  'Come off it, Ronnie, I know how these things work. You have a pub in the village named after them and I dare say they had a hand in keeping the church and school open?'

  'It's different now, when I were younger you would see Malcolm now and again, half the village worked up at the manor, either in the gardens or in the house. I spent a few years as a beater, when he had his mates up for the grouse shooting but them day are long gone now.'

  Fossey pulled out his mints, flicked one to the dog before popping one into his mouth, chewing while he thought about what Ronnie had said.