The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  He cursed his creaking knees, the way his lungs wheezed like old factory bellows, he wanted to run, like a dying animal trying to escape the pain but his ancient legs wouldn't oblige.

  She was right, he should have gone straight to the authorities, but over the years, the whole thing had faded in his mind until he'd convinced himself that nothing would be served by dragging up the past. Ronnie swiped a shaking hand across his forehead, then spat a sour taste from his mouth, his work boots slapped on the tarmac as he trudged down the narrow lane. Everything was falling apart; the police would find out what had happened, and the onus would fall on him to try to explain. He could hear the blood thundering in his ears, from nowhere an image of his father came to mind; Ronnie had been about fifteen when they took delivery of the new tractor. He remembered standing in front of the house as his old man drove it around the yard, a wide grin splitting his weather-beaten face. Ronnie could recall the feeling of pride; the they were a family who looked to the future, who weren't afraid to spend money. He could see himself at the young farmers' meetings; people would treat him with respect; he came from a family who were making a success of themselves. Christ, he used to strut around as if he owned the bloody place, dishing out advice to anyone who wanted it. When the reality was, they only had money because they never had to pay the Radfields any rent, his old man had seen to that.

  He felt the dull watery thud of his heart and pressed on regardless, quickening his pace; if a man had the ability to choose the time of his own death then he would have chosen right now.

  Everything ached, the throb in his temple intensified, Ronnie stumbled, and his legs became entangled. It was bizarre to see the ground rushing up to meet him, he tried to lift his arms to cushion the fall, but a savage pain flared in his chest obliterating everything else. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, somewhere close by he could hear the sound of a skylark blasting out a trembling song. He tried to move and found both arms trapped beneath his body, the sun blasted across his head and shoulders. Occasionally, he would feel his legs jerk as if they were still striding down the road. Slowly his vision began to clear, a purple-black beetle scuttled across the tarmac a few inches from his sweating face. He swivelled his eyes in an effort to track its movements, but the effort made him feel nauseated. Everything felt heavy; the air, like syrup, pressing down on his back, he could feel blood slick on the side of his face. The sound of bees droning in the hedgerow seemed to fill the air, maybe he was dying after all. He wished that Jenna were here, despite his anguish at recent events, he didn't want to die alone.

  'Get on the blower, Cathy, we need an ambulance.' Lasser pulled the car across the road and slapped on the main beam and hazard lights before leaping out.

  He recognised the figure in the road immediately, Ronnie the cider maker. He knelt down and rolled him gently onto his back, for a couple of seconds his right eye fluttered open and he tried to speak but all that came out was a wet gurgle. The left side of his face was badly grazed, Lasser could see grit from the road mashed into the broken skin, his left eye swollen shut.

  'It's OK, Ronnie, you take it easy, mate, the ambulance is on its way,' he just hoped he was speaking the truth, because the old man looked like death, his features were devoid of colour, apart from the blue thread veins that ran across his cheeks. Lasser eased him onto his side and then quickly slid his right leg up to support the body.

  'They're on their way.'

  He glanced up; Cathy was standing on the curb.

  'ETA?'

  'Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, is there anything I can do?'

  'Well, he's breathing, so that's something.'

  He pulled out his mobile and scrolled through the names until he came to Fossey's, he pressed call and slapped the phone to his ear. 'Might as well call the cavalry.'

  Cathy looked at him in confusion.

  Fossey tried to keep up with Jenna, though by the time he reached the end of the drive she was already bolting down the road. He could see the blue Audi parked across the narrow lane, the hazard lights flashing intermittently.

  She skidded to a halt and fell to her knees. 'Oh God, tell me he's not dead!'

  'He's still breathing, and the ambulance should be here any minute.' Lasser explained.

  She glanced at him, her eyes swimming with tears.

  'Come on, Grandad, wake up,' she reached down with one hand and gave his shoulder a shake. 'Please, you've got to wake up.'

  Ronnie remained motionless, Lasser bent in close, his breathing sounded worse, the gaps becoming longer.

  Fossey stood looking down, hands on hips, his face red with exertion. 'Is he OK?'

  'He's dying.' Jenna wailed, her hands fluttering over the body.

  Lasser eased Ronnie onto his back and began giving CPR, it had been over two years since he'd been on the refresher course, but the instructor had said it was like riding a bike, when you needed it you'd know what to do. Though he wasn't so sure, the ribcage beneath his interlocked hands felt spongy and fragile and he wondered if he was doing more harm than good.

  Jenna plucked at the sleeve of his shirt. 'Please don't let him die.'

  When she felt the hand on her shoulder, she spun around ripping a hole in the knees of her jeans.

  'Why don't you come over here, sweetheart, give him room to work.'

  'But…'

  'I know, but we don't want to get in the way.' Cathy smiled, and Jenna stood up, letting herself be led to the side of the road.

  Behind her, she could hear Lasser counting and grunting as he tried to keep her grandad's heart working.

  'He can't die,' she whispered.

  Cathy placed an arm around her shoulder. 'Is there anyone you want me to ring?'

  'Ring?'

  'Your mother or father, perhaps you should let them know what's happened.'

  Jenna looked over her shoulder, Lasser was hunched over her grandad, arms locked, hands thrusting down on his chest.

  'Jenna?' She turned back to the police officer. 'Try not to worry; Lasser knows what he's doing.'

  They all heard the siren at the same time, apart from Lasser they all turned; the ambulance appeared out of the shimmering heat. Jenna began to leap up and down waving her arms as if the rescuers might go flying by.

  A minute later and the paramedics were taking over, Lasser moved back, dragging his tie loose, and reaching for his cigarettes. Fossey walked towards Jenna, the next thing she was in his arms, the sobs racking through her chest.

  'I've killed him, it's all my fault.'

  'Jenna, try and keep calm, they're doing all they can.'

  Lasser propped himself up against the wall and took a long pull on the cigarette, watching as the paramedics slipped an oxygen mask over Ronnie's face.

  Something wasn't right here, what had the old man been doing, half a mile from Fossey's house and from the way he'd been lying it looked like he had been heading away from the place.

  The paramedics loaded Ronnie onto the stretcher and hurried towards the van.

  'Tell me he's going to be all right.' Jenna stood back as they slid him into the ambulance. One of them climbed into the back while the other closed the doors. 'I want to go with him?' she asked, the tears sliding down her cheeks.

  The paramedic shook his head. 'I'm afraid not, love.'

  'But…'

  The man disappeared down the side of the van, a few seconds later she heard the engine start up, when she felt a hand on her arm she turned.

  Lasser smiled at her. 'Better stand over here, love; they'll need room to turn around.'

  'Why won't they let me go?'

  'Listen, Jenna is it?'

  She nodded.

  'Why don't you get into the car we can follow them to the hospital.'

  'You don't mind?'

  'Not at all.'

  Jenna climbed into the back of the Audi. 'Patrick, you're coming, aren't you?'

  'Of course I am,' he slid in beside her.

  Cathy jumped in and fumbled wit
h the seat belt as Lasser turned in the road. Seconds later, he was accelerating down the narrow country lane, his face set with grim determination.

  76

  By the time they arrived at the hospital, Ronnie had been spirited away, first to A&E and then off to the bowels of the building. Cathy had gone to get them all coffees, Jenna sat slumped in one of plastic chairs, head in hands, long, blonde hair hanging down.

  Fossey had tried to find out what was going on, but all the doctor would say was that they were "doing all they could". Lasser recognised the stock reply; after all, he'd used it himself on more than one occasion.

  While he was outside smoking a cigarette, he spotted Fossey talking to a blonde-haired woman and a big bloke in a check shirt. They had to be Jenna's parents; the woman had the same bone structure, the same blue eyes. Her father looked like your typical farmer, all brawn, and curly, dark hair, like some Heathcliff clone. The woman had looked at him through the window and smiled half-heartedly.

  When Fossey had pushed his way through the glass doors, Lasser had been waiting, now they sat in the Audi, all the windows were up, and the air con was on full.

  'So, let me get this straight, Ronnie's old man got the farm and the land for nothing?'

  Fossey sighed. 'That's what he said.'

  'Because of a body his father found over forty years ago?'

  'Yes, but Ronnie didn't know about any of this until after his father's death.'

  'It still doesn't explain why he was lying in the middle of the road, half a mile from your place?'

  Fossey rested an arm on the door. 'He became agitated…'

  'I gathered that, but why exactly?'

  A car pulled up beside them, a young nurse climbed out, she smiled at Fossey then beeped the alarm and headed towards the hospital entrance.

  'Look, Lasser, he was ashamed, Jenna had no idea about any of this…'

  'Any of what, come on, Fossey, I'm all for a tall tale but you're dragging it out, mate.'

  Fossey gave him a sharp look and then sighed. 'Although he never came out and said it, it seems that his father must have been able to link the death of Sam Wickham directly to Malcolm Radfield.'

  Lasser sat up straight as the penny dropped. 'So, Ronnie's old man was doing a bit of the old blackmail?'

  'I think that's what he was implying but Jenna started to get angry and I don't think Ronnie could actually bring himself to say it.'

  'That's when he went walkabout?'

  'Unfortunately, yes.'

  'And that's why she blames herself for him being in intensive care?'

  'Which is, of course, nonsense.'

  'Not as far as she's concerned.'

  'Don't even go there.' Fossey warned.

  Lasser nodded and pulled out his cigarettes. 'So, you say Ronnie only found out about this, when his old man was dead and buried?'

  'Before you ask, it was in his diary.'

  'And where is it now?'

  'I don't have a clue.'

  'Let me get this straight, you said Wickham's wife turned up looking for her hubby?'

  'That's right, she somehow found out that it was Ronnie's father who'd found the two bodies that drowned in the mine.'

  'And she flipped when he tried to get her to go to Radfield's house?'

  'So he says.'

  Lasser lit the cigarette, before sliding the window down a fraction. 'But why would this woman think that Radfield would know anything about her husband?'

  'I asked him about that and he had no idea.'

  Lasser thought for a moment. 'So, she'd had dealings with Radfield in the past, otherwise why would she have become upset.'

  'I agree.'

  Lasser looked towards the hospital entrance; he could see an old man in a wheelchair, dressed in a pair of pyjamas, smoking a cigarette. 'I presume if Ronnie hadn't had a heart attack, you would still have given me a ring.'

  He waited for a few seconds, when Fossey didn't reply he turned his head.

  'I don't honestly know, I mean, all this happened over forty years ago…'

  'That's the wrong answer and you know it.'

  'Look, a lot of this is only what Ronnie believed might have happened…'

  'But if his father did get the farm for nothing, something must have happened between Radfield and his old man. I mean, people like his Lordship weren't in the habit of handing over land for nothing,' Lasser paused. 'What we need to find out is if any of this is tied into the murders.'

  'Right well, if it's OK with you I'm going to go back in there and see if Ronnie's still alive.'

  Lasser frowned. 'Listen, he seems like a decent old guy and I hope he pulls through…'

  'What, just so you can question him?'

  Lasser could feel his temper begin to build. 'I've still got a job to do, Fossey.'

  'Yeah, but you don't need to look so pleased about it.'

  A moment later, he was striding away from the car.

  The refectory was surprisingly quiet, the air filled with the scent of spaghetti bolognaise. Lasser spotted the blonde-haired woman sitting alone at a corner table, a plastic cup held between her hands, grabbing a coffee from the machine he made his way over.

  'Mrs Fotheringay?' She looked up, her eyes full of confusion. 'I'm Detective Sergeant Lasser.'

  'Oh, I'm sorry, I was miles away.'

  He slid into the seat opposite. 'Is there any news?'

  'Not yet, I keep trying to get some answers, but nobody seems willing to commit to anything,' she paused. 'Look, I want to thank you for what you did, the paramedics said that if my father hadn't received CPR at the scene then his chances of survival would have been next to none.'

  'I just hope he'll be OK…'

  'They also said he'd been found collapsed in the middle of the road?' she sounded perplexed, as if the notion was too bizarre to contemplate.

  'That's true.'

  'So, what was he doing wandering around in the middle of nowhere?'

  Lasser took a sip from the plastic cup. 'I'm afraid I can't help you there.'

  'But you were going to Patrick Fossey's house?'

  Lasser smiled to himself, it was obvious she'd been turning thing's over in her mind, trying to make sense of it all. Now she had someone in front of her she was firing the questions thick and fast, maybe she was wasted as a farmer's wife, the way she was going she would have made a good copper.

  'Look, Mrs Fotheringay…'

  'Please, call me Susan.'

  'I was on my way to see Fossey but obviously when we came across your father things changed very quickly.'

  'But why were you going there, I mean, has it anything to do with the murders?'

  'I'm afraid I'm going to sound like a doctor now but I'm not really at liberty to say.'

  She smiled sadly. 'I understand but you can see how confusing it all is, I mean, they go to spend the day picking apples and he ends up having a heart attack half a mile from the house,' she pushed her hair back from her eyes. 'I tried to ask Jenna about it, but she said now wasn't the time.'

  Lasser gave a slight shrug. 'Maybe she's right.'

  As if on cue, Jenna came in through the revolving doors, a tray laden with plastic coffee cups held in her hands, she looked towards Lasser and her mother then hesitated for a few seconds, before making her way over.

  'Mr Lasser, I thought you'd gone, I mean, I didn't get you a coffee…'

  'That's OK, I've already got one.' Lasser lifted the cup as proof. 'I just called in to see if there was any news about your grandad.'

  'Oh right.'

  Susan took the tray and placed it on the table. 'Where's your father?'

  Jenna glanced at her mother and then quickly looked away. 'He's with Patrick.'

  Susan picked a coffee from the tray. 'Sit down, Jenna.'

  'Well, I thought I might go and find them.'

  'They'll be fine.'

  Jenna hesitated and then sat down, keeping her eyes on the table top, as if she already knew what was coming.

&
nbsp; 'Now, I want to know why your grandad was found lying in the middle of the road and don't even think of telling me that ''this isn't the time''.'

  Jenna had her hands folded in her lap like a school kid caught telling a nasty little lie, Lasser felt sorry for the girl but kept his mouth shut and waited.

  'Look, Mum, I know you think I'm stalling but I really think it's best if we talk about this when we get home…'

  'Well, I don't.'

  When Jenna spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. 'It's all my fault, I lost my temper and Grandad got upset and…'

  'You had an argument?' Susan looked at her daughter in disbelief.

  Jenna squirmed. 'It wasn't really an argument…'

  'For God's sake, either you did or you didn't.'

  Jenna looked around the room as if she were praying for some kind of divine intervention. 'Look, Mum, it was nothing really, we were just talking about…'

  ''Nothing really'',' Susan pointed towards the door. 'Your grandad is in intensive care and you tell me it's "nothing"?'

  'I didn't know that was going to happen,' Jenna lowered her head, the tears sliding down her cheeks.

  'Yes well, it has, and you are going to tell me why.' Susan's face was a mixture of frustration and anger.

  'I can't, Mum.'

  'Oh you can, young lady…'

  'Look, maybe I can help.' Lasser leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table.

  'You?' Jenna lifted her head and dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

  'Look, Susan, I was talking to Patrick and he filled me in on what happened.'

  Susan glanced at her daughter and then turned her attention back to Lasser. 'Go on, I'm listening.'

  'It seems that Jenna became upset when Ronnie was discussing the farm…'

  Susan looked confused. 'The farm, what has the farm got to do with anything?'

  Lasser pursed his lips. 'Well, I don't know if you're aware but according to your father the farm was gifted to your family rather than sold.'