The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  'I'm sorry but I don't have a clue what you are talking about.'

  'Grandad said his father got the farm for nothing, Mum,' Jenna felt the words rushing from her mouth.

  'You're trying to tell me that my own grandfather somehow tricked Radfield into giving us the house and land?'

  'He didn't trick him; your father said Radfield was blackmailed into handing the farm over.' Lasser dropped the bomb and waited.

  ''Blackmailed''!'

  Jenna looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, she couldn't bring herself to lift her head, couldn't stand to see the look she knew would be on her mother's face.

  Lasser picked up a sachet of sugar and began to roll it between his fingers. 'Apparently it had something to do with an accident in the early sixties…'

  Susan stood up the chair legs squealing as she pushed it back. 'This is ridiculous…'

  'It's true, Mum, there was this man, Sam Wickham and…'

  'Wickham!'

  Lasser frowned. 'You've heard the name before?'

  Jenna had never seen her mother looked so shocked, so anxious, the colour bled from her face. She took a hesitant step back nearly stumbling as her legs hit the chair.

  'Mum, are you all right?' Jenna reached out a hand.

  'I don't have to listen to this,' Susan thrust the chair away, sending it skittering across the floor, a moment later she was heading for the door.

  'Mum, where're you going?' Jenna took a couple of hesitant steps forward.

  Susan didn't turn around, didn't hesitate, she slammed through the door and vanished.

  77

  As soon as Michael spotted the police car parked on the lane, he cut to the left and made his way into the dense cover of the trees. The light was rapidly fading, the shadows lengthening as he scrambled up the hillside; nearing the top he angled right and made his way towards the house. As it came into view he stopped, amazed by the sheer size of the place, it was no wonder the pigs had let Radfield go, this tosser probably had access to the best solicitors, the best everything. He fumed at the injustice, left to the coppers Billy's murder would be dismissed, and Radfield would carry on living in his big fuck-off house.

  Slipping the bag from his shoulder, he rummaged inside until he felt the handle of the knife, when he pulled it free the blade glittered in the last of the fading light. He moved forward in a crouch, easing under the low-hanging branches of the trees. When he heard voices, Michael stopped and slid onto his stomach before snaking his way to the lip of the hill. Two coppers were standing in front of a pair of huge iron gates; one of them was smoking a cigarette, the grey smoke curling into the air.

  'Have you ever thought of packing in?'

  Michael was close enough to hear the other copper sigh. 'Give it a rest, Spenner, what else is there to do out here?'

  'Well…'

  'I mean, I can't see Simms turning up out of the blue can you, not with Hopkins's killer still on the loose, besides I don't even know what we're meant to be doing up here.'

  'We're here in case the media turn up.'

  Brittle laughter floated up the hillside. 'The media aren't interested in Radfield…

  Michael backed away until the voices were mere mumbles, back beneath the trees, he stood up and looked down the hillside. The house was all lines and shadows, the windows opaque, a large, red brick wall encircled the property. At the bottom, he could see a huge oak overhanging the wall alongside a crumbling greenhouse. Shrugging the backpack onto his shoulders, he started down the steep embankment, his trainers fighting for grip. He slid the last six feet, a trail of dead leaves and displaced soil slithering down behind him, sounding startlingly loud in the gloom.

  When he reached the wall, he followed it away from the gates until he came across the gnarly bough of a huge oak. Michael scrambled up the trunk until he came to the branch that cleared the wall, he slithered along and then dropped to the ground with practised ease. He remained hunkered down in the long grass while he studied the house. The last time he'd broken into a place it had been one of the boarded-up council houses on the estate, somewhere to get pissed and keep out of the rain, there had been two windows at ground level, one kitchen, one dining room, no problem. Eventually, the council had found out and covered the windows with metal sheets. He counted the windows in front of him, ten that he could gain access to, the size of the place seemed to mock him, making him feel small, inadequate. He moved to the edge of the greenhouse and then sprinted across the lawn aiming for the left-hand corner of the house. Skidding to a halt, he flattened his back against the wall. It was cold in the shadow of the building, though he could feel the sweat sliding down between his shoulder blades. He peered in through the windows; the kitchen was in darkness, but he could still make out the dull shine of the sink and worktops. Lifting his left arm, he slammed it back, the glass cascading into the room, sliding the bag from his shoulders he swiped it along the window ledge to remove any shards of glass, before climbing through and disappearing into the dark.

  78

  Ronnie looked dead; his face was the same hue as the pillow beneath his head, grey and washed out. Susan was sitting at his bedside, arms on the mattress, hands clasped together, as if praying. Instead of taking him to a ward, they'd moved him to a private room, which in Lasser's opinion was never a good sign. He was standing in the corridor looking into the small room, the dividing window had stickers on, smiley faces and daffodils, it even had an acrylic painting of Mickey Mouse plastered across the glass, the bright cheerful colours at odds with the old man on the bed. A couple of minutes after Susan had stormed out of the refectory, Jenna's father had walked into the room and she had dashed towards him, tears streaming down her face. When Lasser left, she had been trying to explain what had happened, but the sobs and hiccups were making it hard.

  He looked up and down the long corridor and then tapped on the glass, Susan turned and frowned, and for a few seconds he thought she was simply going to ignore him. Then she stood and made her way to the door.

  'How is he?'

  She pushed her hair back, although her cheeks were stained with tears, she looked at Lasser with more than a hint of disapproval. 'Look, Sergeant, I've already said I appreciate what you did for my father and at the moment he's stable…'

  'Good, I'm glad.'

  'But that's not why you're really here is it?'

  'I don't want to hassle you, but I do need to know why you reacted so strongly when Jenna mentioned the name…'

  'Wickham.'

  Lasser nodded. 'After what your father admitted to Jenna, then you can understand I have to look into it.'

  She moved into the corridor, quietly pulling the door closed. 'You mean the blackmail?'

  'Do you know anything about it?'

  'No, I don't.'

  'But you believe him?'

  'My father isn't in the habit of telling lies, Sergeant, though he does get confused at times.'

  'It's just that you don't seem overly surprised.'

  'What are you saying, that I knew about it and kept my mouth shut?'

  Overhead one of the strip lights flickered. 'I'm not saying that at all,' he paused, 'but you know something about Sam Wickham.'

  Susan looked over her shoulder; Ronnie remained motionless, every few seconds the heart monitor flashed, a tiny red light.

  She sighed. 'The last time I heard that name I was fifteen years old.'

  'It must have made quite an impression?'

  'One thing you have to understand about my parents is that they never argued. I know it sounds like a cliché, but they really did have the perfect marriage.'

  She was right there, as far as he was concerned it sounded like total bollocks. 'Not many of those about,' he replied.

  'I had a very happy childhood, I could not have asked for better parents.'

  Lasser could hear the 'but' coming from a mile off. 'Go on.'

  'The sound of raised voices was alien to me, that's why at first I thought it was the radio on too
loud,' she paused and swallowed, as if the recollection was painful. 'Then I realised it was my mother shouting.'

  'What were they arguing about?'

  Susan straightened her shoulders and looked Lasser in the eye. 'She kept asking him if it was true that he'd had a child with Emma Wickham,' she pulled a sour face as if speaking the woman's name left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Whatever Lasser had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this. 'She was accusing your father of having an affair?' he glanced through the glass, trying to imagine Ronnie as some kind of ladies' man was nigh on impossible.

  'No, he would never have cheated on my mother, he loved her too much.'

  'I'm sorry I don't follow.'

  'My parents only got married when they were in their mid-thirties, this was meant to have happened before he even met my mother.'

  'I see.' Well, Ronnie was a farmer; sowing wild oats was all part of the job. 'So, what happened?'

  The light above their head pinged and then went out. 'I don't know, I couldn't stand to hear them shouting so I left the house and went for a walk.'

  For the first time Lasser looked at her and thought, I don't believe you. 'So, you have no idea if it was true or not?'

  'Look, my mother died when I was eighteen and my father was devastated, he never knew that I'd heard them arguing and I wasn't going to drag it all up.'

  'Tell me, before they argued had you ever heard either of them mention the name before?'

  'Definitely not, that's why I was so shocked when Jenna said it.'

  Deep in his mind, Lasser could hear the clanging of alarm bells. 'And you've never been curious to find out the truth?'

  When she looked at him her eyes had hardened, it was hard to think that a couple of minutes earlier she had been close to tears.

  'I can understand to some people it might be important, but I already have my family, Sergeant, and they mean the world to me…'

  'I don't doubt it,' he paused, 'but you could have a half-sister or brother out there and surely they deserve to know?'

  Susan shrugged. 'Maybe he already does, I haven't a clue.'

  'So, you presume the child was a boy?'

  She looked at him in confusion and then blanched. 'What do you mean?'

  'You said you heard your parents arguing about a ''child'' and you left because you couldn't stand to hear them shouting, so why would you refer to the child as a he?'

  'It's just a term of phrase, that's all,' she turned again to check on her father, though this time he was convinced it was to break eye contact, when she didn't turn around he moved forward to stand beside her.

  'Look, I need you to help me here…'

  'I'm afraid I can't, now if you'll excuse me I'm going to spend some time with my father.'

  She was through the door in an instant; he watched as she pulled out the chair and sat down at the side of the bed. Lasser's hand automatically went to his pocket to pull out his cigarettes, then he remembered where he was. Going into a room where an old man was clinging to life, to question his daughter, you needed to be some kind of bastard.

  He mulled it over for a few seconds then placed his hand on the door handle.

  79

  Everything creaked, every floorboard, every door. Michael winced as he crept from one cavernous room to the next. The place reeked of damp, like old books left out in the rain. Beneath his feet, the carpets were threadbare; the furniture like something you would chuck on a bonfire. If he hadn't seen the coppers standing at the gates he would have thought he'd made a mistake and broken into the wrong house. After checking the last of the downstairs' rooms, he found himself standing at the foot of a huge staircase. Michael adjusted the backpack and began to climb, the knife gripped in his right hand, the handle slick with sweat. Every step seemed to draw the darkness towards him; shadows melded together forming a seemingly solid block of black. When he reached the top, he swiped an arm across his forehead and then turned left before moving slowly down the landing. Opening the first door he came to moonlight flooded in through the window, pooling at his feet. He hesitated in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the pale half-light. In one corner he could see the skeleton shape of a four-poster bed, the pelmet in tatters, a huge wardrobe stood opposite, apart from that the room appeared empty. He left the door open and moved to the next, his hand curled around the handle. Like the rest of the house the air in the narrow passage was fetid, yet here there was another underlying scent, something that he could almost taste. He spat onto the carpet, then twisted the handle and pushed, the rancid odour swept out and slammed into him, Michael took a backward step, his arm lifted to cover his nose and mouth.

  Unlike the other bedroom, this one had curtains up at the window, thick drapes that blocked out the moonlight. He licked his lips and strode across the threshold, heading quickly towards the window; he grabbed hold of the material and yanked the curtain back. The room was almost identical to the previous one, the same wardrobe, the same four-poster bed, the only difference being that this bed was occupied. He lifted the knife his heart hammering and strode forward, time for some answers. When moonlight splashed onto the body, Michael crashed to his knees, the knife fell from his jittering fingers, and skittered away beneath the bed, the raw meat smell engulfed him. When his hand hit the floor, he gasped and snatched it away, blood coated his fingers, slick and cold.

  The head, where was the fucking head? He sprang to his feet, eyes riveted to the sight spread out before him, he could see the dark stain spreading out from the shoulders, saturating the mattress, could see the bone-white hand of the corpse gripping the sheet. All thoughts of his brother vanished; any notion of revenge swept away on a tidal wave of fear. Dragging his eyes away from the ruined body, the shadows seemed to crowd in around him pushing and jostling. Michael hesitated for a second and then bolted for the door, as he dashed onto the landing he felt his left foot slide on something wet, he slammed against the opposite wall, the breath firing from his lungs, part gasp, part scream. Scrambling to his feet, Michael careered down the landing taking the stairs two and three at a time. He hit the floor hard and then arrowed straight towards the kitchen, all the time convinced that he was being watched, being stalked. When he reached the broken window, he dragged the pack from his shoulders and threw into the garden, then slithered through, landing in the flowerbed, a tangle of arms and legs. Grunting, he gained his feet and sprinted across the lawn towards the huge oak. Michael leapt for the overhanging branch and swung himself up, when he reached the top of the wall, he risked a glance over his shoulder, convinced that he would see a black shape crawling towards him. The looming bulk of the house stood stark against the slate grey sky, a monstrous silhouette. Turning away, he dropped over the wall and then began to scramble up the hillside, his trainers slipped on the wet grass, his breath rattled in his ears.

  'Stop right there!'

  He snapped his head to the left, the terror that the killer was giving chase almost made him weep, when he saw the two coppers blundering up the hill, he actually cried out in relief. Digging the toes of his trainers into the soft earth, he made it to the top before they were halfway up. He stood for a moment looking down at them, then turned, and set off running through the trees.

  80

  Cathy watched the speedometer creeping above eighty and gave the seat belt a yank to make sure it was secure. The siren was a high whine in her ears, Lasser jabbed the brakes as a silver-grey BMW pulled out in front of him.

  'Prick!' he bellowed.

  As soon as the car swerved back to the left, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator, the big Audi bulleted forward.

  Just as he'd been about to enter the room to have another crack at Susan Fotheringay, the door at the end of the corridor had slammed open and Cathy had come dashing towards him, dark ponytail bobbing on her shoulders.

  'Hang on!' her cheeks flushed with colour, her eyes alight with a kind of fervour. 'You've got to come now, sir.'

  'I thought I told yo
u to drop the ''sir''?'

  She shook her head dismissively. 'Simms has been trying to get in touch with you, he's going ballistic.'

  Lasser let his hand slip off the handle. 'Why, what's the problem?'

  'Ashley Radfield's been murdered!'

  Now they were barrelling down the dual carriageway, all guns blazing.

  'It's the next exit.'

  'I know the way,' he checked the mirror and then shot across the two lanes of traffic and down the slip road. Cathy had both hands on the dashboard, her feet digging into the car mat as Lasser screeched around the roundabout. If she thought he was going to slow down when he hit the B-roads she was wrong. He only eased slightly for the bends, any straight sections of road he treated like an empty motorway. The stone wall to her left flashed by in a blur, she closed her eyes in an effort to dispel the image of the car smashing through the stonework, she could envision them slamming end over end and then igniting in a ball of fire and twisted metal. When he reached the lane that led to the house he slowed and flicked off the siren, though he left the blue light flashing, the driveway was lined with assorted police cars. Uniformed officers stood in small groups as if waiting to be told what to do. The manor was lit up from the inside, light spilled out onto the gravel driveway, illuminating small pieces of quartz, sparkling like tossed-away diamonds. He parked and headed for the front door with Cathy scurrying to keep up; Spenner was standing guard, his hands locked behind his back, like a cardboard cut-out.

  'I see you're in the thick of it as usual, Spenner.'

  'Yes, sir,' he replied without a hint of irony.

  'So, what's happened?'

  'It was the kid, sir; we saw him on top of the wall and gave chase…'

  ''The kid''?'

  'Yes, sir, DCI Simms told us to be extra vigilant, he said that Michael Jones had been seen in the area and he might try and gain access to the house but I'm telling you, sir, that little sod can run, he…'