The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  'Are you sure it was him?'

  Spenner looked confused by the question. 'Well, who else could it have been?'

  Lasser nodded, thank Christ he had told Simms about following Michael, at least none of this could be laid on his doorstep. 'Where's the chief now?'

  'Top of the stairs, turn left, second door on the right but I have to warn you, sir, it's bloody horrific in there.'

  'Thanks for the warning,' he crossed the hallway and made his way up the stairs, even with all the lights on the house still felt gloomy. When he reached the top, he saw the bright flash of a camera bulb to his left, illuminating the hallway.

  Lasser stood in the doorway, Cathy at his elbow. As he stepped over the threshold, he saw Simms standing at the foot of a huge four-poster bed, Monty's camera flashed again, drawing his gaze to the bed. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that the head was missing. Monty looked at Lasser and grimaced.

  'Normally, I'd say smile for the camera but in this case it would be a pointless exercise.'

  Simms looked over his shoulder. 'Ah, Detective Sergeant, glad you could make it.'

  'Evening, sir.'

  'It seems our killer has tired of playing games,' his voice was matter of fact, always a dangerous sign.

  'It seems that way, sir.'

  'I tell you one thing, I can't wait for the day I retire,' he looked towards the ornate ceiling, probably trying to imagine what it would be like when all he had to worry about was getting his golf handicap down.

  'We found this under the bed,' Carl appeared from the shadows, holding a kitchen knife by the tip.

  Lasser peered closely at the blade. 'No bloodstains.'

  'No, boss.'

  Simms grunted. 'Could it have been used to decapitate the body and then cleaned?'

  'I doubt it the blades too short.'

  Simms sighed and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Bag it and get it down to the lab.'

  'Right, sir.' Carl moved away, his white paper suit rustling as he walked.

  'I take it you saw Spenner on the door?' Simms asked.

  'Yes, sir, he told me about the boy running from the house.'

  'I've got half the force out looking for him, with a bit of luck we should pick him up by morning.'

  Lasser looked down at the body; he could see the expensive brogues, the crisp, white shirt, the collar ragged and saturated with blood, bone-white hands grasping the sheet. 'Are we sure he actually gained entry to the house?'

  'Positive, the kitchen window has been smashed and there are bloody footprints leading from this room down towards the kitchen, he even left a rucksack under the kitchen window.'

  Lasser sighed. 'Right.'

  'What we don't know is if it was Michael Jones who actually did the killing.'

  Lasser looked at his boss with admiration, the likes of the late Sergeant Hopkins would have had the armed response team camped at the Jones's house with an order to shoot on sight.

  Simms sniffed and then checked his watch. 'You've met the lad; do you think he's capable of something like this?'

  Lasser looked back at the bed; he thought back to when Michael had come at him with all guns blazing, though it was a massive leap from a fistfight to decapitation. 'To be honest, I don't think so.'

  'Explain.'

  'Well, if it was Michael Jones, I would have expected the attack to be more frenzied.'

  'And the removal of a man's head doesn't strike you as ''frenzied'' is that what you are saying?'

  Lasser glanced at Monty, who raised an eyebrow.

  'I just think there would have been multiple stab wounds to the body.' Lasser explained.

  Simms looked at the bed and nodded. 'Of course, without the rest of him we can't say what level of violence was actually used, can we?'

  'That's true.'

  The flashbulb went off again, Simms rocked back and forward on his heels. 'So, what do you think happened here?'

  'If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that by the time Michael arrived, Radfield was already dead.'

  'So, the boy panics and does a runner?'

  'Well, wouldn't you, if you came to give someone a good hiding and you find the man you're after in that state?'

  'You could very well be right, Sergeant, what I can't fathom is why the killer would take the head?'

  Lasser tried to think of a reply but in the end, he gave up, all this went way beyond rational thought.

  'By the way, how come it took us so long to get hold of you?'

  Lasser could hear the subtle change of tone in Simms's voice, he looked towards Monty, if he was going to get a bollocking then he preferred it done in private. 'Maybe it would be better if we talked about that outside, sir.'

  Simms rubbed his hands together. 'Ah, a tall tale, lead the way, Sergeant.'

  'So, you're saying there is a definite link between this family and the Radfields?'

  They were sitting in the Audi, after the sight of the decapitated Ashley Radfield Lasser was gagging for a cigarette.

  'It seems that way, I did question the mother, but to be honest she didn't seem to know anything about the blackmail.'

  'And you say she had no idea if her father had a child with this Emma Wickham?'

  'She admitted to hearing her parents arguing about the possibility, but she says she doesn't know for sure.'

  Simms raised a wiry eyebrow. 'And you believe her?'

  'Not entirely.'

  'So how does this tie in with what's happened here?'

  Lasser thought for a moment, unsure of how to continue.

  'I'm waiting, Sergeant.'

  'It just doesn't feel right.' Lasser closed his eyes waiting for the tirade of abuse.

  'Considering the current situation, you're being more than a little vague.'

  'Say Ronnie did have a son, then why has he kept it to himself all these years?'

  'Come on, Lasser, people keep secrets all the time, for a multitude of reasons.'

  Simms moved in his seat, until he was facing Lasser. 'I can understand he would be angry with this Ronnie fella but what would he have against the Radfields?'

  Lasser was desperately trying to join the dots, to make links. 'Well, apparently after Wickham went missing, it was suggested to his wife that maybe Malcolm Radfield might be able to help find him.'

  'And?'

  'She wouldn't hear of it, apparently she went ballistic at the mere suggestion.'

  Simms sighed. 'It's all 'ifs and buts,' Sergeant.'

  'I realise that.'

  'And you say all this happened over forty years ago?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Right, look into it.'

  Lasser looked at his boss in amazement.

  Simms smiled, though there was no humour behind it. 'Let's face it, we have nothing else to go on, so you try and find out if this 'bastard offspring' really exists and if he does I want to know everything about him.'

  'Very good, sir.'

  A tap on the window, Simms slid down the glass. 'What is it, Spenner?'

  'The press are here, sir.'

  'How wonderful, the vultures have arrived,' as he climbed from the car, he looked over his shoulder. 'Keep me informed, Sergeant.'

  Lasser nodded and started the engine; flashing the headlights until Harper turned around, a few seconds later she climbed in and they headed down the driveway.

  Once clear of the commotion, Lasser pulled into a lay-by, slid the window down, and lit a cigarette, before offering the pack to Cathy.

  'No thanks, I don't want to get back into bad habits.'

  'I don't blame you,' he fished the mobile from his pocket.

  'Who are you ringing?'

  'Fossey,' he scrolled through the numbers and slapped the phone to his ear. 'Ah hello, mate, are you still at the hospital?'

  He frowned, pressed a button and Fossey's voice came through on loudspeaker.

  'No, I got a taxi home.'

  'Any news?'

  'They said he was comfortable, though that cou
ld mean anything. Anyway, have you any idea what time it is?'

  Lasser frowned and checked his watch. 'Sorry, pal, I didn't realise it was so late, I was wondering if I could nip round to see you?'

  Cathy tightened the rubber band in her hair, the smell of smoke making her crave a cigarette.

  Fossey sighed. 'Look, I don't know what else I can do to help.'

  'Well, I wouldn't normally bother but I've just left Radfield's gaff.'

  'And what did he have to say?'

  'Not much. Then again it's hard to hold a conversation with someone who no longer possesses a head.'

  'What?'

  'His Lordship is dead and according to a couple of eye witnesses they saw Michael Jones running away from the scene of the crime.'

  'I don't believe it.'

  'Afraid it's true, now what I want to know is if you have any idea who the girl was?'

  'Which girl?'

  'The one with the false tan and dodgy hair extensions?'

  'Her name's Tina.'

  'Is she Michael's girlfriend?'

  'I'm not sure, they didn't act like they were but then again he was upset at the time.'

  The reproach in Fossey's voice came through loud and clear, Lasser ignored it.

  'Do you have any idea where she lives?'

  'Look are you sure it was Michael? I mean, he doesn't strike me as the type who would do something like that.'

  'We're certain he was in the house but you're right I'm not convinced he was the one who did the dirty deed.'

  'So, you think Radfield was already dead when he got there?'

  'It seems that way to me but obviously we need to catch up with him to find out if he saw anything that could help.'

  'I dropped him off last night, I think the name of the road was Sussex Close, but I don't know the number of the house.'

  Lasser looked at Cathy, who nodded.

  'One more thing before I let you go.'

  'Go on.' Fossey sounded guarded.

  'When Ronnie was giving you a family history lesson, he didn't happen to mention if he had any other children, did he?'

  'No. Why do you ask?'

  Lasser thought for a moment before replying. 'When I was talking to the mother, she mentioned there was a possibility that Ronnie could have had a child with Emma Wickham.'

  'What do you mean by ''possibility''?'

  'Well, she said she'd heard her parents arguing and…'

  'Did she actually say that Ronnie had any other children?'

  'No, that's why I'm asking you.'

  'Look, I know you have a job to do but these are good people going through a very difficult time and I don't think harassing…'

  ''Harassing''!'

  Cathy winced when she saw the look of anger flare on Lasser's face.

  'I spoke to Susan before I left the hospital and she mentioned you'd been asking questions about how they came to own the farm.'

  'That's right and to be honest if Radfield hadn't turned up dead, I'd still be up at the hospital trying to get to the bottom of this.' He yanked out another cigarette and slid it behind his ear.

  'Just because you don't have any clues about the killer, it doesn't give you the right to question a woman when she is at the bedside of her seriously ill father.'

  'Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?'

  Fossey's voice remained calm, as if he were giving a lecture. 'I agree; this man needs catching but I don't think the answer lies with the Fotheringays. Now I suggest you concentrate your efforts by looking into whoever had dealings with Malcolm Radfield rather than grasping at straws.'

  Lasser looked at Cathy and raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 'So, you don't think we're already doing that? Come on, you know how these things work, it isn't just me bumbling around in the countryside trying to find this maniac.'

  The line went quiet for a few seconds. 'Look, if you think it will do any good, I'll be at home in the morning.'

  'Fine,' Lasser paused, 'and if Michael turns up at your place, do the right thing will you?'

  Silence, Fossey had hung up.

  81

  As soon as Michael saw the headlights in the distance, he vaulted over the stone wall and crouched down in the long grass. As the blue lights streaked into the field, he pressed back into the cold stone, watching as the lights spiralled off into the distance. When he was sure the cop car had gone he leapt back onto the narrow pavement. The flight through the woods had been the stuff of nightmares; convinced that behind every tree the killer was lying in wait, a machete in one hand severed head in the other, dripping blood and gore onto the leaf-littered floor.

  Michael started to run, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead; throwing frequent glances over his shoulder, the only thing he could think of was getting back to town, back to jaundiced street lights and drunken revellers, away from these empty, murderous fields.

  The thing that concerned him most was where he was going to stay when he reached the town. He had no doubt the filth would be waiting for him at home but that was the last place on earth he would go. In the end he knew the only person he could trust was Tina, she would let him stay there until he figured out what he was going to do. She wouldn't question him, wouldn't grass him up and Christ alone knew he needed time to think.

  The only sound was the rhythmic slap of his trainers on the asphalt, his breathing coming out in ragged bursts, the moon hung in the sky like a freshly minted coin.

  When he reached the junction, he stopped to grab his breath. By now the police would have found the knife, they would have discovered the backpack under the kitchen window. Both of these items would prove that he had been in the house.

  Lasser had been right, after this, he would never be able to live a normal life. The irony didn't escape him, in the end, he had done nothing wrong but would probably spend the next few years locked up, pissing in a bucket and smoking roll ups.

  Michael started to run again, trying to leave the pain and anguish behind; it felt as if he was carrying the dead weight of his brother on his shoulders, a constant reminder of all his failings.

  82

  Jenna sprawled in the horrible hospital chair, feigning sleep; she could see her mother through half-closed eyes, sitting by the bed, her face etched with worry.

  She had no idea of the time, though it felt like she had been in this sterile room for days. The only sound was the regular beep of the heart monitor, occasionally she would hear the squeak of rubber shoes on the tiles as someone walked down the corridor.

  For a while, she had sat at the opposite side of the bed just looking at her grandad's face, praying that he would open his eyes and give her a lopsided grin. Occasionally she would catch her mother looking at her and look away, afraid that she would see blame in her eyes.

  She moved slightly to ease the creak in her back and then she lay still again.

  'Jenna, are you awake?'

  She allowed her eyes to flutter open, her mother smiled, though she looked anything but happy.

  Jenna yawned and stretched. 'What time is it?'

  'Twenty to two, why don't we get a coffee?'

  'What about Grandad?'

  'We won't be long, and I need to stretch my legs,' she stood and slid her bag over her shoulder. 'Come on, you never know the cafe might still be open.'

  'I'm not really hungry.'

  Susan frowned. 'But you've had nothing to eat for hours, so come on, my treat.'

  Jenna rubbed her eyes and grabbed her fleece from the back of the chair before following her mother through the door. The lights in the corridor had been dimmed, though as far as Jenna was concerned it just made the place feel gloomier, more oppressive. The lift doors were open, and they stepped inside, Susan jabbed at the button and they slid closed.

  'Do you think he'll be all right, Mum?'

  Susan slid an arm around her shoulder. 'I hope so, love, I had a word with the doctor while you were asleep, and he said the longer he goes without having another attack the better hi
s chances of making a good recovery.'

  'Really?'

  'Absolutely, he said that if your grandad was going to have another attack then he would have probably had it by now, so you see that's some good news.'

  When the lift door opened they stood back to let out a porter who was pushing an empty wheel chair. Susan pressed the ground floor button and the doors slid shut.

  'I shouldn't have had a go at him…'

  'Listen, I don't know what your grandad was thinking but none of this is your fault.'

  'But what if it's all true, Mum?'

  'If there is any truth in what he said then it has nothing to do with us.'

  Jenna felt her stomach rise and fall as the lift stopped. 'But of course it does.' The doors opened onto another empty corridor.

  Susan turned and took hold of Jenna's shoulders. 'Listen, sweetheart, your grandad is basing all this on some diary that none of us have ever seen. Now, I'm not saying that it doesn't exist…'

  'Well, it sounds like you are.'

  Susan gave a brusque shake of her head. 'OK, let's say for arguments sake that you're right, but all this happened years before you were born. I mean, I don't even remember my grandfather, so how can we be held responsible for something that was beyond our control?'

  The lift doors hissed closed. 'I know what you're saying, Mum, but I don't think other people will see it the same way.'

  'I don't care what other people think, we've worked hard to make the farm a success…'

  'I know you have but if the police…'

  'What have the police got to do with anything? You're just letting your imagination run riot and you need to stop it.'

  'But…'

  'No ''but''s, this family sticks together; we carry on as we've always done. Now if the police decide to look into our affairs then we have nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, how do you think families like the Radfields came to have all that wealth, do you think it was because they were honest in all their business dealings.'

  'No, of course not, but…'

  'All we have to concern ourselves with is getting your grandad back on his feet and maybe then when he's feeling better we can all sit down and try to get to the truth of all this.'