The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  It made sense, but she couldn't shake the feeling that her mother was somehow fobbing her off, trying to get her to toe the line. When they reached the cafe, they found the doors locked and the place in darkness, though further down the corridor there was a food and drinks machine humming away quietly in the half-light.

  'Now, what do you want, Kit Kat, Mars bar?'

  'Just a hot chocolate, please.'

  Susan rooted in her purse pulling out some loose change. 'I saw Patrick before he left, he said he'd visit your grandad in the morning.'

  It was strange, but she hadn't thought of Patrick in hours, in fact, now that her mother had mentioned him the only thing she could think of was how he had just stood there while Lasser had been busy saving Grandad's life.

  'What about Lasser?'

  Susan waited for the chocolate bar to drop into the slot before bending to fish it from the tray.

  'I don't know, sweetheart, I spoke with him earlier, you know – thanked him for what he'd done…'

  'Grandad would have died if he hadn't helped him, wouldn't he?'

  'It's best not to think about that, like I said we have to take each day as it comes and stay strong.'

  'Can I ask you something?'

  'That depends, because to be honest I don't want to talk anymore about what your grandad was meant to have said…'

  'It's just that when I mentioned the name…'

  'Enough, Jenna.'

  'But…'

  'But nothing, I've asked you nicely to stop going on about it, now I'm telling you. I have more important things to worry about. Now if you can't do what I ask, then you might as well get a taxi home.'

  Jenna looked at her mum in astonishment, but her mother didn't look away, didn't flinch, her eyes deadly serious.

  'You want me to go?'

  'I want you to respect my wishes.'

  'But you can't just expect me to forget about what I've heard. I can't pretend it didn't happen.'

  'You're going to have to, because I can't give you any answers.'

  'But why did you dash off when I mentioned the name Wickham.'

  Susan leant forward, her face inches away from her daughters. 'Let-it-drop,' each word was clipped, a kind of smothered fury behind every syllable.

  Jenna swallowed, for the first time in her life she realised that the people she loved were capable of keeping secrets from her. This was just another example of how little they trusted her, this wasn't about protecting her from the big bad world, it was about concealing, it was about lying.

  'OK, Mum, I understand.'

  Susan looked at her closely and then smiled. 'Come on, let's get back.'

  As they moved back down the corridor, her mother took hold of her hand and gave it a squeeze, inside, Jenna cringed and resisted the urge to pull away. Bitch.

  83

  After dropping Cathy at her apartment, Lasser had made his way home, grabbed a quick microwave meal that tasted like shit and now he was sitting on the sofa, turning recent events over in his head. For the first time in months he didn't have a beer clasped in his hand, didn't even feel like cracking open a can. Problem was, he was beginning to think he did his best work when he was half-crocked. Maybe this whole thing with Farmer Ronnie was irrelevant; the truth was if you looked hard enough then all families were fuck-ups. However, one of the things he couldn't fathom was why Ronnie had decided to come clean after all these years. Lasser reached for his cigarettes, it didn't make sense, unless he had somehow become convinced that it was all going to come out anyway. He lit up and blew smoke towards the ceiling. You keep a secret for nearly forty years and then suddenly decide to blurt it out to your granddaughter and a virtual stranger and then do a runner, having a heart attack in the process. He pursed his lips, Ronnie had told Fossey and Jenna about the blackmail but nothing about his possible relationship with Sam Wickham's widow. Perhaps that's why he'd stormed out, admitting to the blackmail had been bad enough but coming clean about the affair had been one step too far.

  Lasser flicked his ash, it was plausible, Ronnie could distance himself from the sins of his father, after all his old man had been solely responsible for that little business venture. Though he couldn't blame his father for shagging the widow, he smiled, that was more like it. It was obvious that Jenna was close to the old man, after all, it was rare these days to find a young girl who actually enjoyed spending time with her grandfather, a relationship built on respect and trust. Yeah well, all that had been blown out of the water, Ronnie was in intensive care and Jenna's image of him had obviously been damaged.

  He needed to get his hands on the diary, because he was convinced that Ronnie had been selective with the facts, cherry picking only the parts that he thought would cause him the least damage, it was human nature, deep down everyone had their own agenda.

  Picking up the empty plastic tray, he headed for the kitchen and dropped it into the bin, then opened the fridge and eyed the cans of lager lined up with military precision. He could feel the cool air wafting out to meet him, could see the beads of moisture coating the metal tins. Slamming the door, he went to the sink to pour a glass of tepid tap water, grimacing as he took a long gulp. It was frustrating to be standing around doing nothing, he should be out there, but the truth was he didn't know what to do. He had a sneaking feeling that Fossey wouldn't be able to help him, in fact it was obvious that he blamed Lasser for hassling the family. He poured the rest of the water down the sink and wandered back into the lounge. Maybe Michael would turn up at Fossey's house, though even if he did Lasser wasn't convinced the writer would let him know.

  Plumping up a cushion, he lay down on the sofa. The important thing was to establish if what Susan had heard all those years ago had been true. Pulling out his mobile, he set the alarm for half-six before turning on his side. Ten minutes later he was in the land of nod.

  84

  According to the doctor, waiting for Grandad to wake up was a pointless exercise; he said he could remain unconscious for hours, even days. However, given the circumstances, he was comfortable, and his vital signs were good, so he suggested they both go home and get some rest. As far as Jenna was concerned, he was talking rubbish, besides he looked like an impostor. One of those weirdoes who sneak into a hospital pretending to be a doctor when really, they were escapees from some mental health institution. She chewed another fingernail as she listened, when her mum agreed she nearly choked. What was she thinking; patients died while you were at home trying to get a few hours' sleep, loved ones just gave up, thinking they had been abandoned.

  As soon as the charlatan had left the room, Susan had pulled out her mobile.

  'What are you doing?'

  'I'm sure I have the number for a taxi company in here somewhere.'

  'You're not seriously thinking of going home, are you?'

  'You heard what the doctor said, he'll be fine for a few hours, and besides we have a farm to run, Jenna.'

  'But earlier you said Grandad was your one and only concern.'

  Susan slapped the phone to her ear, her eyes narrowing. 'Don't start, Jenna.'

  'Well, I'm not going.'

  'Look, all we're doing is going home to get a few hours' sleep and pick up some things for your grandad.'

  'Things, what things?'

  'He'll need fresh pyjamas and clothes for when he's moving about, slippers, toiletries…'

  'You go; I think one of us needs to be here in case anything happens.'

  'Oh hello, could I order a taxi please.'

  Jenna turned away and looked out through the huge, glass-fronted window. She could see a couple of people standing under the small Perspex smoking shelter, they probably had lung cancer and emphysema yet the craving to inhale smoke still had a hold on them. In the end people were weak and selfish, only ever thinking of themselves.

  'They'll be here in ten minutes.'

  'I'm staying here.'

  'No, you're coming home with me, you need to rest.'

  'I can sleep
in the chair; I mean; he needs to know that one of us is here.'

  'You heard what the doctor said, if we're going to be any use then we have to plan for the long term and that doesn't mean sitting by his bedside twenty-four seven.'

  'But…'

  'Just a few hours at home and then we can come straight back.'

  'Why don't you go and then when Dad drops you off later I can go back with him.'

  'But your dad won't be bringing me back, you know he has to get the rapeseed in and we only have the combine for four days, so he won't be able to spare the time to keep going back and forth.'

  Jenna couldn't believe what she was hearing, it was as if no one gave a shit about Grandad. 'But I thought you said Jim Woodman was going to help?'

  'He is but it's still a two-man job. Now, I promise we'll be back here by teatime. Besides you know your grandad wouldn't want us making a fuss.'

  'You make it sound like he's in bed with the flu.'

  Her mother pushed her hair behind her ears, a sure sign that she was beginning to lose her patience. 'Why do you insist on making things harder, Jenna?'

  'I'm not, I…'

  'I'm just asking for your cooperation. I need you to act your age and stop all this nonsense.'

  ''Nonsense''!'

  'Now get your coat, we'll wait at the front for the taxi.'

  'But…'

  'Now, Jenna!' Susan snatched up her purse from the bedside table and left the room without a backward glance. Jenna looked down at her grandad and then bent down, brushing her lips across his grizzled cheek.

  'I won't be long, I promise,' she stalked from the room, her fury bubbling away just below the surface.

  The journey home was completed in virtual silence, both sitting on the back seat of the taxi, an empty gap between them like an invisible force field. Occasionally Jenna would see the driver glance at her in the mirror, twice he tried a winning smile, Jenna scowled back at him, pervert. As soon as they pulled up at the house, she climbed out and headed for the door leaving her mum to pay the fare. The way she was feeling she just wanted to get inside then she could lock herself in her room and brood. When she opened the front door, it felt like she was entering a house that was no longer a home and the realisation came to her of what it would be like if her grandad didn't make it out of the hospital. She could see his old tobacco pouch on the small table, standing alongside the reading glasses that he hated to wear because he said they made him look like an old codger. His favourite chair with yesterday's paper folded neatly on the arm, slippers by the side of the fire. Everywhere she looked, there was a little piece of him, it felt as if he was already dead, she heard her mother come in and close the door behind her.

  'Do you want a cup of tea, Jen?'

  She looked over her shoulder in surprise, she couldn't remember the last time her mother had called her that, it was a name from her childhood used to comfort when knees were grazed, or she was laid in bed with chickenpox. A peace offering, a way to try and mend broken fences. Jenna could see the tears shining in her eyes, all of a sudden, she felt appalled for the way she had behaved. Mum was right, the last thing he would have wanted was for them to sit around moping and bickering at one another.

  'Jenna?'

  'Sorry, Mum,' she whispered the apology, and then looked down at her feet, why was everything going wrong, the murders had been bad enough, but this was somehow worse, which only made her feel more guilty, more repelled at her own selfishness.

  Susan tossed her bag onto the sofa. 'It's OK, love, if you'd sooner just go to your room I understand.'

  'I've been a complete bitch, haven't I?'

  Susan smiled weakly. 'Of course not, we're all upset but I just need to try to keep things as normal as possible.'

  'I just want him home,' the tears slid from her eyes. When she looked up, she could see her mother standing in front of her through a blur of tears. Susan reached out and she fell forward into her waiting arms.

  85

  By six-thirty, Lasser was heading out of the door, showered and shaved. He'd given Cathy a ring, told her to be ready for seven; they were going to pay Tina Sheldon an early morning visit. Cathy had sounded half-asleep, mumbling her responses, still smothered in the fog of slumber. The sun was low in the sky, slowly building for another day of blistering heat. When he arrived at the apartments, she was already standing on the curb, she climbed in looking bleary eyed.

  'Morning,' she yawned.

  'Did you manage to sleep?'

  'Put it this way, if you hadn't rung I would still have been in bed at dinnertime.'

  'Sussex Close?'

  'Just get to Lancaster Road, I'll direct you from there.'

  Apart from the council worker picking up litter, the town centre appeared deserted, the high street festooned with empty pizza boxes and tin cans.

  'Do you think Jones will have headed back to Sheldon's?'

  'Hard to tell, I mean, I can't see him going home to his mother's place, not unless he intends taking her head as well.'

  'You think he killed Radfield?'

  Lasser slowed down as a mongrel dog ambled in front of the car. 'Nah, but the way the lad feels about this mother, then the murder of Radfield might have given him ideas.'

  'Take the next left.'

  Sussex close was a street made up of prefabs, tin houses, built just after the war, unbearable in weather like this.

  'Did Fossey give you the house number?' she asked

  Pulling tight to the curb, he switched off the engine. 'No, we'll give it five minutes and then knock on a few doors.'

  Cathy waited for him to pull out the cigarettes and light up, but his hands remained on the wheel, every few seconds he checked in the rear-view mirror. After a couple of minutes, she saw him smile as he swung the door open and climbed out. She swivelled in her seat, she could see him talking to an elderly man who had a newspaper clasped under his left arm. After a moment, he patted the old man on the shoulder and made his way back to the car.

  'Number twenty-six.'

  'How did you know someone would come along?'

  'The paper shop at the end of the road, don't tell me you didn't see old father time going in as we turned.'

  Cathy raised an eyebrow; she hadn't even noticed the shop let alone the customer. 'You're rather good at this aren't you?'

  'Just a nosey bastard that's all.'

  Lasser was surprised to find the garden of number twenty-six looked trim and tidy, the grass short, four large pots full of colourful flowers arranged under the front window.

  Halfway down the drive, he stopped and looked at the front of the house; both the upstairs and living room windows had the blinds drawn. 'Do me a favour, Cathy, ring the doorbell?'

  She moved past him and pressed her finger on the button, holding it there for about five seconds, Lasser kept his eye on the windows. 'Same again.'

  Cathy did as he asked.

  'Someone's coming,' she could see movement through the frosted glass of the door. A couple of seconds later the door opened a fraction, Lasser zeroed in.

  'Who is it?'

  'Mrs Sheldon?'

  'Do you know what time it is?'

  'My name's Detective Sergeant Lasser, I wonder if we could have a word.'

  They heard the rattle of a chain being dragged back then the door opened about eight inches.

  She was about forty with dyed-blonde hair frizzing around a thin face. 'What do you want?'

  'Is Tina in?'

  'What do you want Tina for? She hasn't done anything.'

  'We realise that, Mrs Sheldon, we just want a quiet word.'

  'You call this quiet, leaning on my door bell at half past seven in the morning?' she pulled the housecoat tight around her waist. 'Besides she's in bed.'

  'Do you mind just giving her a shout?'

  'Have you got a warrant?'

  'We don't want to search the premises; we just want a few words with your daughter. Now if you insist on refusing this simple request, then I'
ll be forced into thinking you have something to hide.'

  'Oh yes, you lot are good at that aren't you, forcing your way into a house and planting evidence.'

  'OK, have it your way, Harper could you contact the station, tell them we need a van down here ASAP.'

  'Right, Sarge.'

  She backed away pressing the two-way strapped to her shoulder.

  'You would an' all, you'd get a gang of thugs down here just to be bloody minded.'

  'I'm just doing my job.' Lasser smiled.

  'Wait there.'

  'Not a problem.'

  She left the door open then turned and headed off up the stairs. 'Tina, are you awake, love, the police are here to see you.' Lasser heard the slamming of a door and then Tina Sheldon's mother was suddenly bawling like an old fishwife. 'Who the bloody hell are you?'

  Lasser looked up at the front of the house and then went dashing down the narrow passage that ran down the side of the property. He hit the gate hard, slamming through into the back garden. Michael Jones was halfway across the lawn, limping his way towards a six-foot panel fence that separated them from next door.

  'Michael, wait!'

  The kid threw a glance look over shoulder; face twisted in pain, his eyes laced with blind panic.

  'Leave him alone, he hasn't done anything!'

  Lasser looked up; Tina was leaning out through the bedroom window, her hair tied up in a tight bun, face florid with anger.

  Lasser stopped and held up his hands. 'It's OK, Michael, I know you're not responsible for what happened at the house.'

  Jones stopped and turned, his chest heaving.

  'He didn't have a head,' a trail of snot slid from the end of his nose and he swiped it away with the back of a shaking hand.

  'I know, son,' he moved closer, when he was about six feet away he stopped. Under normal circumstances, Michael would have been over the fence and away and there was no way Lasser would have been able to stop him, but the jump from the bedroom window had damaged his ankle.