The Needle House

by Robin Leslie Roughley

  'Of a fashion.'

  'Well, I appreciate your help,' he thrust out his hand and Fossey grasped it.

  Lasser blew out a sigh of relief, the sound dragged away on the wind.

  'Right, Sergeant, I've left five men down by the canal in case our man decides to put in an appearance.'

  'What about the farm?' Lasser asked.

  'PC Harper is still there keeping an eye on the place.'

  'Right, sir,' it appeared the old man had thought of everything but in situations like this covering all the angles was never going to be an exact science.

  Simms clapped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously as if he was trying to generate some heat. 'So, come on, Lasser, I take it you have directions?'

  'There's a path about a quarter of a mile from here that should lead us directly towards the property.'

  'Right then, lead the way.'

  101

  Ten minutes later, they stood at the bottom of a rutted track; the cover of the trees had gone leaving them exposed to the howling wind, the driving rain slanted in from right to left.

  Simms grunted and turned his face into the onslaught as if relishing the sensation of the elements whipping into his grizzled face. When he turned to Lasser his eyes where alight with a kind of fervour. 'How far is it to this place?'

  Lasser did a rough calculation. 'About three quarters of a mile.'

  'Right, you lot, listen up, I want all lights off, if our man is up here somewhere then we don't want the place lit up like the illuminations.'

  One by one, the torchlights vanished, the darkness closed in around them.

  'Break my leg at this rate,' someone tried to whisper to a colleague.

  'Black, if I hear another peep out of you. I'll be the one breaking your bloody legs.'

  'Sorry, sir.'

  'Right, spread out and keep your eyes peeled.' Simms set off, striding across the heather, the men fanning out on either side.

  The four firearms experts split into two groups and cut off left and right, moving forward in a crouch.

  After a couple of hundred yards, the ground began to grow steeper making any sort of conversation difficult. Not for the first time, Lasser wished he didn't smoke as every demon weed came back to haunt him, he heard grunts to his left and right as men lost their footing on the uneven moorland grass. He flicked up the hood of the new sweatshirt in an effort to keep out the swirling rain, but the wind simply ripped it back from his head. The moon put in an appearance, the open fields filled with pale light before disappearing again behind swollen rain clouds.

  When they reached the crest of the hill the wind came raging across the miles of open country picking up pace and slamming into them.

  'Fuck me' Lasser gasped, leaning forward into the gale in an effort to stay on his feet.

  Fossey yanked up the collar of his jacket and grinned. 'A bit breezy, isn't it?'

  Both men battled their way across the ground, in the gloom Lasser could see that most of the others had adopted the same approach, looking as if they were burdened by some invisible weight strapped to their shoulders. The ground began to dip and undulate, in the gullies the wind would die down to a whisper, though as soon as they reached the top of the next incline it battered them into submission.

  When the dark shape of the house morphed into view, Lasser stopped and peered into the darkness. 'There it is, sir.'

  Simms stared out across the field, it took Lasser a couple of seconds to realise that his boss could see bugger all.

  'Are you sure?'

  One of the firearms officers walked over. 'How do you want to do this?'

  Simms wiped a hand down his face and flicked the droplets away. 'Right, Morris, I want you and your men to get as close as you can to the house but remember, no unnecessary risks.'

  'Should we gain entry if we feel it's safe to do so?'

  Lasser had never seen Morris before, he was dressed like an action man, his clothing seemed to consist of belts, buckles, and pockets. It was obvious he wanted to make sure if it went tits up, then it wasn't going to be his arse on the line.

  Simms yanked the tartan flat cap from his pocket and plonked it onto his head. 'Tell me, Sergeant Morris, are you trained to enter a hostile environment?'

  'Yes, sir,' he replied, a slight note of hesitancy in his voice.

  'So, why would I bring a dog and bark myself.' Simms sounded annoyed. 'Just do what you're trained to do.'

  'Yes, sir.' Morris barked and then moved quickly away. Gathering the other three to him they spoke for a few seconds, two of them looked towards Simms though it was too dark to make out their expressions. Lasser could well imagine they were pissed off having their professionalism belittled by an old DCI in a tartan flat cap.

  The four of them began to move quickly towards the cottage, crouched low. As soon as they vanished into the darkness Simms waved his hand, and they all started to follow.

  Even though the wind was still howling Fossey could feel the sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades, he slid down the zip of his coat in an effort to let out some of the heat.

  When the four men came back into view they were about twenty yards from the house, fanning out with a distance of fifteen feet between each of them. Simms held up his hand and the men under his command stopped and watched as the four closed in on the cottage.

  Lasser raised his head slightly, he couldn't be sure, but he thought it was Morris he saw flattening himself to the side of the front door, he gave a signal and his three colleagues swept in to join him.

  Lasser would swear that he never heard the first shot, he saw the man by the front door suddenly snap upright, his body twisting to the right and then he pitched forward, vanishing in the tall grass. If he didn't hear the first then he certainly heard the second, it screamed just above his head, forcing him down onto his face.

  A second later Fossey was sprawling at his side, right arm thrown up to cover his head.

  'What the bloody hell!'

  Lasser glanced up, Simms was still standing, a confused expression on his face as if to say ''this isn't the way it's meant to be, this isn't cricket''.

  'Get down!' Lasser bellowed and watched as the wind lifted the tartan cap from his head and tossed it away, a second later the top of his head followed suit.

  He watched as Simms's legs buckled, the same perplexed look on his face as he smashed to the ground. Fossey automatically rose to his knees and Lasser slammed into his back.

  'For fuck's sake, keep your head down!'

  Then the sound of returning fire shrieked overhead, Lasser heard someone to his left scream in agony, the highly-trained firearms team were returning fire, shooting blind into the darkness.

  'Stop fucking firing!' Lasser screamed, though they either didn't hear him or chose to ignore the fact that their colleagues were trapped in the crossfire. Fingers curled around triggers, spurting out red-hot chips of metal that ripped out across no man's land.

  'Come on, Fossey, those daft bastards are going to kill the lot of us,' he began to belly forward, the front of his shirt and pants lathered with mud, his shoes trying to dig into the ground in an effort to push himself forward. Trouble was he couldn't stop shaking; he could feel the tremors crashing through his body, his heart slammed like a warhorse on the run.

  Seconds later the sound of the guns stopped, he could hear men shouting around him, but he didn't have a clue what they were saying. He was vaguely aware of Fossey crawling alongside him. Another single shot rang out, another agonised scream from the front of the house; the two remaining gunmen began to fire again, the bursts short and measured, as if they were trying to conserve ammunition, a few seconds later they stopped altogether.

  'Stop shooting, you pricks!' Lasser waited for a response.

  'Morris and Charnel are dead!' The voice that drifted across the field was full of terror, all shred of professionalism vanished. The years spent training, breaking down doors and bursting into rooms, shooting blanks at cardboard cu
t-outs, it all amounted to nothing when two of your partners were lifeless lumps of meat and you knew that any second you could be joining them.

  Lasser leapt to his feet, keeping his body bent and dashed towards the house, he expected to feel the savage pain of a bullet drilling into his back, but he was convinced that if they stayed out in the open he would kill them all, come daylight the field would be littered with corpses. He threw a look over his shoulder; Fossey was about three yards behind, head down arms and legs pumping.

  Five yards, four, the bulk of the house loomed, the sadistic bastard would wait until he reached the building and then kill him just as a spark of hope flared. He ran straight into the corner of the house his shoulder slamming into the ancient stone and then miraculously he was around the side. Lasser pressed his body tight to the wall; a couple of seconds later and Fossey joined him, his face a white smear, eyes wide in shock. Ten yards to their left the two remaining firearms officers were crouched behind the low remains of a wall, both had their guns held tight across their chests.

  'Come on, Fossey,' he led the way to the back of the house; halfway along they came across the door, seated back in the thick wall, grabbing the handle he yanked hard, cursing when it didn't budge.

  'For fuck's sake!' Stepping back, he cocked his leg and slammed the heel of his boot into the wood, the door rattled but held, another kick; he could envision the killer snaking his way across the field until he had a clear shot of the rear of the house. He kicked again, becoming frantic; Spenner appeared around the side of the wall, the left side of his face coated with mud, his uniform dripping with water.

  'Come on, Fossey, give us a bloody hand!' Lasser shouted.

  Fossey pushed him aside and started to slam his foot into the timber, five kicks and the door bounced inwards. Patrick careered through the gap; Lasser followed him inside, Spenner pushing at his back in an effort to barge past.

  Lasser let him before slamming the door closed; dragging the small Maglite from his inside pocket, he flicked it on, then twisted the end to widen the beam.

  Jenna sat huddled in the corner, her legs pulled up tight to her chest, her eyes frantic; a grey piece of gaffer tape stretched across her mouth.

  Lasser moved slowly forward, his hands held up in front of him. 'It's OK, Jenna, it's OK, sweetheart.'

  Reaching out he took hold of the end of the tape and snatched it back, her eyes screwed tight in pain.

  Fossey knelt by her side, resting an arm on her shoulder.

  'Jenna, are you all right?'

  Lasser eased her away from the wall, pulling out the pocketknife he quickly sliced through the nylon twine that bound her hands. As soon as the rope parted, she lunged forward into Fossey's arms, the sobs heaving her shoulder, tears smearing the grime on her face.

  Standing up, Lasser made his way towards the front window and risked a quick glance outside.

  'I can't believe he killed DCI Simms.' Spenner stood in the middle of the room, his eyes glassy and vacant.

  The back door sprung open and three more men jostled one another inside.

  When the headlights flared at the front window, Lasser dropped to his haunches, moments later the light swept away. When he looked again, he could see the unmistakable glow of taillights disappearing into the dark.

  'He's going,' he yanked open the front door.

  'Please, you have to stop him; he said he was going to kill them all!' Jenna's voice was hoarse, as if all her emotions had been spent, she sounded as alive as the speaking clock. She scrambled to her feet, blonde hair matted, her clothes filthy, he was just amazed the nutter had let her live.

  Fossey still had his arm around her shoulder. 'It's OK, Jenna, just try to take it easy.'

  'Please, he's going to the house to kill my parents, he said he wanted me to know that they were as good as dead.'

  Shit, Cathy was at the farm trying to keep what remained of the family together and this lunatic was only a couple of miles away. 'How long will it take him to get to your house, Jenna?' he yanked out his phone and began to flick through the menu.

  'Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.'

  Lasser nodded, pressed the call button and slapped the phone to his ear.

  'Come on, you lot, get outside, he's gone, and we have people out there who need help,' he listened to the ringing tone, all the time praying, 'come on, Cathy, for fuck's sake pick up.' 'Spenner, get onto headquarters tell them we need an air ambulance up here now, and tell them to get in touch with DCI Bannister.'

  Spenner looked confused. 'Air ambulance?'

  Lasser planted himself directly in front of the young constable and pushed his face in close. 'I'm relying on you to get this sorted, if anyone tries to fob you off then fucking blast them, understood?' Lasser hissed.

  Spenner snapped to attention. 'Completely, sir.'

  None of the other men had made a move, so Lasser took a deep breath and stalked out through the front door, the phone still bleating in his hand. He came across the two slumped figures of the marksmen sprawled by the front of the house. Crouching by the side of the first body, the black baseball cap had been blown from his head, his short, dark hair plastered with blood.

  Lasser swallowed his disgust as Fossey strode past heading out to where another figure lay prone in the heather.

  'Hello, boss.' Cathy's voice crackled in his ear.

  Lasser twisted his head to try to escape the howling wind. 'Cathy, listen to me…'

  'You there, boss?'

  The phone began to make small electronic pinging sounds as the signal deteriorated.

  He gave it a shake and then dashed back inside the house.

  'Can you hear me, Cathy?'

  'Sort of, but you keep breaking up.'

  'Get out of the house, you need to get…'

  'Sorry, sir, you're breaking up again.'

  'For fuck's sake!' he could see Jenna standing in the corner, her body shaking as the onset of shock began to take hold. 'Cathy, the killer is coming straight for you; he's five, ten minutes away. You have to get the Fotheringays and get out of there!'

  'Damn things, never work when you need them,' her voice was as clear as crystal. 'Sorry, sir, you must be in a dead spot, I can't hear a thing.'

  Yeah, they were in a dead spot all right, he checked the phone again the contact had been broken.

  'Spenner!'

  'The air ambulance is on its way, sir.'

  'Good man.'

  Jenna snatched at his sleeve. 'What about my parents, they won't know he's coming?'

  Lasser scrubbed a hand across his face. 'You stay here with Patrick, OK?'

  As he headed for the door, she shouted after him. 'Please, don't let them die.'

  He didn't reply, slipping the phone into his pocket, he turned and ran out of the door.

  102

  Cathy waited for the phone to ring again, when it didn't she pressed the return call button, but the metallic voice informed her that it has not been possible to connect your call.

  'Who was it?' Susan was sitting on the sofa, a heavy throw draped around her shoulders.

  'It was Lasser,' she paused, 'but the signal's died.'

  'You'll never get a decent signal up here,' her voice sounded flat, lifeless.

  'Would you like me to make another coffee?' Cathy asked.

  Susan stood up, wrapping the shawl tight around her. 'Don't you think you should try again?'

  'It sounded as if he was on the move, I'll try again in a few minutes.'

  She tried a sympathetic smile. Susan looked straight through her.

  Six months earlier, Cathy had been on a course that dealt with bereavement. They taught you the right things to say, explained how to keep the victim feeling strong, though at this precise moment she felt inadequate as if she were merely an intruder on their pain, a rubber-necker at a horrific crash scene.

  She could almost see the grief hovering around Susan like a black, poisonous shadow.

  Ten minutes earlier, David had wandered aimle
ssly into the kitchen and hadn't returned. Cathy didn't know whether to go and check on him, she had an image of opening the kitchen door only to find him with his head in the oven, the smell of gas filling the air.

  Ever since Lasser had come to her rescue in the woods, she'd been harbouring the feeling that she wasn't up to the job, both physically and mentally, she was a burden. Perhaps she should find herself another occupation, admit that she just wasn't cut out for the job.

  When her phone began to ring, she didn't even hear it, she was suddenly transported to DCI Simms's office. Standing ramrod straight, her notice neatly typed and encased in a manila envelope, ready to call it a day.

  'Answer the phone!'

  Susan's voice snapped her out of the dark fantasy; she was standing in front of the black maw of the inglenook, a look of panic in her eyes.

  Cathy scrabbled in her pocket and slapped the phone to her ear. 'I'm here, Sarge.'

  Susan couldn't take her eyes off the woman, a feeling of dread crept up her spine. When she saw Cathy's eyes widen in shock she felt her mind begin to break free from its moorings. It was Jenna, Lasser had rung as he said he would, but it was terrible news. She screwed her eyes shut and waited for the inevitable.

  She tried to think of the last thing she had said to her daughter and found that she couldn't. For one terrible moment she couldn't even conjure her image, it was as if she was being erased from her memory banks, her mind attempting to distance itself from the pain of losing her only child.

  'Susan!'

  Her eyes fluttered open, in those few seconds the room seemed to have darkened as if the light was being absorbed by the ancient walls.

  'She's dead, isn't she?' The shawl slipped from her shoulders like a second skin, leaving her open and raw to the coming onslaught.

  'We have to leave now.' Cathy was up on her feet. 'David!'

  'What are you doing?' Susan made a grab for her as she dashed towards the kitchen.

  Cathy felt the tug on her sleeve, turning, she placed her hands on Susan's shoulder and looked directly into her eyes. 'Jenna's alive…'

  Susan heard nothing else, she could see Cathy's lips forming meaningless words, but everything ceased to matter, those two words were her salvation from some kind of hell.