Crook's Hollow

by Rob Parker

  With that in mind, he picked up the receiver again. There was one more person he wanted to invite.

  42

  The caller was thrilled with the news. After the monumental fuck-ups of the last few days, the arrests and now the deaths, they were getting somewhere. Get to the pub, get the deed, get the cash.

  They felt they deserved a bit of fortune. Thor had proven far trickier than expected. He was so difficult to pin down, and so lucky, too, the bastard. Who knew that all this would have to go down at the same time as the worst flooding the region had ever seen?

  ‘So get to the pub, and it’s job done. Doesn’t matter where he is, as long as we have the deeds we can work from there. They can’t be that hard to change,’ the caller said.

  ‘I don’t want to be seen going into the pub, though.’

  ‘You’ll have to. Besides, he asked for someone to go and get them. In a way we are only doing what we were asked to do. And as soon as we have those deeds, we’ll be out of here. And I can’t wait to leave this godawful place behind.’

  ‘You sure? You’re sure this is the right thing to do now?’

  ‘Thor doesn’t know shit. He hadn’t even seen the deed before today, and he even left them in the pub. He obviously hasn’t got a clue. Get them so we can get out of here.’

  ‘I still think killing him is the way to go.’

  ‘Well, forgive me, but you’ve had quite a few goes at that already and it’s not quite gone to plan, has it?’

  The other choked back a retort, and imagined the roles reversed. It was no fun trying to kill someone when you’d never done it before.

  ‘Where are you now?’ asked the caller.

  ‘About two minutes away. The street is slow, shall we say.’ ‘When you’ve got it, let me know. I’ll meet you where we said.’

  ‘OK. It’ll probably be in about five minutes. I’m not going to hang about. The pub’s just up ahead now.’

  43

  Thor had hurried back to one of the booths facing the bar, and sat out of sight from the door. Whoever came in wouldn’t see him and spook, they’d have to really show themselves to the cameras well before sprinting off. But it all depended on who arrived first.

  Pat Hurst only had one pint left by the time the outer door to the pub clunked, water splashed, and the opening inner door birthed ripples that blossomed across to the bar.

  Whoever had opened it came in with long, noisy strides, and as he got to the bar, Thor finally saw who it was. His tormentor, unmasked at last.

  ‘I heard you were working on the roads,’ said Thor.

  The figure froze, then turned slowly to Thor. His features were as unremarkable as ever. Short dark hair flecked with platinum over sunken eyes. Certainly tall and broad enough to kill another man with just his hands.

  Rue’s husband, Barry.

  ‘I was,’ he said, turning to face Thor. ‘But it’d been a hell of a day and I thought I’d have a quick pint on my way through. What are you doing here? Heard it’s a bit of a mess up at the farm.’ His manner was cold and he seemed to pick his words carefully.

  ‘Bloody hell, you’re good. You need to get your story straight, but I’d never have seen it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Barry, slowly edging to the booth, maintaining strong eye contact with Thor.

  Barry and Thor had never really had a sit-down conversation, to the best of Thor’s knowledge. He had been omnipresent for years, of course, and had been his sister Rue’s only serious boyfriend right from the beginning. Classmates at the village school, they fell into their relationship seemingly out of nothing more magical than convenience, and he had drifted into their lives with the quiet nervous demeanour of a boy who was aware that the girl he was dating had three big brothers and a father not to be messed with. He had kept his own counsel for as long as Thor had known him, and Thor had foolishly assumed Barry wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But now he could see the calculation swirling behind those icy eyes.

  ‘I mean you’re bloody good. Do you know how I knew it was you?’ Barry spread his hands as if trying to soothe Thor.

  ‘Thor, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I got word to pick something up from the pub for you, while I was passing. I decided I’d stop for a quick one on my way through and get it for you. They said that things had gone mad up at the farm, and they’d tell me when I got there.’

  ‘Yes, you stick to that. I know you’re here to pick up the deed and you’re hoping that that ridiculous will is with it. After all, it’s the one bit of evidence that really ties you to what’s been happening to me, isn’t it? But you do know I’ve never written one, don’t you? So me seeing one in my name might strike me as a little odd, wouldn’t it?’

  The corners of Barry’s eyes creased almost imperceptibly, a tell so small yet as concrete as anything more dramatic. Thor pressed on.

  ‘The thing is, the will itself is almost perfect. It fooled Dad. The one person I’ve not had a falling-out with at home, the one person I’m closest to out of all of them, the one who pretty much raised me… It stands to reason I would leave it all to Rue, doesn’t it?’

  Barry slid into the booth opposite Thor.

  ‘I’d be very careful saying things like that, Thor.’

  ‘Or what? You’ll make another shoddy attempt at trying to kill me, will you? I’ll take my chances—you’ve done a real stand-up job of it so far. And the deed. You thought you could just edit it?’

  Barry’s stone-faced reaction spoke more eloquently than a denial would have done.

  ‘You need a notary, witnesses—it needs a legal process. You can’t just have them and rewrite them,’ said Thor. ‘And as for the will, well, you needed me dead, didn’t you? Because with the will reading I leave everything I own to my sister Rue Turner, that would rather benefit you, wouldn’t it? Four kids must be expensive… and you wanted me dead so that Rue could inherit my land, then you could persuade her to sell and get rich.’

  The pub door clunked open and, right on cue, in walked Thor’s second guest.

  ‘You weren’t joking, Mr. Loxley. This place has gone to shit. Do you know how hard it is to buy Wellies at this time of night? Thank Christ for twenty-four-hour supermarkets,’ said Lionel Clyne. He was wearing a grey pinstripe suit with an open-necked white shirt and the biggest pair of green Wellies Thor had ever seen. He looked—and smelled— pristine. Something musky.

  ‘Lionel, thank you for coming,’ said Thor.

  ‘It’s no problem at all. The blackjack tables in Manchester were getting cold, and the sniff of real money will always see me come running.’

  ‘Lionel, I believe you’ve met Mr. Turner. He’s the one who sounded you out about the value of the land.’

  Clyne sat down next to Thor and looked at Barry.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Loxley, I can’t say I have. He an advisor for you on the deal? I assume you called me here to accept in person?’

  Thor was stumped. ‘No—look at him. He asked you what the land was worth, didn’t he? I bet it felt good, knowing you had a buyer once I’d snuffed it.’

  Clyne, for the first time since Thor had known him, looked confused.

  ‘Mr. Loxley, I don’t know what you are suggesting but I don’t like it. I made you that offer on good faith, I even gave you the cheque. Yes, there have been discussions with certain parties about potential offers for the land in question, but once it became apparent that it was yours and yours alone, I dealt with you directly. And I certainly have never met this man before.’

  Thor’s head swam. If Barry didn’t know how much the land was worth, nor that an offer was likely to be made to buy it, then who told him? The first attempt on Thor’s life came the night before anything regarding the development plan had been made public, so if Barry knew it was such a sought-after piece of land demanding a high price, how did he find out?

  ‘Who did you sound out? Who came to you?’ Thor asked Clyne, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

  �
��A blonde girl. Youngish. Stout lady, if I remember right. She had balls on her. She already knew, though. She came to me.’

  Thor’s heart shivered as he felt the net drawing tighter. A knife of betrayal had been slowly working its way between his already broken ribs since he read the contents of the envelope, and it was plunging ever deeper.

  ‘Where does this leave our deal, Mr Loxley?’ asked Clyne. ‘I assume I’m not out here for nothing.’

  ‘You still want the land? With all this damage, you still want it?’ Clyne laughed and splashed his feet playfully.

  ‘Of course I do! Forgive me for bulldozing your naiveté, but this isn’t the first shitty piece of land I’ll turn for a profit and it won’t be the last. One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure. The land is shite, utter shite, but to the council bigwigs, it’s the goose that laid the golden egg. They had nowhere to put a major development until we greased the local wheels. We’ll build it, they’ll fulfil quotas, get government incentives, then we sell up and move on. It’s the way the world works these days.’

  ‘You’re not getting it from me. This bastard wants it so he can sell it to you. Him and his fucking wife.’

  As Thor gave voice to the names of those betraying him, his despair was complete. Rue, his sister, the woman who had raised him, and her husband, had tried to kill him so that in death, a fraudulent will would see Rue inherit Thor’s piece of land, and she could sell it to Clyne and COMUDEV to make a fortune. Rue and Barry must have made the fake will, snuck it into the safe, and Wilkes Sr. must have thought it was genuine and put it in that damn envelope so it found its way back to Thor.

  The pub phone rang, its bells filling the quiet, nearly empty room.

  The three men looked at each other. The booth suddenly felt very small. The phone rang again, then Martin shouted into the pub. ‘Thor? It’s for you.’

  Thor had Barry bang to rights, or as close to it. He couldn’t let him out of his sight now he had him. Barry was staring at Thor, daring him to move with the eyes of a devilish lizard.

  ‘Take a message for me,’ Thor shouted.

  ‘It’s Roisin Crook… She sounds in a bad way.’

  Roisin, again. Poor Roisin targeted for him. Thor couldn’t stand the idea of her being hurt. Not again. He’d only just rescued her. But who had her? Not the police? Not Rue, surely?

  ‘Ask her where she is,’ replied Thor.

  Campbell chattered urgently into the phone, then listened with a brow that furrowed deeper with each second.

  ‘The caravan. She says Ward has gone mad, holding her prisoner there. He wants to see you, Thor, and no one else. Wait a minute… Christ… He says he wants you or she’s dead.’ He took the phone away from his ear. ‘What the bloody hell is happening up there?’

  Thor sprang up. ‘Tell her I’ll be right there.’

  In the same instant, Barry leapt up and grabbed Clyne across the booth’s table and viciously smashed his face on the table top with a vile crunch of nose cartilage on lacquered wood. Turner slid out of the booth, pulling Clyne with him by the neck.

  ‘Give me the envelope, Thor, now. Or there’ll be another death on your conscience.’

  Thor looked at Barry in shock, still unable to grasp the fact that his sister’s husband had these hidden, brutal depths, but Barry made things very real by pulling out a small, curved hand scythe and holding it to Clyne’s throat. Clyne was barely conscious and blood was pouring from his broken nose. The blade fit perfectly around Clyne’s neck, so well that it would take practically no effort at all to give him a brand new smile right under his chin.

  ‘Tell her I’ll be right there,’ Thor said again, and Campbell, shocked, did just that. Pat Hurst had only just managed to turn around from the bar, and was staring at the scene in open-mouthed horror.

  ‘You know he can’t do a deal with you if you kill him,’ Thor said. ‘Money talks. Isn’t that right, Clyne? he shouted. ‘Your colleagues

  would still go through with it. And if I don’t kill you, you’ll still accept, because this deal is worth that much, isn’t it? But none of this is going to happen, because Thor is going to give me the envelope, you lot are going to keep your mouths shut, and we all get on with things. And Thor, if you ever say anything, ever breathe a word to anyone, I’ll send you Roisin’s intestines one slick foot at a time. That’s how this goes from here.’

  ‘What can you possibly do with it? The deed is signed in my name, for Christ’s sake!’

  Holding Clyne in place with the blade, Barry pulled a dog-eared bit of paper from his jacket. ‘You get to stay alive, that little Crook bitch gets to stay alive, if you give me that envelope and keep your mouth shut – and that goes for everyone in here. We all know how to keep our traps shut in Crook’s Hollow, don’t we... You don’t give me that envelope? Clyne here gets a new smile.’

  Thor could read the top line of the document. TR1: Land Registry Transfer of Title. There were boxes to fill in underneath, and they were all completed – even the box at the bottom that contained Thor’s forged signature. It was a good one, and he knew why. When they were kids, Rue had taught him how to do it. The desire for the deeds was explained. With both this form and the deed itself? The land could swap hands without bloodshed.

  ‘You kill Clyne there’ll be no deal,’ Thor said.

  ‘Of course, there will. Poor Clyne here dies in the tragic flood that hit Crook’s Hollow, the very community he was trying to improve. COMUDEV sweep in the finish what he started, create a sweet little legacy for him. Sound nice, Clyne?’

  Clyne said nothing, and the room fell silent. Thor pulled out the envelope, just as the front door swung open.

  ‘Anyone home? I saw the lights on, and couldn’t believe my—oh

  shit.’

  Jason Dwyer was wearing the same sodden overalls as the last time Thor had seen him, and his appearance was just the diversion Barry needed. Shoving Clyne aside, he dived at Thor and snatched the envelope. Thor fought back with a swinging right, forgetting his wrist was broken, but the scythe arced neatly back at him, slicing his coat right through to the flesh of his forearm.

  Thor leapt back instinctively, but that was all the time Barry needed to run for the back door. It was Jason who gave chase, spraying water through the bar with a couple of leggy strides, but Thor called him off.

  ‘Jase, leave him.’

  They waited until they heard Barry leave through the rear of the pub.

  ‘Martin, call the police and get an ambulance here for Lionel.’ Martin quickly pulled himself together.

  ‘What the bloody hell was that all about?’ asked Jason, coming to Thor.

  ‘Remember when I accused you of trying to kill me? Well, turns out I should have been accusing that guy. I’m sorry mate. I was angry, and I got it wrong.’

  Thor helped Clyne up. He was cradling his face and moaning softly.

  ‘It’s alright, pal,’ Jason said. ‘I’m sorry I sprayed all that shitty water over you.’

  ‘Least I deserved. Did you get here in that wagon?’

  ‘No… Mum and Dad left earlier, same as most of the neighbours. I said I’d follow later, but the house is a mess. I was trying to find something to seal up the doors, and I came across Dad’s old dinghy and motor in the garage, so I came in that. I was cruising about in it just now when I saw the lights on in the pub.’

  Thor thought quickly. ‘Can you take me somewhere in it?’ ‘It’s a blast, of course I can.’

  ‘Lionel, wait for help here. I’m sorry for the trouble, and if it’s up to me, I won’t be selling any land anytime soon.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ muttered Clyne as he sat down in the booth, pulling a silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbing his nose with it. ‘Tell the police whatever you want,’ Thor said, before walking out

  of the front door followed by Jason.

  Sure enough, tied to a lamppost in two feet of water was a battered plastic dinghy, six feet long with a faded sky-blue hull and a smal
l boxy motor rear mounted. Thor couldn’t quite believe his luck.

  He directed Jason against the flow, upstream on Main Street, then up a side street again where the water flowed down into the village. The rain was taking a slight break and had petered down to a keen drizzle. The village seemed to Thor to be in another dimension where the familiar streets were a canal system. This felt in no way like good old Crook’s Hollow.

  The motor was less of a powerhouse and more of a trier, and progress was steady but slow against the flow. Their main problem was debris, which was varied and swift as it barreled towards them on the narrow roads. Twice Thor thought they were going to be tipped overboard, once by a tree and the other by a dead cow.

  The two men couldn’t talk on the journey, due to the guttural rattle of the boat engine, and it gave Thor pause for the kind of reflection he wished he didn’t have time for, namely that Roisin was being held captive by a man who had recently murdered someone.

  Ward had obviously snapped after the death of his twin—if he was even dead; Thor had only seen a mortal-looking wound—and was looking for revenge on Thor, the man whose actions had caused it. In reality, it was their abducting Roisin that had caused Thor to go back there, and in turn made his family follow. They only had themselves to blame.

  And then a new realisation hit Thor between the eyes.

  Of course. And now he knew why the Crooks had kidnapped Roisin.

  They were in on it together. Ward, Wendell, Tilly, and Mason. All of them, together with Rue and Barry. They knew about the land deal before anybody else, and they knew of Thor’s importance to it. That’s why they needed him dead.

  Bastards, Thor thought. Every last one of them. He didn’t have a clue how he was going to make them pay, but he knew that somehow, if he ever wanted to make peace with all the recent horrors, he’d have to.