I wasn’t expecting any more customers and was surprised by the jingling of the bell. Luke sidled into the shop, nodded as I said hello, and then hovered, hands in his pockets, one foot tapping nervously. He looked as if he wanted the ground to swallow him up. There was obviously something on his mind.
‘Can I help you?’ I asked, hoping he might want to buy something.
He cleared his throat. ‘I was wondering,’ he began, flicking me a nervous glance from beneath lowered lids, ‘if you were doing anything on Saturday night?’
I knew I wasn’t. I also knew what date Saturday was. ‘Well …’ I began.
‘Only I wondered if you fancied coming out … if you haven’t got anyone else … I mean … anything else to do. Just friendly, like,’ he added hastily, seeing my hesitation. ‘I just thought if you didn’t already have a date … and you’re not going anywhere, and I’m not …’
‘We might as well go out together,’ I completed, putting an end to his misery. I felt sorry for him. He probably hadn’t asked a woman out since he’d come out of prison. His chat-up line could certainly do with some improvement.
‘I thought we could go to that place near the arts centre.’
‘Coljan?’ I named the nearest restaurant.
‘Yeh, that’s the one. Pat says it’s good in there. I haven’t been out anywhere like that since I’ve come out of jail and I just thought …’
‘You need to get back in practice.’
He nodded. ‘Something like that.’
‘You sure you don’t mind being seen out with an older woman?’
He hunched a shoulder, grinning. ‘I don’t mind … you’re not that much older than me, anyway,’ he added hastily.
‘In that case, I’d be delighted,’ I responded graciously, ‘providing we split the bill.’
‘Oh, yes, if you like.’
He was supposed to argue about that a bit more, but I let him get away with it. I certainly had no intention of letting him pay for me. We fixed a time to meet, exchanged contact details and he went away happy. I heard him whistling as he wandered off down the street.
I sat where I was for a few moments, deep in thought, not sure I had done the right thing.
As I stared into the misty gloom of Shadow Lane a solitary figure seemed to melt out of the mist, crossed in front of the shop window, visible for just a few moments before it was swallowed by the gloom again. It was almost like seeing a ghost. For a moment I wasn’t sure I’d seen anyone. And yet I had recognised him: heavily built, flabby-looking, wearing the same jacket as when I had first seen him arguing with Luke outside the Silent Whistle.
I ran to the door and looked out, but already he was lost to the fog. I hurried to the end of the lane, looking up and down the road, but I couldn’t see anyone on the narrow pavement, nothing but the glistening paving and the fog hanging in the air. A little country bus trundled down the street towards me, but the sweep of its headlights as it turned the corner towards the centre of town showed me nothing more. There was any number of ginnels and passages the man might have turned down. But was he following Luke?
I ran back to the shop, locked the door behind me and phoned his mobile number on the shop phone. The call went straight to voicemail. With any luck, Luke was safely in his pickup and driving back to Honeysuckle Farm by now. I left a message asking him to call me.
How likely was it, I asked myself as I put down the receiver, that this man just happened to be walking down Shadow Lane a bare few moments after Luke had left the shop?
The phone rang a few moments later. Luke had been driving and had pulled over to see who’d called.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
I told him who I’d just seen and where. He grunted. ‘He’s still hanging about, is he?’
‘I was worried he was following you, that he meant you some harm.’
‘Well, if he was, he didn’t catch me, but thanks for the heads-up.’ He paused. ‘Was that what you phoned about?’
I told him it was.
‘Oh, that’s all right, then.’ His voice warmed suddenly. ‘When I saw your number come up I thought you might have had second thoughts about our date on Saturday.’
‘No, of course not,’ I assured him, with a lot more certainty than I felt.
We ended our call and I got my things together to go home. As I stood outside the shop, locking the door, I had a sudden idea where the man I had seen might have gone to. I debated for a few seconds, and then, instead of heading off to the place where I had parked White Van, I turned out of Shadow Lane and made my way through the misty streets towards the Silent Whistle.
He was sitting in the bar, alone, at a table. There could be no mistaking that this was the same man I had seen with Luke. In the well-lit pub I recognised his flabby features straight away, even though I was peering at him through the window as I stood on the pavement outside. He seemed to be waiting for someone, one foot tapping restlessly. He kept checking his watch. I ducked back out of the way as he turned his gaze towards the window. I didn’t know how clear a view he’d got of me when I was sitting in my van, but I didn’t want him to spot me staring at him. He wasn’t anywhere near Luke at this moment and that was all I’d wanted to know. I turned to go home, almost bumping into two men who must have seen me staring in through the pub window. They stepped back, one preparing to open the door for me. In the light coming through the pub door I could see he was darkly handsome. He might have been Italian or Greek. ‘Are you going in?’ he asked. However exotic his origins, his accent was pure Essex.
‘No, thank you.’ I smiled politely and turned away.
As I passed the windows I cast a last glance inside at the man waiting at the table. It struck me that he didn’t simply look as if he was waiting for someone, he looked afraid.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
My dinner with Luke on Saturday gave me an opportunity to wear my latest acquisition, the doublet that Ricky and Morris had made for me. I decided to wear it open like a jacket, its elaborate fastenings left undone, with a chocolate brown T-shirt underneath. I teamed it with brown jeans and boots. I wanted to look as if I’d made an effort, but not too much. I didn’t want to give Luke the wrong impression. I didn’t want him getting a crush on me.
Coljan was a small restaurant on West Street, set in part of an old building that had once been a brewery and The London Inn. Its old stables had been converted into flats and the restaurant was housed in what had once been the inn kitchen, its low ceiling and open fireplace retaining the homely feel. It was a relaxed, informal place, with pine tables and unpretentious decor, but the menu was based on locally sourced foods and standard of fare was excellent. It also boasted a comprehensive gin menu, which I blurrily remembered sampling with Elizabeth at New Year.
It had dressed itself up for Valentine’s Day with red and pink flowers and a scattering of paper hearts on the tables. The menu offered heart-shaped panna cotta with strawberry coulis or ruby chocolate and passionfruit parfait. I always look at the desserts first. But before then Luke and I had choices to make. I started with sweet potato and pear soup and he went for pan-fried scallops. He was wearing a leather jacket and cream shirt with jeans and trainers. He looked nice, but perhaps, like me, he was anxious not to look as if he was trying too hard.
I hadn’t told anyone I was having dinner with him and I was rather hoping we wouldn’t run into anyone I knew. He’d obviously told Pat, though; she’d mentioned it in the shop with a nudge and knowing grin that made me want to sink through the floor. I was ashamed to have such feelings. It wasn’t because Luke had been in prison that I didn’t want to be seen out with him. I couldn’t care less who knew about that. I didn’t mind anyone knowing we were friends. I just didn’t want anyone to think we were more than that. Perhaps I shouldn’t have agreed to dinner and should have suggested going to a pub.
He was obviously feeling a bit shy. Conversation stalled while we waited for our starters to arrive. ‘Are you enjoying living at
the farm?’ I asked, feeling it was up to me to make the effort if this wasn’t to be a very quiet evening.
‘It’s OK. It’s good of them to take me in.’ He hesitated then leant forward slightly, lowering his voice. ‘I was lucky I had somewhere to go. A lot of blokes who come out of prison don’t have anywhere, a lot of them will be back sleeping in police cells in a few days, just to get under a roof.’ Then he smiled. ‘I was lucky.’
‘Yes, you were.’
Suddenly, as if he felt the need to change the subject, Luke pulled his sketchbook from the inside pocket of his jacket and showed me his latest picture.
‘My God!’ I breathed as I took it from him. ‘It’s me!’ I was staring at a head and shoulders portrait of myself, drawn in pencil. I had to admit it looked uncommonly like the woman I see in the mirror, face framed by a riot of curls. ‘When did you do this?’
‘The other night, after we’d come out of that old pub up the road.’
‘You did it afterwards?’ I stared at the accurate detail of the drawing, the wide shape of my mouth, the freckles across my nose. ‘Do you have a photographic memory?’
He shrugged. ‘Pretty much.’
‘You’re like one of those courtroom artists,’ I told him. ‘You know those pastel sketches you see on the television news of defendants in trials? I thought they were done in court, but I read somewhere that the artists aren’t allowed to sketch while the trial’s in progress. They have to come out and do them afterwards. You could be one of those.’
‘I don’t think I want to spend any more time in a courtroom, thanks.’
I felt like a twerp. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’
He grinned, slipping the sketchbook back into his pocket. ‘It’s all right.’
Fortunately, the starters arrived so I could occupy my mouth for a while without putting my foot in it.
The restaurant began to fill up around us, but it wasn’t until we had already embarked on our main course – roasted crispy duck for Luke, salmon florentina for me – that a couple entered the restaurant who knew me. Meredith Swann drifted in wearing a dress in midnight blue, her hair in an elegant twist at the nape of her lovely neck, her silver swan necklace her sole item of jewellery. She was followed in by Daniel Thorncroft, who’d scrubbed up very nicely in a charcoal-grey suit. Meredith nodded a greeting as she passed our table, her eyebrows slightly raised.
‘Miss B.’ Mr Thorncroft acknowledged me as he guided Meredith towards their corner table and smiled briefly at Luke. From the corner of my eye I could see Meredith as she settled in her seat, conscious that her gaze was still upon us.
I couldn’t help wishing that Luke had kept his jacket on, not rolled up his shirtsleeves to show that tattoo. His tongue loosened by alcohol, he chatted through the rest of the meal, talking about the work he was doing at the lake and how it was turning into a much bigger project than he’d thought, but I was acutely conscious of the couple in the corner. I found myself straining my ears to catch snippets of their conversation in case they were talking about us. I knew what cocktails they ordered, which dishes, which bottle of champagne. I was being paranoid, projecting my own prejudices onto them and assuming that they would think things that may not have entered their heads.
Later, when I went to powder my nose, I found Meredith waiting for me to come out of the ladies. She smiled as she plucked at the sleeve of my jacket. ‘Where on earth did you buy this gorgeous thing?’
‘Oh, I had it made for me,’ I answered sunnily, and moved away before she could ask me any more questions.
I hoped I hadn’t spoilt the evening for Luke. I reviewed it as I lay alone in bed. I think he could tell that during the latter part of our meal my attention hadn’t been focussed totally on him. Although why I should give a toss about what Meredith Swann and her acolyte might think was still a mystery to me. I reproved myself for childish feelings, probably rooted in jealousy. She was richer and more attractive than me and her business was considerably more successful than mine. OK, she’d tried to poach Sophie, but business is business, and apart from a slightly supercilious manner, she behaved towards me with unfailing politeness and I really had no reason to dislike her.
Luke was more of a problem. I liked him a lot. We shared a passion for the moor and agreed to go walking up there together once the weather improved. But the warmth of his smile and the increasingly adoring look in his eyes made me want to shrink back, to hold my hands up defensively. I wasn’t sure what to feel about the picture of me he had drawn. Did he draw pictures of everyone he met, or was this a sign of infatuation? I hoped he wasn’t developing an attachment to me. I wasn’t sure I could put him off without hurting his feelings, without crushing his self-esteem. And he didn’t need that.
He insisted on walking me home and I couldn’t argue: Jessie’s murderer was still at large, although her murder was something we had pointedly avoided talking about all evening. He was clearly disappointed that I didn’t invite him in when we arrived at my door, but he didn’t try to press the point, and said goodnight after a chaste kiss on the cheek.
I watched him wander away, a lost and lonely soul. I felt sorry for him but perhaps I was to blame. Perhaps it was wrong of me to have gone out with him in the first place.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I’m glad to say I did not discover the next dead body, nor was I acquainted with the victim, which made a pleasant change. I didn’t find out there had been a murder until I popped into the shop late in the afternoon, by which time it was already common knowledge around the town. Sophie and Pat were full of it. Apparently, the victim had been found by a farm worker near Barnsey Bridge that morning, his body dumped at the mouth of an outlet pipe, part of the town’s flood defences. ‘They say he’d had his throat cut,’ Pat told me, voice hushed with horror, ‘just like Jessie Mole.’
‘And there was a postcard attached to his jacket,’ Sophie added, ‘like the one you found on Jessie.’
‘He’d had his throat cut?’ I repeated. ‘You’re sure?’
Pat nodded. ‘That’s what they’re saying. Blood everywhere! And they say his hands were tied. There’s a lunatic on the loose,’ she went on. ‘At least, that’s what the television people said. Serial killer, that’s what they’re calling him.’ She’d gone up to Barnsey Bridge as soon as rumours of the murder began to trickle down the street and hung about with a knot of curious onlookers, their view of the crime scene blocked by a solid police presence. It was while she was there that a television news crew had arrived from Plymouth. But it seemed there was little in the way of factual information and all the news people had done was fuel speculation. No one knew who the victim was.
‘Who’s going to be next?’ Pat asked and assured an already nervous Sophie that she would drive her home. ‘It’s not safe out on the streets.’
After I’d locked the shop, I phoned Dean Collins.
‘You know I can’t talk about it,’ he said.
I ignored that. ‘Seeing that Jessie’s dead, I’m guessing that the note on the victim isn’t in her handwriting?’
‘Well, no it’s not,’ he admitted.
‘So, who was he, the victim?’
‘I can’t tell you that, either.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘You can read all about it in the Gazette tomorrow,’ he went on, ‘but you didn’t hear it from me.’
‘And did he have his throat cut?’ I asked.
‘He certainly did. It was a very nasty killing.’
‘Aren’t all killings nasty?’
‘This was brutal. They practically took his head off. The poor chap who discovered him is in shock.’
‘Rumour is, that the victim had his hands tied.’
‘I’m not commenting on rumours,’ he responded pompously.
‘You’re no fun any more.’
‘Have a good evening, Juno,’ Dean said, and put down the phone.
There’s nothing like the recent activities of a serial killer to make a girl go wandering about the streets
of Ashburton in the dark on her own. I had to, in order to get home. Pat had not offered me a lift. She assumed I’d driven to the shop in the van and parked around the corner, which is what I usually do, and I hadn’t enlightened her. After my morning’s activities I’d left White Van at home. But I didn’t feel in the mood for a car ride packed with fear-fuelled gossip, so I said nothing. Something was niggling at me and I didn’t know what it was.
I wandered up towards Barnsey Bridge, but long before I got there I could see the bright lights set up by the police so that they could work at the crime scene through the night. I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to hang around there − a pity, as I wouldn’t have minded a look at where the victim had been found.
Years ago, the Ashburn regularly flooded after heavy rain. I’d seen black and white photos in the museum of times when the river had burst its banks and roared through the town, pouring out of shops and gushing from the doorway of the town hall. Back in the seventies, a flood alleviation scheme had been installed. It had tamed the Ashburn, turned it into little more than a stream, although from time to time its swollen waters still found ways to escape: Love Lane became a bubbling torrent just a few years ago. But the flood defences blocked the way from Barnsey Bridge onward, forcing anyone who wanted to take a riverside walk to backtrack, cross the road, and pick up the path on the opposite bank. And it was here, in a dry culvert, that Cutty Dyer’s second victim had been found, just a few hundred yards from where Luke and I had found Jessie.
It was a thought to make me shiver. I turned back into town, along Cleder Place, where the river ran unhindered past the little green, down North Street and turned by the town hall to stand on King’s Bridge − Cutty’s bridge − and peer over the low stone wall.
From Devon With Death Page 13