Where There’s A Will

by Coles, Linda

  Where There’s A Will

  Linda Coles

  Blue Banana

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 Blue Banana

  Prologue

  It had been rehearsed so many times, though only in their mind. Over recent weeks, they’d worked diligently to make the right acquaintances, usually over coffee, lending an ear and handing over loose change where they could, with one simple goal in mind.

  Now it was time.

  The car cruised along the quiet side street, the driver on the lookout for their mark. After a couple of nights observing the location and their routine, they knew just what to expect, where to find them. Even the homeless, without a calendar commitment between the lot of them, were creatures of habit – a blessing for things to run smoothly. Street lamps glowed amber, moisture dotted the windscreen, the town centre almost deserted.

  Stomach butterflies, in full flight, tried their best to distract the driver, but the final endgame consumed their head, overpowering any urge to back out now. They had to press on, had to right the wrong. As adrenalin pumped through their veins, they knew it was time to act, there would never be a better time than right now.

  The lad was a little way along, shoulders hunched forward in the wet. The driver pulled up beside him and wound the side window down. A parka hood covered his face, but they knew just who was sheltering under it.

  “Hello again,” the driver said brightly. The pedestrian stopped and, upon recognising the voice, broke into a smile. Bingo! It was working.

  “Let me give you a lift out of the rain. Or better still, let me buy you a mug of hot tea, eh?” In the moment’s hesitation that followed, the driver was almost able to read their mind: should they?

  “Thanks, yeh, a cuppa sounds good, if you’re sure?”

  “Of course! I wouldn’t offer otherwise.” Another bright smile. “Come on, get in before you’re soaked,” they said, leaning across to open the passenger door. The lad climbed in, grateful, made himself comfortable. As the car pulled away, the driver asked, “Burger to go with that tea?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say no. Lovely, ta. Very kind of you.” Big smile, stained teeth. So naive.

  “I’m happy to help. In fact, actually you’d be doing me a favour.” A smile returned, though with a very different meaning. If only the lad knew how.

  The first part of the plan was in motion. It would now be down to someone else to decide the young man’s fate.

  One

  Two days later

  His breath trailed out in front of him, silvery grey like the exhaust fumes from the now idling engine of the small excavator. Satisfied enough soil had been removed from the grave, he turned it off, the digger’s work done for the next hour or so. Will kept a respectful distance in the cemetery as others carried out their tasks, mobile floodlights enabling them to see in the small hours of the morning. From his elevated spot, he had a bird’s-eye view of the proceedings about to take place, and he poured coffee from a flask then settled back to wait.

  “Right. Let’s take a look, shall we?” said a woman with almost denim-blue hair who appeared to be in charge. Will assumed she was with the police, a detective perhaps. A heavy-set man from the small gathering stepped forward and peered down into the hole she was standing next to. The undertaker. Will recognised him, had seen him hundreds of times at burials of people he’d never met before, not that he knew of anyway though in his other role, his day job, it was always a possibility. The undertaker turned to a colleague and beckoned the lad over. It was obvious from the way he walked that he was his junior – an apprentice maybe, someone who lacked the confidence of a seasoned pro. People said dealing with the dead wasn’t for the fainthearted, though Will would argue it was quite the opposite. A short conversation ensued, and the young lad made his way down into the hole, squatting out of view from Will in the digger. A moment later, he popped back up wiping his gloved hands together, clods of damp dirt falling away.

  “Well?” asked the woman with the blue hair. “Is the nameplate still intact?”

  The lad shook his head ‘no’ and returned to his original spot in the gathering, beside a woman Will didn’t recognise. She wore boots with a thick fabric cuff, like fancy wellies. Another from the undertakers’, he assumed.

  “Then we have no choice but to see if the grave has been tampered with.”

  Will could tell by her tone that she wasn’t happy about what was to happen next, but when a nameplate from a coffin buried six months ago turns up above ground in the cemetery grass, relatives get concerned. He sipped his coffee while he watched the scene unfold. From experience, he knew someone was now going to have to open the coffin itself and check its contents for any signs of disturbance.

  The woman stepped forward and prepared to slip down into the hole herself. Another figure moved forward out the group and handed her what looked like a gas mask from the Second World War. It was the coroner, the authority to watch over proceedings for the exhumation that was about to take place. One couldn’t go around disturbing graves without the proper say-so, and so he’d been required to join them at the same unsociable hour, as opposed to being tucked up in the warmth of his bed where he belonged.

  “I won’t need that,” she said tersely and tossed the mask back at him.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, Detective Mason,” he said.

  Inspector. It’s Detective Inspector.”

  He muttered an apology and returned the mask to the young apprentice before putting on his own. The group followed suit as DI Mason once again vanished from view for a moment before popping her head back up. Will could hear her every frustrated word.

  “I can’t get the damn catches undone.”

  It was the burly undertaker that stepped forward, holding his mask away from his face while he spoke. “I’ll do it, the catches are meant to be tricky to open, for obvious reasons. There’s a knack to them.” Will smirked at the withering look the DI delivered in the false bright light, it was obvious she wasn’t amused. Will sat a little further forward on his foam seat inside the digger’s cab. Since there was no point in two people standing on a coffin lid they were about to remove, DI Mason climbed back out as the undertaker adjusted his mask to fit better and entered the small space himself. He wasn’t going to take any chances with the odour about to fill the air. The coffin had been buried only six months, not six years.

  Things were about to get interesting.

  Everyone watched as he kneeled down on the lid to undo the clasps. Moments later, the lid suddenly flew up out of the hole, twirled like a baton, then landed on the pile of soil Will and his digger had just removed, closely followed at high speed by the undertaker himself. He landed with a thump.

  As Will sat in shock, eyes wide open at what lay in front of him, a cloying putrid stench seeped out of the coffin and smothered the small congregation of various officials. Nearby, the blue-haired woman clamped her mouth tightly shut and headed towards the trees, searching for clearer air as she went. The coroner and vicar watched on in dismay as events unfolded in front of them, their noses safely enclosed by masks. Will held on to his recently consumed coffee and sat perfectly still, in awe and dismay at what had just unfolded. The undertaker finally staggered upright, mask dislodged in flight, and wiped his face with a handkerchief, mud covering the front of h
is once pristine black suit. Even in the bright portable lighting, the man looked like he’d heard a coffin bell tinkle. He nodded at Will. The man was always a professional, though a little embarrassed no doubt.

  What the hell had just happened?

  When the small group had finally collected themselves, order was returned to the proceedings. They still had to finish what they had come to do, and that was to look inside the coffin itself. With its lid lying unceremoniously on the pile of earth by Will, the pesky clasps were no longer a concern. Another individual, the local pathologist, stepped forward from the group with an air of confidence. It was his job to determine if the body had in fact been tampered with, and Will watched as the DI and the others stayed stock still where they were, grateful it wasn’t down to them to do the actual deed. The pathologist carefully climbed down inside and balanced himself on the edges of the coffin to get a closer look. From his spot higher up in the small cab, Will prayed the man wouldn’t slip and join the dead woman he was now precariously hovering over. There had been way too much excitement for one night already. A few moments later, and after a brief examination of the remains, the man shook his head to the gathered group then carefully, and thankfully successfully, climbed back out and approached the DI. It was easy enough to hear the pathologist’s words, it seemed everyone stopped breathing while he delivered his verdict. Since the woman’s remains were covered entirely by a fine cobweb coating of some sort of fungus, it was obvious she hadn’t been disturbed and no harm had been done. The undertaker, though, might have thought differently.

  Will remembered back to an old movie he’d seen many years ago. A man travelling on a train had been questioned by the rail police about a murder in another carriage. Had he seen anything, murdered the woman himself perhaps? The man politely explained he’d done neither and pointed to his cigarette. There had been nearly two inches of ash holding on to the butt precariously, proving he hadn’t moved a muscle in some time, else the ash would have fallen. It seemed the fungus covering the poor unfortunate woman in the now open coffin was telling a similar story.

  The night would be one to remember. It didn’t, however, solve the mystery of how the brass name plaque had found its way above the ground.

  Two

  It was almost 5 am when a weary and somewhat shell-shocked Will Peters climbed in beside his wife for a few hours’ sleep. It had been a memorable evening, no mistaking that, and one he was sure he’d laugh about in months and years to come, but right now he was still processing what had happened. Never before had he seen such mayhem in a cemetery and he wasn’t sure he’d want to experience it again. When the undertaker had finally refitted the lid and closed the awkward clasps, Will, who had been waiting patiently in his digger, had been instructed to fill the hole in before the town awoke and saw what had been happening in their sacred spot. There was always one nosey early bird with plenty of questions, and so it didn’t do to linger and give someone cause for gossip. He’d smoothed the area over again and had the digger out of the way before dawn and hoped no one would notice the disturbance. A wreath of fresh flowers had been laid on top as a mark of respect – it seemed the right thing to do.

  Oh, but that the smell! A sickly sweet odour that had crept into his every pore. He’d showered, even pinched some of Louise’s tangy shower gel to rid his nostrils of the stench, but still it lingered. He’d scrubbed and rescrubbed, but it wasn’t leaving him anytime soon. He eventually slipped between the sheets carefully and lay gazing at the ceiling, his head still spinning. Louise turned at the slight disturbance and upon realising her husband was back, snuggled up to his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, stifling a yawn.

  “Mm?” She was still sleepy. Then she said, “You smell like a girl, what did you shower with?” She gradually pushed herself up on to one elbow and sniffed Will like a dog. “If I’m not mistaken…” She left the thought lingering for Will to explain.

  “I’ll tell you later, but yes, it’s your grapefruit body wash. I needed something stronger than normal, but right now I need to sleep. I’ve a pickup at eleven, so if you don’t mind I’ll fill you in on the gory details later.”

  “In that case, I’ll leave sleeping beauty to rest,” she said, tossing back the covers on her side. Long slender legs exited the bed first. He watched as she stood and wrapped her robe around herself, a foot chasing a slipper around the floor by her dressing table. A moment later, the door gently closed, she was on her way downstairs to make her first cup of tea of the day before their young family woke up. While Will would have liked to share a brew with her and tell her the whole fiasco, sleep was far more important right at that moment, and he slipped off almost immediately.

  At 10 am, his phone alarm filled the bedroom and he reached across his bedside cabinet to find it and turn it off. He had regular customers to think about, people that counted on him to drive them to their appointments, or some other destination, and he couldn’t risk being late. Being a part-time minicab driver fitted in well with his role as gravedigger. The hours worked with the rest of the family’s commitments too, enabling Louise to carry on in her career as a senior nurse. Her shifts were rarely an issue, and since she was the main breadwinner, it made sense for Will to fill in the gaps. It was the perfect set-up for all concerned.

  He headed to the bathroom, where last night’s grapefruit gel grinned at him from the windowsill, and checked his nostrils with a deep sniff inward. It seemed all was clear. He moved the fancy container out of the way and checked himself in the bathroom mirror. Dark-rimmed eyes looked back at him and his stubble felt sharper than normal. Turning side to side, he checked his profile and grimaced at how dishevelled he appeared. His soft brown curls hung down the back of his neck, well over an imaginary collar. He needed a haircut. It would have to wait, but a shave he could deal with right now. Louise hated day-old stubble, and he wasn’t fond of it himself, so he lathered his face and got to work. Once the prickles had been removed, he flicked the shower on and stepped under the warm jets, allowing the needles of water to massage his head and shoulders and wash the grime of deep sleep away. He’d had five hours, but that was barely over half the usual eight he liked to function on. How did other people manage on so little? He’d be in bed early tonight, that was for sure.

  By 10.45 am, he was breakfasted and on his way to his first pickup of the morning, coffee riding up front in a tall travel mug, Peter Gabriel blasting out on ‘Solsbury Hill’. The drive into town from his village was generally a pleasant enough one, whichever route he took. Barely fifteen minutes and he’d be in the centre, either picking up or delivering to the general hospital, university or shopping centre. It was all there, and it kept him busy.

  He steered himself to Greenwood Road, a row of brick terraced houses that all looked like the next, with an Aldi supermarket car park for immediate scenery. He pulled up in front of a house he knew well, that of Sanjeev Kumar, and prepared to wait. While his actual pickup time was 11 am, Will knew there would be a delay. From the time the customer saw Will arrive, his own internal countdown would begin; a part of his torment would rev into gear and he’d eventually force himself out the door. But not until seven minutes had passed, and a whole lot of double-checking. While Will waited for his fare to appear, he hoped Sanjeev was having one of his better days.

  Three

  Sanjeev finally stepped outside into the sunshine and Will observed as the young man checked then double-checked the door was locked, before unlocking it and repeating the exercise several more times. Will counted the number it took Sanjeev before he could move away from the door and towards his waiting lift. Twenty was today’s magic number, and Will hoped it wouldn’t take Sanjeev twenty goes at getting out of his vehicle once they reached their destination, but what could he do?

  Sanjeev attended a weekly appointment to help manage his obsessive compulsive disorder. It was Will’s task to deliver him to his therapy session, wai
t, and return him home. Sanjeev’s father picked up the bill, including wait time, and generally made sure Will kept up the important task any way he could. He knew quite how difficult his son could be, particularly if something or someone upset him, and was grateful that Will cared enough to continue and had not fled off into the distance like many drivers before him.

  Will turned his playlist off and prepared himself for another ritual. The dark-skinned man with black hair that gleamed from whatever Sanjeev did to it, opened the rear side door, brushed the leather seat three times with a cloth, and once satisfied, climbed in and sat down. Will watched as the cloth was folded neatly into quarters and placed carefully into the small sports bag he carried. Will often wondered what else he kept in there but had never asked. It was more the size of a manbag than a holdall.

  “Morning, Sanjeev. Are you well?” Will smiled at his passenger who was now seated and studied him for a moment while he waited for a response that took a moment or two to arrive.

  “Good. I am having a good day. Thank you.” Each word was drawn out matter-of-factly and sounded a little mechanical, like a robot. His serious expression and tone said otherwise – he didn’t look like he was having a particularly good day; he looked strained and agitated. Will started the engine and pulled away, destination the hospital campus. They hadn’t moved more than ten metres when they came to a complete standstill. Another car was reversing into the road. Should he try and make conversation today or not? It was always worth a try.

  “What do you have planned today, Sanjeev? After your appointment, I mean.” Will waited patiently for the shopping-trolley-of-a-car in front of him to move off after the driver finally became aware of another road user close by. A pink head with dark plastic glasses and a moustache told him it was an elderly male at the wheel. He hoped the old boy’s reflexes would cope in an emergency stop situation should one arise. He didn’t fill Will with confidence. A horn blared behind him. Someone was getting impatient, but Will kept his cool and eventually the trio of vehicles moved forward. Slowly.