Where There’s A Will

by Coles, Linda

  “Did you conceal your victim’s body somewhere perhaps?” It sounded far too casual for his own ears, but Birdie had been the same in her delivery, so he mirrored her tone. He sipped steaming hot coffee she’d eventually made.

  “Good Lord, no. I left it, or should I say him, on the kitchen floor where he fell. Stabbed him in the chest and he bled to death in front of me. I must have hit just the right spot because it didn’t take long. Made a hell of a mess though and I couldn’t shift him. He was still slumped by the cooker when they came for him. There was no way I could roll him up in a conveniently sized rug and drag him to the boot of my car like they do in the movies. I’m not a weed when it comes to strength, but a dead weight is awfully hard to deal with. Not a prayer of moving him.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is whoever dumped the person in the woods had to be physically much stronger than, say, you were back then, or possibly they had help?”

  “Well, it depends on the size of the body for one. Do you know for sure it was an adult?”

  Will thought about that. He’d made an assumption from the news piece that it had been an adult, but could it have been a youth, a teenager maybe? He hadn’t checked online for any further information and he silently reprimanded himself for not doing so. He’d see Hazel soon, a cook at the Refresh Centre, maybe she was aware of more. If the body was that of a service user, she’d be the one to know. The streets might have eyes and ears but so does the cafeteria. “No, I don’t know anything for sure, not yet.”

  “You’ll find a way to confirm what the police have found, and on that note, do you know anyone in the police, have a contact?”

  “Never needed one. Not sure I need one now.”

  “It won’t hurt. Back in my day, you kept away from them. They were as corrupt as you like and giving a suspect a good slapping in the cells was an acceptable way of getting a confession. Thankfully they’ve cleaned their act up now.” Birdie appeared to drift off the conversation for a moment and Will wondered where her head was. Is that what had happened to her, a beating? He decided to press on, curiosity getting the better of him, and asked, “When were you inside, Birdie? It sounds like it was a while ago.”

  “1985,” she answered, clear and upbeat. “I went to Bronzefield then got moved to Holloway for a time. Rosemary West was there for a while, saw her a few times. As was Myra Hindley, though long before my arrival. I don’t consider what I did anything in their league, not in the slightest, but a female killer is a female killer and nothing more. We were all lumped in together. Made a few friends actually,” she said, smiling. “It wasn’t all bad.”

  “Did you keep in touch with any of them, when you were released, or are they still inside?”

  “Heavens, no! That was a time I wouldn’t want to relive. It’s much nicer on the outside than the in.” She went back to her thoughts for a moment. “Though there was one woman,” she said slowly. “We wrote to each other for a time. I wonder where she is now?”

  It wasn’t a question that needed an answer from Will and he let the conversation drift along, she seemed happy to talk.

  “She killed her husband too, so I guess that’s why we bonded, birds of a feather. Rat poison, not a nice ending for him, but he’d deserved every last gasp she’d said. I never asked but I suspect he’d been abusive, and she’d had enough. She was such a meek thing, though by the time I’d left she was as confident as the next woman. Prison could do that, plus it was a great training ground for learning other crimes.” At that revelation, she fixed her eyes on Will’s and let them dance. Birdie Fox had picked up a few extra tricks it seemed.

  “Birdie, I do believe there’s more to you than meets the eye. I’ll bet you’re a resourceful person to have around.”

  “You can count on that!” she said, moving to the sink and placing her coffee mug there. “I’ve not dredged all that up in some time, it’s best left forgotten now. I’ve learned and moved on. Now, what’s our plan?”

  It looked like Birdie had invited herself along – but to what exactly? He’d only planned on making discreet enquiries at the shelter; it seemed she had other ideas. Will checked the oven clock. Time was marching on. If he was going to pop in on Hazel before heading home, he’d better get a move on.

  “I’m not sure if we need a plan, Birdie, but I am going to call in at the shelter on my way back, see if they’ve heard anything. After that, I couldn’t tell you, probably nothing.”

  “I’ve been your passenger long enough, Will Peters, to know that you’re too kind-hearted to let anything happen to those you volunteer to help. If it turns out to be one of your ‘flock’, for want of a better word, you’ll be all over it like a bee on a honeypot.”

  She had a point. As she reached up to give him a farewell peck on the cheek, she placed a wrinkled hand on his chest, its skin loose and baggy, deep blue veins protruding like inky rivers running inside her. It was then he noticed the scarring, her whole hand looked quite different to the other, and wondered what had happened. Birdie recognised the look on his face. “Scalded. On my second day inside,” she answered without any emotion. She rubbed at her hand as if that would melt the scars away and led Will towards the front door. He took the hint; their time was up.

  “Let me know how you get on.”

  Eight

  Will’s mind worked overtime as he drove from Birdie’s towards the shelter. Ten minutes later, he pulled into a small car park that stood beside another modern red brick building. He made his way towards the rear service doors where he knew the kitchen team on the other side would be at full throttle. He ducked inside. No matter what time of day it was, there was either a meal on the go or one being cleared away. He could smell some sort of casserole, a popular staple on the menu, and potatoes, ready for the oven, were stacked nearby on a trolley that was as tall as Will himself. Busy hands worked pots and pans, and he thought perhaps he’d come at a bad time. The evening meal, he should have known better. A voice he recognised called his name and he struggled to find her short dark hair over the other volunteers. A hand waved in the air as if she could read his mind. “Over here, Will,” she yelled. Something metal clattered to the floor followed by a curse in another language. He spotted her and made his way over, trying his best to keep out of everyone’s way. Hazel’s face was beet red from the heat and hard work, but she wore a smile as wide as Birdie’s. Everyone liked Hazel, she had time for whatever was needed to be done and she always did it with enthusiasm. He’d have liked a mum like Hazel.

  “What brings you here at rush hour?” she enquired, wiping her hands on a tea towel – they were nearly as red as her face.

  “Silly of me, I know. I didn’t think, sorry.”

  “No problem, though I can read your face you’ve something on your mind.”

  He smiled the smile of someone being caught out. Not much slipped past Hazel, the very reason for his visit.

  “Can you spare a moment to talk outside?”

  She nodded then yelled across the kitchen to another volunteer. “Mick, can you take over here for a minute, please? I don’t want it to stick to the bottom,” she said, mimicking stirring the pot in front of her. It looked like the makings of a cheese sauce. When the pan was in safe hands, Hazel steered Will back to the rear door and they stepped outside. She pulled her cigarettes from a pocket and lit one. “Needed a quick ciggy anyway,” she said.

  Will began. “I wondered what the word was about the body they found at Hunsbury Hill. The report I saw suggested it was perhaps a homeless person. I wondered if it was maybe someone that frequented the shelter?” His blue eyes watched her deep brown ones, looking for answers, but he saw only concern.

  “I did hear on the rumour mill they’d found someone there, but it really is too early to notice anyone missing. You know as well as I do, we don’t see everyone daily and a transient community by its very nature shifts around.”

  Will nodded. It had been a long shot.

  “What are you thinking, Will?” she
asked, then sucked hard on the filter of her cigarette. She’d have to get back inside shortly, break over.

  “If it was one of our community, I want to help, make sure someone is held accountable for their actions and that the police take this case just as seriously as any other. I don’t want him or her to be considered unimportant just because of their circumstances. That they were living rough, if that’s what it turns out to be, shouldn’t influence anyone. A crime is a crime. They deserve a thorough investigation just as much as someone with a permanent roof over their head. I’m tired of people treating them as worthless!” The tirade came out in one long burst and she stared at him, staying silent for a beat before rubbing his arm in affection. It was clear from the strain on his face that Will was worked up about the possibility. She knew Will’s story; she knew all the volunteers’.

  “I hear you. Look, I’ve got to get back inside, Will, but if there’s more mention of it on the grapevine, I’ll let you know, okay?” Her own concerned eyes stared straight into his and had the desired effect. He relaxed his shoulders a little and took a cleansing deep breath. He nodded; he knew she could do no more.

  “Sorry. It just gets to me, that’s all.”

  “I know, it does me too, and if I hear anything, I’ll be sure and let you know. Now off you go before I end up making another pan of sauce,” she said warmly. “I’ll see you tomorrow night anyway.” She dropped a light peck on his cheek and headed back inside, leaving Will to make his way to his car. There was nothing else to be done. Was he getting all upset over nothing? Maybe the police would know more tomorrow, perhaps he could contact the woman DI with the blue hair from the exhumation. Surely, she’d have news, but would she share?

  Nine

  Will arrived home to see Louise unpacking the boot of her own car, Sainsbury’s bags in both hands. Four small children danced about in the driveway as if it was the most exciting place to be in the world. He moved in for a kiss with his wife as his eldest, Poppy, pulled a face of disgust. At six, how could she even think affection between two adults was so yucky? When the triplets had come along and Poppy had been only fourteen months old, both Will and Louise had wondered quite how they’d cope, but somehow they’d managed. With Will’s flexible shifts, excellent day care in the village and afterschool clubs for Poppy, they made it work. Will carried two more bags from the car and followed her inside to the kitchen. “I could have grabbed groceries, I’ve not long ago been in the shop myself, picking Birdie up.” The room felt cool, the weak sun on the front of the house now. Louise turned the oven on. No doubt there would be something from one of the bags for dinner.

  “And how is Birdie? Still her old self, I presume?” She unpacked one of the bags as she spoke, idle chit-chat and nothing more. It was part of her winding down process after a busy shift at the hospital.

  “She is, yes. Though she did give me a bit of a surprise earlier about her past.”

  “Oh?”

  Will checked over his shoulder to see if any small ears could overhear him before adding, “She murdered her husband some years back, did time, including a stint in Holloway. I always knew she’d killed, but I didn’t know who. It was her husband apparently.” Louise stopped what she was doing, a can of peas in her hand.

  “Wow. Do you know how or why?”

  “Stabbed him, though I don’t know why, and I couldn’t really ask. I tried googling it, but the crime was back in the ‘eighties, so there really isn’t much information about it.”

  “How did you get on to that?” Peas were added to the pantry and other tins followed.

  “They’ve found a body in Hunsbury Hill Country Park and she was telling me about how hard it is to move a dead weight.”

  “I heard about that earlier myself.” Packets followed the tins, and she closed the cupboard door, turning to Will. “I read somewhere that statistically, young men often kill themselves in woods, though it could turn out to be foul play. Or an accident, perhaps, though unlikely. There’ll be an investigation opened, of course.”

  “Is the post-mortem being done in your hospital, do you know?” Will’s brain raced ahead.

  “I would expect so. Why are you so interested?” She set a family-sized lasagne on a baking tray and placed it in the oven. Garlic bread lay ready on the work surface and no doubt there’d be a salad to go along with it all.

  “You’ll think me daft, I know, but I just want to make sure, if I can, that if the rumour of the body being a homeless person is true, that someone looks out for them somehow.” Louise moved closer to her husband and slipped her arms around his waist, pulling him in closer. She too was aware of his history living on the streets long before he met her.

  “You’re a compassionate individual, Will Peters, and it’s one of the reasons I love you.” She reached up for his lips and planted a quick kiss before asking, “Are we opening a bottle of wine tonight?” There was a chilled bottle in her hand, almost as if she was waiting for permission. Will knew he’d be having an early night anyway, with no plans to drive anywhere.

  “Why not,” he said then smiled. It had been an odd though enlightening day and a relaxing glass to soothe him sounded ideal, even though it was a ‘school night’. Louise poured and handed him a glass, and Will took a larger mouthful than normal, letting the cool liquid massage his throat.

  “That do the trick?” she asked, a grin on her lips. The pair sat down at the kitchen table with their drinks and Will filled her in on the rest of his day, ‘losing’ Sanjeev and the call from his father.

  “God, I hope his dad wasn’t in surgery when he called him.”

  “No idea, I can only hope not. I believe he’s not the most charming of humans at the best of times.”

  “Definitely not. Superb surgeon, though. If I was being operated on, I’d want someone with his skills and wouldn’t be too bothered about his bedside manner. But then I’m biased.”

  “He’s safely home now, though, so no harm done. I just hope I don’t lose the job. We’ll see.” Will’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was Hazel.

  I’ve some news. Call me after dinner service, 7 pm should work.

  His face must have showed his concern at the content, as Louise said, “What is it, Will?”

  He pushed his glass of wine across to her.

  “You can finish mine. I may have to pop out later. To the centre.”

  “I thought you were on duty tomorrow night?”

  “I am but Hazel has news on the body in the woods. I’ll know more later, but from her message, I suspect I might be right about the victim being known to us.”

  Ten

  Will took Hazel’s hand that didn’t hold a cigarette and held it for a moment. When he’d called her at 7 pm as instructed, she’d broken down in tears and he’d rushed over. Normally a woman that rarely showed her stress, the outburst said everything: Hazel was hurting inside.

  “He often went off for a day or two at a time. They all do. I didn’t think this instance was any different. Maybe I should have reported him missing.”

  “You said yourself earlier that many are transient. They are never missing really, just away. Plus, the police wouldn’t do anything anyway, they haven’t got the resources.”

  Hazel wiped her cheek with the back of her hand as tears fell in a steady stream.

  “I’ll grab you some tissue,” he said, leaving the canteen for a moment, heading to the toilets. A moment later he was back with a wad of toilet roll rolled up. “Here.”

  She blew her nose loudly and wiped her eyes, the act of doing so making her look a little calmer.

  “How do we know for sure that it’s Clyde?” he asked. “Have the police formally identified him?”

  Clyde Mollineau had been living on the streets since he was nearly seventeen, though if you counted the number of times he’d run away from foster care over the years, he was in his early teens when he first slept rough. Even at eighteen, the lad hadn’t accumulated much to call his own in life. With little to no
support at their various housing placements, youngsters like Clyde found it difficult to get even a part-time job, since a permanent address was invariably an issue. There was often little motivation to change their current situation and so they filled their days by loitering and begging. Clyde had learned to do the same. Somewhere along the line, he’d ended up dead.

  “An officer called not long after you had left, asking questions. It was only when they mentioned what he’d been wearing, you know, that parka he always wore, the red and black one? He was found in that.”

  “But no formal ID, then?”

  “No, not yet. If it is Clyde, there are no family members that I know of so I’m going to the mortuary tomorrow morning.” She sniffed hard, then asked, “Do you think it could be someone else in his jacket? Perhaps he traded it for something?” There was a milligram of hope in her voice that pained Will in his heart. What were the chances? A homeless person rarely traded their clothes for anything, particularly not a jacket or coat.

  “It’s possible I suppose…”

  “But not likely.”

  There was no need for confirmation. They both knew the score.

  “What time are you going? Would you like me to come with you?”

  Hazel didn’t answer right away, and Will wondered if she’d heard him. He was about to ask again when she said, “Please, yes. I was going to go first thing, say around eight. I could go a bit later but…” Will did a quick recce in his head of his diary; he had some unscheduled time after the school run. “How about if I pick you up around nine and we go over together? I have the school run beforehand and I can’t change that, Louise is working. Will that work for you and getting back here?”

  “That’s good of you, Will, yes. I’ll let them know. Perhaps we can actually go in together, for support. In case it really is Clyde.”

  “Of course. Now, will you be okay tonight?”