by Coles, Linda
“I’ve nothing to hide from the police,” George said, as if Will had asked.
“Let’s go.”
It was nearly an hour later before a report was completed and filed, though from the desk sergeant’s demeanour, both Will and George knew just how much effort would be given to finding Jonesy. He lived on the streets and certainly wouldn’t be a priority. Will drove George back to Refresh and got to work in the kitchen. The change in pace gave him time to think.
Eighteen
It was 9.30 pm when Will finally left Refresh, exhausted, and so there was no way he was going to the pub. On top of the physical side of feeding and clearing up after so many, with such an emotional day, he was done in mentally too. He was glad the village of Moulton and his bed were only a short drive back, and he hoped Louise hadn’t gone to sleep as yet, though she was on earlies this week and would be as bushed as he was. He asked Siri to dial her number, hoping he wasn’t disturbing her but at the same time desperate to hear her voice. She sounded wide awake as she filled the car through the speakers and he took a second to let it warm his heart before saying anything.
“Are you in bed?”
“Yes, but reading and hoping I can stay awake long enough to say hello to you in the flesh. Are you on your way back?”
“Not far off, heading north now so maybe ten minutes away. Can I ask you a work question?”
“Fire away.”
“Someone having radiotherapy, do they have it weekly or what?”
“Strange question coming from you, Will, everything okay?”
“Of course. A customer going through it is all.”
“Then they will be getting a dose each day except weekends, and it can be either three weeks or up to maybe five weeks, depending on dose rates and where the cancer is situated and a couple of other factors.”
“That must be hard to fit into their schedule then – every day, I mean?”
“Not as much as you’d think. We have many that visit really early, before work, some at the other end of the day, and lunchtime is popular too. The quietest times are during the working day itself. Does that answer your question?”
“Thanks, yes. So, what I’m also hearing is that the person would likely stick to a regular routine then, if they were working and having treatment at the same time?”
“Almost certainly.” Will was thinking about Rochelle. His plan might just work.
“Thanks for that. Look, I’m nearly home now, so if you can stay awake, I’d love to see you.”
“I’ll make you a cuppa, then.” He could hear the change in her voice as she struggled to untangle her legs from the bedclothes. In his mind’s eye, her foot would be chasing a slipper again and he smiled at the image.
“Thanks, it’s been a long and eventful day. I’ll tell you about the rest of it when I see you.”
A few minutes later, Will pulled into their driveway. A lamp glowed in the upstairs front bedroom window, the rest of the house he knew would be fast asleep. He opened the front door and was greeted with a peck on the cheek from a sleepy Louise. As she was about to turn towards the kitchen, he gently pulled her back and took her in his arms. He squeezed her, tightly enough to say he needed to feel the contact between them, but not as tight as a bear hug. Louise let him, sensing he was upset about something and waited until he loosened his grip to speak.
“What’s on your mind, hun?” They walked towards the kitchen and his waiting cuppa. There was a slice of toast sat with it and Will picked it up hungrily and began to chew. Even though he’d eaten at Refresh, tiredness made him crave carbs and the slice disappeared in seconds. Louise raised an eyebrow in question and Will shook his head ‘no’. He flopped down on a kitchen chair and took a sip of his hot drink before letting out a long sigh. Louise waited.
“The body at Hunsbury Hill was known to us at Refresh, a young man called Clyde. Hazel knew him better than me and we identified him at the mortuary, as you know. He was only eighteen and judging by the bruises around his neck, he’d been strangled. The post-mortem was to be later this afternoon, so I don’t know any more.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Will.” She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, kneading it therapeutically.
“There’s more. Another lad might be missing, Jonesy, similar age. He’s not been seen since yesterday morning and of course could be absolutely anywhere by now. To be on the safe side, I’ve filed a missing person report, but I don’t hold much hope of any action. He’s of legal age to do what he wants, and homeless so a double ‘inactivity’ if you like. Hazel is worried it might be connected somehow, and I’m starting to wonder too.”
Louise sat down next to him and leaned in to give him another hug, it was obvious he was hurting inside.
“Well, all we can do is hope Jonesy is doing his own thing somewhere, oblivious. I can see why you’re worried, but there really could be a simple answer to his not being seen for a while.”
Will knew she was right, but it didn’t change the feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Come on,” she encouraged. “Let’s get some rest, there might be news in the morning. Talking of which, you’re taking the girls in early aren’t you, from memory?”
“Yes, I’m on the digger first thing, then in the car from about eleven.” He stood, ready to head upstairs to bed. “You know, it’ll be a little easier once they all go to the same school, won’t it? Poppy will be a little older and could escort the triplets by herself, don’t you think?”
Louise chuckled at the notion. “Only if they were each on a lead like a dog. It would be like herding cats otherwise. You know what their minds are like – they see any shiny object and suddenly they’ve lost interest in what they were doing to follow it. They take after their dad with that one.” She took his fingers in her own and led him upstairs, still chuckling.
“Just the one grave tomorrow, is it?” she asked.
“Yes, and that’s enough. Graves needed means someone is waiting to be buried.” It was then that Will wondered what would now happen to Clyde’s remains. With no family to locate or fall back on for funeral arrangements, it would be a pauper’s funeral. Still, at least he’d get a proper send-off, even if there wouldn’t be any mourners other than Hazel and himself. Louise would put a wild wreath together with help from the girls, they could pick flowers and greenery from the back garden. It would be something at least.
Nineteen
It was a beautiful though crisp morning as Will reached for his can of marker paint and measured out an 86-by-34-inch rectangle. The white paint contrasted starkly with the green grass and always reminded Will of the school caretaker putting the markings around the football pitch with his push-along line marker. It was one of the few pleasant school memories he had. He got to work with his spade, cutting around the line to ensure the edges of the final hole were nice and even. Once he was happy the earth had been loosened properly, Will fired up the small digger and carefully scraped a shallow layer of turf off the top, stacking it neatly on pieces of ply nearby. When the grave had been filled in later, long after the last mourner had gone, Will would carefully rearrange the turf pieces on the surface once again. Will took pride in digging a hole with edges so straight that even Sanjeev would have been happy with his efforts. It took skill to get the hole even and just right, and when Will was satisfied he’d done so, he jumped down from the small cab and slipped into the hole to double-check it was deep enough. He knew from his instructions it was to be a double grave; in the past someone had dug the same hole to seven feet, and underneath where he was standing were the remains of a loved one. His tape measure confirmed five feet, he’d dug down enough. With everything in order, he climbed back out and set about levelling the sides of the hole with a long-armed spade made specially for the job. Loose earth lay scattered in the base of the hole and he slipped back inside to finish off and make sure the base was even. Happy with his efforts, he climbed out for the final time. No mourner liked to see the cold bare soil
of an empty grave before their loved one was lowered into it so Will liked to lay a bed of fresh leaves, or wild flowers if they were available, along the bottom. It seemed more respectful somehow, a little nicer. He got to work filling his wheelbarrow with a mixture of old and fresh leaves from the line of nearby bushes and tipped them into the hole. His long-armed spade evened them out easily. His last tasks were to add planks either side for the pall-bearers to stand on, and to drape the artificial grass to cover the sides of the earthy hole. Finally, planks at the front and the rear of the hole were placed ready to take the weight of the coffin later. Webbing straps alongside would ease the casket down when the pall-bearers finalised their mission. Will stood back to look. Everything was in order, the open grave ready to receive person number two. The headstone gone, he wondered who it was for, the husband or wife of the first deceased?
Having tidied away his tools, he covered the nearby pile of earth and slices of turf with green tarpaulin before returning the small digger to its parking place. It had taken him three hours and he’d return later to fill the hole in once again. His work here, for now, was done. Preparing the grave was one of the most satisfying activities of his day, and he enjoyed every moment of it. Exhumations, though, were a bit different…
Will changed into clean jeans and replaced heavy boots with casual shoes before stuffing his work gear into a large holdall he kept in the boot. Happy with his transformation to taxi driver, he checked his phone, then headed further into town for something to eat.
“Siri, call Birdie Fox,” he instructed as he drove.
“Calling–Birdie–Fox,” said the mechanical woman’s voice. Will was anxious to hear if Birdie had any news about the previous night. He always set his phone to silent while digging in the cemetery, and on returning to his car he’d seen she’d called but hadn’t left a message. He waited for the line to connect and hoped she wasn’t sitting under the dryer at the hairdressers. An enthusiastic voice greeted him.
“Will!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t want to leave a message, but first, how are you feeling today, better?”
“Thanks for asking, and yes, better. Sleep is a wonderful thing.”
“Good. Now, I’ve a little news. I didn’t overhear anything in the pub last night, nothing doing, but I did get lucky.”
“Well, that proves you’re never too old,” he said before laughing at his own joke.
“Ha ha, very funny. Be serious for a moment, will you? Guess who was having a quiet drink in there?”
How was he ever likely to know the answer to that one?
“I give up,” he said, playing her game.
“DS Peter Willow, though he was known as ‘Windy’ to his colleagues back then. Still would be, I’d expect.”
“And who is ‘Windy’ Willow? Oh, I get it,” he said, immediately understanding the reference.
“‘Windy’ was my arresting officer.”
Will did a quick calculation – the man must be about as old as Birdie herself, surely? A working DS? Still? No chance.
“He’s not still working, though. He can’t be?”
“Retired now, of course, but what do a lot of detectives do when they retire?”
“Pass. No clue. What do they do?”
“Cold cases! For something to do.” Will could see where she was going with it. Could Willow be a way in for information? Had Birdie already something to report?
“Excellent, a contact. But was he receptive to you? I mean from what you’ve just told me, he arrested you and you went down for murder. He hardly sounds like your best buddy.”
“True, but I went down because I stabbed Derek, which he deserved by the way. But that aside, Windy was kind to me back then and was simply doing his job. He’d have been in his mid-twenties, still a bit wet behind the ears, my case likely helped his career. Anyway, I’m sure you don’t need all the history. I asked him about Clyde’s case and at first he stayed shtum. He’s retired, not in the same offices, remember. Plus, murder is investigated by the East Midlands Special Operations Unit, so not just the local lads and lasses, but I’m sure you already know that.” It was news to Will; he’d find out more about EMSOU later. Birdie moved on: “That aside, I got him talking, and drinking,” she said, laughing. “But get this: apparently there was writing scrawled across Clyde’s chest, in blue ink.”
“A message? What did it say?”
“‘Your move’. Now, I swore I wouldn’t repeat what he told me so you can’t divulge your source,” she warned. “Else I’d have to kill you too.”
Will nodded, as if she could see him agreeing. He wondered if she still had it in her. Either way, the message was something to work with, but what did ‘your move’ mean exactly?
Twenty
It was always a pleasure chatting to Birdie, she had such a way about her, always finding the funny side where others failed to raise a smile. It was refreshing to speak with someone so direct, someone who had no qualms about offending, though rarely did. There was never any malice and Will had a lot of time for the woman.
It was coming up to 11.30 am by the time he’d parked his car in a town-centre side street, bought the local newspaper and headed for the sandwich van. He ordered the same as he’d bought for DI Mason the day before and wondered about getting her lunch while he was there. He was about to change his order to two cheese salad rolls when he thought better of it. She might find it a bit creepy, a random taxi driver buying her lunch two days in a row, it was hardly the norm. He added a Twix again instead, he would eat it later. The warming sun was light on his shoulders as he waited, retracing the events of the last forty-eight hours or so in his head. So much had gone on: the chilly night in the graveyard and the flying undertaker, Clyde’s body being found and identifying him at the mortuary, Birdie being so carefree about the murder of her husband, meeting the DI with blue hair once again, and now news of Jonesy going AWOL – at least he hoped that was all he’d gone. The message of ‘your move’ found on Clyde’s body unnerved him a little, and he hoped it would light a fire under the police’s investigation. East Midlands Special Operations Unit nudged at his grey matter. Where did DC Flint and DI Mason fit in with that? His sandwich order ready, he headed for a bench further along the street and sat down for a moment while he used his phone to look up EMSOU. There were several units within the set-up, but the crux of it was that five neighbouring counties had pulled police resources together to form a special operations programme to fight serious crime. It made perfect sense and encompassed Derbyshire, Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire, Northamptonshire and Lincolnshire. It was the East Midlands version of the London Metropolitan police, maybe even better. Clyde, a suspicious death, would fall under EMSOU-MC – major crimes. Maybe DI Rochelle Mason wouldn’t be investigating after all? He wondered about DC Flint – would he be able to tell him who would now investigate if it wasn’t DI Mason? He pulled the man’s card from his wallet, dialled and waited for him to answer. After six rings, Will was about to end the call when DC Flint came on the line. After introducing himself, Will got straight to the point.
“Are you and DI Mason still on Clyde’s team now that EMSOU are involved? I’m assuming they are involved since his death is considered suspicious?” Will was trying his luck with the tiny bit of case information he possessed. He waited for DC Stephen Flint to respond, and favourably.
“How do you know it’s suspicious?” the detective asked.
“I would have thought most dead bodies found in the woods would be.” DI Mason had taken a risk sharing what she had about the cause of death, and he wasn’t going to break her confidence. “So, are you? Are you and DI Mason still on the team?” Will pushed again and crossed his fingers.
“Yes, we are, though EMSOU take the lead, that’s why they were set up. They have access to more resources than our small team here, but we provide the local knowledge angle, so we all win. Murders are not that common in our county.”
Will clenched his fist and did a mini air punch with it. He
wanted to shout ‘yes!’ but refrained.
“Was there a reason for your call, Mr Peters?” the detective asked. “Or is that it?”
Will thought for a moment then added, “I filed a missing person’s report last night. Another one of the centre’s users, a young man called Jonesy, hasn’t been seen since two mornings ago, and after Clyde’s body was found, there’s a number of people feeling concerned about his whereabouts, including myself. Has anyone noticed the link – two homeless young men, one town?” Silence. Will realised DC Flint knew nothing of Jonesy being reported missing – his case would have been filed away in a drawer along with the other ‘missing’ adults of the town. They were free to go their own way, and some did. “You weren’t aware, I’m assuming, hence your silence.”
“I’ll look into it. But don’t put two and two together, he may well be hanging out with mates somewhere, unaware of being missed, and be back for dinner when he gets hungry.”
Will wanted to ask about the cryptic message, ‘your move’, but couldn’t push his luck or reveal Birdie’s source. Realising there was nothing left to say, he finished with, “I’d appreciate you doing that, and of course if Jonesy does return, I’ll let you know immediately. You have my number on your phone now, if you have any news.”
The conversation over, Will finished his sandwich and people-watched from his bench. He checked the time; he had an hour before he planned to be one street over from police headquarters in the hope of driving DI Mason to the hospital for her daily treatment. Enjoying the sun warming his shoulders, he unfolded his newspaper and flipped through it quickly, eyes searching for any mention of Clyde and the case. A single column containing a couple of short paragraphs was all he found. There was nothing new to report. It seemed the mayor’s re-election campaign was still important news.