Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1)

by Vic Marelle

  Turning to the sergeant he indicated the remains of a small wall. ‘Were the couple on the other side of this wall?’

  ‘No. The path from the farmyard goes along there so it’s a bit open for what they were doing if you see what I mean.’ Pointing to the adjacent wall that was a full storey high punctuated by what had once been a multi panel mullioned window she added, ‘They were on that side over there.’

  ‘They’d never have seen him then,’ replied Davies. ‘The sills of the old window are chest high at least so if they were down on the ground having it off there’s no way they could have seen anything this side of the wall.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the sergeant. ‘But apparently they hadn’t got that far, they were still at the kissing and cuddling stage. I’ve been over there and checked it out because she is about my height, and from what they say the lad was actually leaning with his back against the window so the girl would have been facing in. The ground is a little higher the other side of the wall and since the lad had managed to get her blouse and bra off, had our deceased friend still been alive he could indeed have got an eyeful. The doc thought that that might have been what triggered the heart attack.’

  ‘But it wasn’t was it?’ replied Davies. ‘Makes you wish you were young again doesn’t it? OK. So our couple are stripping off and having a quick grope on the other side of that window, while on this side, deceased is in a heap in the fireplace. If you can call it a room that is. Mind you, we had to walk the full length of the room and on this side there’s no wall, it’s just a pile of rubble and the fireplace is on full view, so why didn’t they see him when they arrived?’

  ‘Easy. They didn’t come that wa. If you go as far as the well and cross the big room with the fancy fireplace you can get onto the other side of the window without coming the way we did around the outside. Apparently, because they had heard voices when they first came – remember that they went back to the tea shop before returning - they took their time getting to the window by stopping every few yards for a listen and a quick kiss.’

  ‘Spare me the details Debbie, I can imagine. All the same, with the height of that window, if they were as keen as you say they are then your couple are more likely to have dropped down to finish off what they had started than pack up and shut up shop so to speak. You say that they were in a bit of a state and I don’t think that that would just be from finding the bloke – there was no blood, no mess and he just looked as though he was sleeping rough – so what’s the betting that they saw more than they’re letting on?’

  Turning to the CSI, Davies asked, ‘Could he have been killed somewhere else Mark?’

  ‘Could have. Or might not. Either way I suppose.’

  Not exactly a helpful answer. And not what he had wanted to hear. A civilian scene of crimes specialist highly trained by the force, Mark was exceptionally observant and could usually ferret out little clues that would point in a specific direction, if not actually close a case. He didn’t usually sit on the fence.

  Sensing Davies’ dismay, the CSI continued, ‘I would at least have expected some marks on the path if he’d been dragged here from the farmyard but there’s nothing. Yet if he’d been in a scuffle and died here there should have been some tell tale indications in the earth in front of the fireplace or where people have trodden the undergrowth down from the path to the old doorway over there but there’s nothing here either. Despite this being a ruin there are very few loose stones or boulders of any size, and none at all in this area because the trustees tidied it up to make it safe a few years ago, so if the doc’s right and he died from compressive asphyxia then there’s nothing around that’s heavy enough to compress our man’s chest for long enough to kill him. With no sign of any struggle either, for my money he must have been killed elsewhere. In that case he would have been carried here or there would be drag marks somewhere. But don’t take that as gospel – at this stage it’s a ‘might have’ at most and only a guess.’

  The CSI was not usually wrong and his observations were more than welcome, but why couldn’t all this have happened just a mile along the road? When the planners had pinched almost 15 miles of Lancashire’s coastal plain south of the Ribble and tacked it onto Liverpool, renaming the conglomeration Merseyside, everything had been screwed up. Driving to work each day the country road meandered across the border no less than three times and in bad weather, thanks to a lack of cooperation between the authorities, the Lancashire sections could be free running while Merseyside’s section remained snow-bound, resulting in a delay or detour of almost an hour. Such beaurocratic stupidity still had its benefits though. Ten years living in an up-market leafy suburb of Southport and policing little more than a carnival procession or the annual air show beat the socks off fighting thugs and villains. If only this unidentified murdered dead body had been found one mile away on Lancashire’s patch, not only would the problem have been somebody else’s responsibility, Lancashire’s pathologist might have thought it a heart attack too.

  ……….

  ‘Right love, let’s not beat about the bush, this is now a murder enquiry so we can’t pretend that you weren’t there anymore.’ Davies was trying his stern yet fatherly approach. ‘What you tell your mum is up to you but all I am interested in is the truth.’

  ‘But we told the sergeant what happened,’ said the girl, looking scared.

  ‘We were having a walk in the woods when we saw that bloke huddled in the fireplace of the old hall,’ added her boyfriend. ‘I shouted to him and he didn’t answer so we went over to him and shook him. That’s when we realised he were sick like. We didn’t know he were dead did we Kate?’

  Sat in the Hay Loft Tea Shop, Davies wasn’t expecting much from the young couple unless they had actually seen more than they had previously admitted. And so far they were getting nowhere.

  ‘Well I’ve heard it called some things before but never a walk,’ replied the inspector. ‘From what the sergeant here tells me, you were getting lots of exercise but not doing much walking.’ The couple exchanged a guilty glance. The girl blushed. ‘Now lets get things straight. I don’t think that what you told the sergeant is all that you know by any means. And once there’s murder involved, then either withholding information or not telling it as it was gets you into trouble. You need to tell me exactly what happened – and I mean exactly – because if you don’t you’ll be banged up in a cell in Albert Road nick. And it’ll be a cell each at that, so there will be no exercise, free love, or whatever else you want to call it.

  ‘Whether your mum gets to know about how you spend your time is the least of your worries love. So let’s start again at the beginning with what really happened shall we? I want to know the time you arrived here, whether you went straight to the woods or came here for a coffee first, and I want to know exactly what you saw. And I mean exactly. I need to know what you did and where. Exactly. You get that? There’s no place for modesty in a murder investigation. Come on, spit it out, because if you don’t I’ll have to drag it out.’

  Lescott raised her eyebrows. Though always a little brusque, she thought that Davies was laying it on a bit too thick this time. These were two young kids, not hardened criminals. They were scared witless anyway.

  Kate started to sob. ‘We didn’t do anything inspector. Honest we didn’t,’ she said, tears running down her cheeks. ‘We just kissed and had a cuddle, and then we . . . . .’

  ‘And then you what exactly?’

  She looked him straight in the eye, opened her mouth to reply then changed her mind. Her cheeks flushed red and the tears turned into a flood as she sobbed.

  ‘Oh come on. Lay off can’t you?’ burst in the lad in support. ‘It was Kate’s first time and it all got spoilt because of the old geezer. We don’t know anything about it. We just found him. What don’t you understand about that?’

  ‘Calm down son. We’ve got a job to do. And at the moment, mine’s solving a crime. How much that involves you I don’t yet know but you c
an take it from me that I don’t care two hoots about your sex life. Or how many nicks you’ve got on your shooter.’

  ‘Really Inspector!’ The tide had turned and now Kate was coming to her boyfriend’s aid. ‘We didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t love, but I need to know what you saw, both before and after you did whatever you did. And if you heard anything I need to know about that too. Now come on Kate, pull yourself together. I am sure that you know something that you haven’t told us and you can bet your life that we are not leaving until we find out what it is. Let’s start at the beginning shall we?’

  Seven

  ‘When are you going to get your parking sorted David?’

  Drat it. Those blasted bollards again. Almost every client had complained – and some had even cancelled their appointments. Presumably the cancellations were now lost to another solicitor. The diabolical car parking situation was already beginning to affect his business. Why couldn’t the council just mind their own business and leave everyone alone?

  And there were problems inside too. The former bank was ideal for a legal practice but its unimaginative decor was uninspiring and decidedly drab. In need of a revamp, Preston wasn’t going to splash out unless income improved. Losing clients wouldn’t help. Perhaps some money in the bank from the Johnson’s might be a lifeline and redecoration might be possible.

  ‘Believe me’ said the solicitor, if I could go out and pull all the bollards up I would do. But the council installed them and until I can convince them that they were wrong there’s not a lot I can do. How far away have you had to leave your car this time?’

  ‘Even further away than before. We are right down the street, almost at the builder’s yard. Thank God my ribs are not as sore as they were. I couldn’t have walked that far last time we came.’

  ‘Simon will join us in a few minutes’ Preston announced, ‘but in the meantime I’ll bring you up to date as far as I can.’

  Mike Johnson exchanged concerned glances with his wife. Apprehensively they wondered what might be coming next. Everything was getting too complicated – yet although Preston hadn’t exactly lit any fires, his legal bills were escalating. The procedure was becoming predictable. They would meet in this depressing room but nothing would be achieved other than his battered body aching for a further two days, at which point a hefty bill would drop through their letter box. And for what? Usually just an hour talking and going round in circles with no follow-up action and no progress. What a money spinner. And his money at that. Somebody needed to grasp the mettle and resolve what were clearly simple issues quickly if it wasn’t going to get out of hand or break the bank. And if Preston couldn’t do that then they would have to move to another solicitor. Again. Bloody hell, what a mess.

  ‘Mike, you didn’t answer. Do you understand?’

  ‘Sorry David. I was miles away.’

  ‘So it seems,’ replied the lawyer with a smile. ‘But we need to move on. What I was just saying was that you cannot sell the land or use the house as security to finance your own development until this dispute has been resolved. Whether you want to profit from selling to a builder or become a developer yourself is purely academic now that the action against you is with the court.’

  ‘Wait a minute. I thought that you said he wouldn’t go to court because of some benefits thing that would mean he couldn’t get anything.’

  ‘That’s right’ responded the solicitor. ‘But the only way to bring you to the table is for him to take out a court action. No doubt he hopes that you will negotiate and settle before it gets to court, because if you don’t then you both stand to lose everything. The courts and the government don’t like fraud and they don’t like benefit cheats. My guess is that he has taken the action as a gamble that you will settle before it reaches court but that if you don’t he is quite prepared to write off anything he might get from you. He’s holding a few aces here Mike because other than his legal bill he has nothing at stake – nothing to lose. But if it does go to court it is likely to mean that you lose everything. It’s a little vindictive but you can’t escape the facts Mike. If you reach an agreement with Joan’s brother before the case gets heard then you avoid any potential problems that could backfire on you. That’s a real possibility by the way. So now do you understand the urgency?’

  ‘I understand the urgency but not the logic in giving that little shit what isn’t his,’ replied the artist. ‘His bloody greediness is not only splitting the family and affecting my wife, it is also affecting my business. Our plans to put a small number of executive homes on the land – our land – are well advanced and we have a good offer from a builder that would give us a big profit but while we cannot move we have to rely on the shop for income. And with the state of the economy right now, money is getting tight. Why should we sit back and get screwed when we are sitting on a goldmine? No David, forget any arbitration, take the bloke to court and shut him up once and for all. And while you are doing it, hit him with damages for the attack too.’

  Preston sat back in his chair, rested his elbows on the arms and tented his fingers. How did you talk sense to somebody hell bent on taking the wrong course? He could see his nice new office decor evaporating into thin air. Furrowing his brow and glancing first at Joan Johnson and then directly at the artist he said, ‘Mike, it isn’t that simple. All the signs are that Peter Archer did not attack you. From what we hear he is collecting some sort of documentation at the moment that will prove his claim on the land. That’s why the arbitration was delayed. If this goes to court you have all to lose – including your proposed property project. Take my advice Mike. Settle quickly.’

  ‘Like hell I will,’ stormed Johnson. ‘How you can say it wasn’t Pete I don’t know. I was the one getting attacked not you, and the house and land is all legal so what’s the problem.’

  The solicitor raised his eyebrows, furrowed his brow. ‘Mike’ he said wearily. ‘Has nothing I have said sunk in? Go to court and it’s most likely that everything will be taken off you – land, money, everything. And probably a big fine or even a custodial sentence for benefit fraud. Simple as. Now, do I make myself clear?’

  Reaching for the telephone, Preston gave an instruction to his PA. Looking across at the couple he could see that the artist was rapidly reaching the edge of control. His face had become a ruddy colour and the old bruises were once again visible. Veins in his neck were prominent, his teeth were clenched and his eyes bulging. Could this man be capable of rational thought while in such a condition? Perhaps not.

  ‘Ah, Simon,’ commented the lawyer as Simon Charlton joined them. ‘Just at the right time.’ Then turning to his clients, added, ‘Simon has been doing some checking up for us and I am afraid that it doesn’t tally with your views Mike. Can you bring Mr and Mrs Johnson up to speed please Simon?’

  Charlton took a seat, opened his briefcase and fished out some notes. Spreading them out in front of him he took stock of the couple eyeing him up apprehensively.

  ‘David asked me to check out a few facts and it’s not looking too good I am afraid,’ he said. ‘Green Fields Caravan Park may well be run down and a bit on the jaded side but Archer is meticulous in his organisation, albeit old fashioned. He is one of the old school and keeps ledgers and notes rather than using a computer, but I have seen his workshop log and it confirms that at the time you were being attacked he was working on his van – replacing the exhaust actually. And he was also seen by one of the residents so that makes it cast iron.’ Shuffling the papers in front of him he looked up at them and went on,

  ‘Now, as far as the land and property go, it’s not all that clear. I made a point of speaking to Peter Archer and also to his son Kevin, and while they seem to be singing from the same hymn sheet there’s something not quite right that I cannot put my finger on. But basically, while they do plan to expand and refurbish the site, they claim to have financing in-place and that the initial expansion would all be on their land.’

&
nbsp; ‘So my recommendation is to settle quickly,’ the solicitor added.

  ‘They don’t have anywhere to expand. All the existing space is taken and there’s a wood between them and our field. And I told you, he wants our house for his restaurant.’

  ‘They both said that they are delayed due to a legal hiccup that has held up financing,’ replied the investigator, ‘which I assume is a reference to the dispute with yourselves. Peter seems to have grandiose plans but Kevin dotted a few i’s for me that are more realistic. He said that some of the woods will go to make way for extra caravan plots and there’s an old building they will refurbish for their restaurant. I’ll do a little more digging because their stories don’t match up completely, but then that could just be the generation gap. Peter is clearly bitter and wants to protect his business against competition from the Lockside Marina site but Kevin is young and ambitious so their view of the ultimate goal may be different.’

  ‘Sod that for a tale,’ broke in the artist. ‘He is after our land, our money and our house. There isn’t a building on their site they can use.’

  ‘Kevin told me there was an old stone building in the woods.’