Sleepwalk

by Ros Seddon

  ‘And Wilson?’

  ‘Wilson is also squeaky clean Sir. Make a bloody good pair. No form; good family. Good education; a pillar of society. The bank speaks highly of him; and a first class single parent according to his neighbours. Wife left him last year; ran off with her gay lover.’

  ‘And the cat? Who gave orders to exhume the bloody cat?’

  ‘Exhume the cat? …….. you mean? ……someone’s dug the cat up? I don’t know anything about that Sir.’

  ‘Miss Breen seems to think we’ve got it on a slab in our forensics department.’

  ‘I’ll go and talk to her again. And I’ll double check the garden Sir.’

  ‘Wise move Detective. Just as well she doesn’t own a bloody horse eh?’

  ‘Let’s hope she doesn’t Sir.’

  As Claire Peters left the room DI Carter was still making notes in the Breen file.

  She had followed the correct procedures of investigation and had already put hours into this case and had come up with a big fat zero. Now she would have to put in even more hours……. wonderful. There must be something she had missed. She would check out the building firm. She’d heard of cases where cowboy builders were creating work for themselves using the most unorthodox methods and she couldn’t afford to write off any lead or suspicion however small or extreme. That afternoon she pulled up in the lay by at Knapp with a colleague, Brian Miller. The front door was open to the cottage and both Felicity Breen and her boyfriend were there painting and cleaning.

  ‘Hello?’ she called from the open doorway.

  Felicity appeared at the top of a shiny new open wooden staircase; a paintbrush in her hand.

  ‘Hi. DC Peters isn’t it?’ Felicity came down the stairs closely followed by David Wilson.

  ‘How is it coming along?’

  ‘Hard work ……. but we’re getting there slowly. Have you got some news?’

  ‘No. I just came to have a look around the garden. There seems to be a misunderstanding about the, er…….. the exhumation of your little cat.’

  ‘Misunderstanding?’

  ‘Yes. Look Flick; there’s no easy way to say this but no one gave any orders to exhume the body. So, er …….. whoever did that; well it wasn’t us.’

  She watched as Felicity’s legs seemed to collapse under her and it was just as well there was a new staircase in position for her to fall back onto because that was what she did. She sat down with a bump and dropped her paint brush on the floor splashing white gloss paint in every direction. David was there beside her in an instant and had his arm around her. Claire Peters shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  ‘Look …….. It’s a bit of a shock, I know. I’m going to take a look around the garden. I’ll come and see you again tomorrow and we’ll talk some more about it ok?’

  Felicity nodded her approval. Her face was white with shock. David Wilson also looked quite shocked which convinced Claire Peters that neither of these two really knew what the hell was going on here any more than she did. She surveyed the garden and the little tool shed and Brian covered the garden fork and spade carefully with plastic bags and took them for evidence. There was no lock on the garden shed. Anyone could have used these implements at any time. She watched as, a few minutes later David led Felicity down the path to his silver Audi parked in the lay by then he came back to explain.

  ‘I’m taking her home. She’s staying with me at the moment you know until…… all this is sorted. Do you need access to the house or shall I lock up?’

  ‘No it’s fine Mr Wilson thank you. We’ll need to talk to her again though, soon.’

  ‘Yes of course. I’m sure she’ll be fine once she…….. you know. This is all such a mess.

  Are you no further forward with your enquiries DC Peters? What kind of person would do this to her? Someone must know something surely?’

  ‘That’s exactly what we’re trying to find out Sir. I assure you we’re doing everything we can.’

  ‘Yes. Yes I’m sorry I…… I’ll leave you to your enquiries. Goodbye DC Peters.’

  ‘Thank you Mr Wilson.’

  They waited in her car at Knapp for the boy to get home from work. She’d missed him the last couple of nights. His mother had told her he was hay-making and was working some evenings and when he did manage to get home early he ate his dinner, showered and went to the pub which seemed quite normal for most single twenty-something males these days. At six twenty-five a white escort van slowed outside Mill cottages and reversed in to the space in front of them with a little too much speed and precision for Claire’s liking. A young lad with long brown hair dressed rather scruffily jumped out and slammed the drivers door closed; then opened it and slammed it harder, pushed the key into the drivers door lock and turned it. He glanced at the two of them sitting in her blue Ford Sierra and turned to go up the steps. Claire got out of the car and called to him,

  ‘Mr Baines? Tom Baines?’

  The lad stopped and turned to face her. ‘This about the fire?’

  ‘Yes.’ She started up the steps and reached out her hand to him, ‘I’m DC Peters and this is my colleague DC Miller. Do you mind if we come in for a minute?’

  ‘Long as it is a minute. I got stuff to do.’

  ‘We won’t take up too much of your time Mr Baines.’

  They followed him into the little cottage. Inside, the hallway was untidy with muddy boots and coats strewn across one side of the carpet and a cardboard box full of cans of beer. He went straight through to the kitchen.

  ‘Cops are ‘ere. Dinner ready Mum?’

  ‘Yes but Tom dear take the police lady and man through to the sitting room there’s a good lad. Everything’s such a mess out here…… and take your muddy boots off before you go in there’.

  The sitting room was like a different world. Everything was clean and tidy and in its place. They sat down and Carol Baines stuck her head around the door.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea dear? And you Sir?’

  ‘No. Thank you Mrs Baines. This won’t take long.’

  Claire did the talking while Brian kept quiet and took notes. He was quite new to his role as DC and was still learning the ropes. She asked Tom the facts about the fire; date; times; his whereabouts and whether he had seen anything suspicious. Then she asked him about Felicity; their history as neighbours. At this point Tom appeared uncomfortable with her line of questioning so she decided to pursue it.

  ‘So, you’ve never been out together then, the two of you?’

  ‘No, I told you; I aint interested.’

  ‘Yet you’ve helped her out a lot; done a bit of gardening for her; built the shed, you say. You must like her at least a little to do those things for her surely? She’s a very pretty young woman Tom, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Yeah she is. But it aint like that I told you. I done some work for ‘er; she paid me cash in the ‘and for doin’ it. That’s it.’

  ‘Do you have a girlfriend Tom?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Good looking lad like you? I’d have thought you’d have girls falling at your feet.’

  The boy blushed and looked away from her.

  ‘Bin out with a few girls in my time, you know. Just don’t ‘ave time right now workin’ on the farm. Haymakin’ right now, see …… workin’ all the hours God sends, you know?’

  ‘Yes. Yes I see. It must be hard for you. And what do you think of Felicity’s new boyfriend, David Wilson?’

  ‘Is that ‘is name then? Dunno; seems alright. Bit stuck up but she likes that kinda thing don’t she?’

  ‘Does she? Ok. Well, thank you Tom. We’ll let you get back to your dinner. Thank you for your time.’

  ‘No worries.’

  He showed them out and as he closed the door behind her she could hear him calling, ‘You got my dinner out Mother?’

  As they got into the car Brian looked at her as he did up his seat belt.

  ‘Girls falling at his feet? Are you serious Clai
re? What girl would want to fall at that scruffy oaf’s feet ……seriously?’

  ‘I was merely humouring him Brian. So what do you think?’

  ‘I think we’ve found our man. I reckon he’s guilty as sin. He’s got the hots for her and he’s gutted that she’s got a bloke.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. Yes I think he likes her but I don’t think he’s our man.’

  ‘Well if he isn’t then who the hell……………?’

  ‘I don’t know Brian. But I’m not giving up just yet…………..’

  She had been wearing Slim’s vest and pants underneath her clothes since yesterday and hadn’t had a chance to change out of them. If Neil caught her wearing them she’d be in for a beating for sure; so when he’d had his evening fix and his mates had left the flat, and he sidled up to her on the mattress and started running his finger down her spine, Jonquil leapt suddenly to her feet. She’d better come up with something; and quick.

  ‘Hell! ....... I nearly forgot!’ she yelled.

  ‘What have you done now you dumb bitch?’ He kicked her ankle with his heavy trainers causing her to lift her foot and wince in pain.

  ‘My stash! I ........ I left it down the river.’

  ‘Your stash? Since when did you have your own stash; eh? Useless bitch!’

  ‘Well .......... the bit you lent me, I mean.’

  ‘I got plenty right now chick. Come ‘ere. Sit with me.’

  He patted the mattress; took her hand and pulled her down beside him then he began to twist her hair round and round in his fingers gradually forcing her lower and lower on the bed until she was beneath him and he leaned over her face.

  ‘Like it rough don’t you Jonk?’

  ‘Dunno ......... maybe .......’

  ‘Yeah ........... you love it.’

  He lifted one leg and sat astride her; still clutching her hair, then he tightened his grip and pulled her head sideways until she cried out. This was payback for her jumping to her feet a few moments earlier. You didn’t do that to Neil; ever. You never stopped him mid-stroke. If you did you suffered the consequences. He twisted his fist further and deeper into the knot in her hair and he could feel sweat, hot and sticky around his knuckles making her hair feel damp and clingy and then as hairs began to break off from her scalp and stick to his fingers he released his grip and checked her face. The girl lay helpless beneath him, her head smarting from his grip. He could feel the raw heat coming from her scalp and saw the tears on her face and he knew she was hurting but she would not give in.

  ‘Here.’

  He let go of her hair and threw a handful of loose change over her chest then he stood up and turned away.

  ‘Go down the off licence and get me some beers.’

  Jonquil got to her feet, gathered up the change from the mattress and made her way to the door. The nerves in the back of her head were pounding but she would not let him see that she was still crying. She kept her head down as she passed him, snatched her rucksack from the landing and as she skipped down the stairs and out into the cold night air the tears began to flow. She made her way along the High street sniffing back tears as she went. She was not going to the off licence and she was not going back to the flat. She was going to the viaduct. She was going to give herself to Slimmy. Still high from her earlier fix; her head swimming with pain and mixed emotions; her face wet with tears and her eyes blurred as they kept on coming she stepped from the pavement on Western Drive and came face to face with her angel of death ..........

  Vanessa Gordon couldn’t open her eyes; the lights were too bright. She could actually see through her closed eyelids; could see the skin inside her eyelids; a deep pink glow. Dark shapes were moving around beside her and across the front of her bed. Was she in a hospital? Was she dead? Well she was definitely in a narrow bed. She knew she was, although she couldn’t feel that she was; she just knew. She couldn’t feel anything; her body was completely numb so therefore she must be dead mustn’t she? She could hear muffled sounds but couldn’t identify them. Was it voices she could hear? It was like voices but in slow motion. Like her aunt Ada’s old HMV gramophone when it needed winding up and then when you wound it up too hard it was like Pinky and Perky. But this wasn’t like winding up, this was very much wound down and the voices w e re v e ry ve r y s l o oo o ow……….. and they kept talking about her in the third person like ….sh e i s com f or t a bl e …… sh e i s s l e ee e pi ng and the voices all sounded like Lurch from the Adam’s Family; then her eyes popped. She blinked and saw a shape to her left but the light hurt her eyes so she closed them. When they opened again she saw the boy, Williams sitting beside her. His hand was covering his face but she knew it was him……. and he was crying. His tears confirmed her suspicions that she was indeed dead and for one brief but desperate moment of compassion she wanted to reach out and touch him; console him. She watched as her own frail arm wavered toward him and touched the soft material of his jacket sleeve and saw him recoil in horror at her forwardness and she withdrew her pale withered hand at once and realised that she was not in fact dead; but very much alive.

  ‘Ah! Back with the living Mrs Gordon?’ The round faced nurse came closer and for a second she thought she was going to smother her as she saw her hand coming toward her mouth and then realised she was pulling a long plastic tube from within her throat and Vanessa began to choke violently.

  ‘That’s it….. that’s it cough it up…. good girl. There; all done. How are we feeling?’

  Vanessa opened her mouth to speak but instead of words coming she began to cough some more.

  ‘Makes your throat a little sore does this one. You’ll be right as rain before you know it and you’ll be chatting away to your young friend here like a good ‘un, you’ll see.’

  She scuttled away and Vanessa turned to look at the boy. He was certainly no friend of hers. She despised him. He was vermin. He lived like vermin; sleeping under a bridge for goodness sake. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind leaving her there like that unable to move. She wanted to shout at him; make him wake up to reality, but when she opened her mouth the words would not come; only a hoarse whisper. The boy wasn’t looking at her now. He was looking at the floor. Why had he been crying? His look was distraught; almost one of devastation. Like his world had come crashing down. He was clutching the sketch book. The same wretched book that had led to her being here now in a hospital bed, unable to move or speak and her body all stiff and sore and Oh God her leg still hurt……. so badly……….

  ‘Why are you here? What do you want?’ Her voice was barely a whisper but this time he’d heard her. ‘Have you come to gloat?’

  He looked at her through his tears.

  ‘I’m sorry Van………… Miss Gordon. Look; I’d better go.’ He stood up then but he hesitated; like he wasn’t sure where to go.

  ‘Don’t go. Please? ……. Don’t leave me……………….’

  The boy sat down again and Vanessa’s head began to swim and she must have drifted off to sleep then because when she opened her eyes again he was gone and the round faced nurse was back with her again busying herself with all things clinical.

  ‘The boy…….. where did he go?’

  ‘Lovely lad he is, your son; very polite. Really concerned about you he was.’

  ‘No …….. He’s not my………’

  ‘Doesn’t live with you does he?’

  ‘No. He’s not ……….’

  ‘I could tell. Let themselves go these lads do when they haven’t got their Mum to look out for them. Mine’s the same; got a little bed sit in the city, not far from here; goes to college now. He’s doing a mechanics course. Hasn’t even got his own car yet, bless him but at least he’ll know how to fix one when he does get one.’ The nurse laughed out loud; a deep, hearty masculine laugh.

  ‘He’s not my ……….’

  ‘There, there dear. You try and get some rest. You’ve had a harrowing experience. Your poor leg was broken and you’ve got quite a
bad chest infection too.’

  ‘But ………..’

  ‘Don’t try to speak dear. Rest your throat if you can. The Doctor will be along to see you shortly. There that’s my fault isn’t it ……… chatting away to you? But you can be proud of your boy dear. Sat with you, he did; twenty minutes in the pouring rain waiting for the ambulance. Wrapped you in an old blanket and sat holding you up to support your back, he did. A lot of youngsters wouldn’t think to do that you know, but he knew not to let you move even an inch; and he held his coat over you too, to try and keep the rain off you, bless him. He’s a regular little hero that one. You can be proud of him Mrs Gordon. Said to tell you he’ll be in to see you tomorrow.’ And with that she left the room. So Williams had come back then. He’d said he was going to get help and he’d kept his word. She wouldn’t have thought that. She’d been there for such a long time waiting for him to come back and she’d been in such terrible pain. It had seemed almost an eternity. In the end she had given up on him coming at all and must have drifted into unconsciousness. Vanessa tried to picture them sitting there, him supporting her and sheltering her from the rain but the image was blurred; the hunter and the hunted. Then through her own sheer obsession and circumstance the hunter becomes the captive and the hunted; the captor; and now the gallant hero. It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t part of the plan. There must be a mistake. Williams must have made the whole thing up to rid himself of guilt. Did he feel guilt then? Did wasters like Williams actually feel anything? Remorse? Guilt? Did he have a conscience then, this boy who had stolen from her; made her life a misery and now attempted to pass himself off as her son? Had he told them that; that he was her son? And what of his tears? Were they for her? She doubted it. Tears of pity for himself perhaps because he knew he’d been rumbled. Vanessa picked up the wire lying beside her which led to a large plastic call button. She gathered it up until the button was in her hand and pressed it hard; but no one came. She pressed it again …… and again. Still no one came. She threw it aside, off the bed and heard the plastic block clink against the bed rails. She had almost drifted off again when a young nurse with curly brown hair popped her head round the door.