Left for Dead

by Paul J. Teague

  George handed Will the glass of water he’d poured for him while they’d been talking. Will washed down two paracetamol tablets.

  ‘How will I explain my face?’ he asked. ‘People will ask questions, won’t they?’

  ‘It’ll calm down overnight,’ George reassured him. ‘If he’d broken your nose, it would have bruised, and you’d have had to go to A&E to get it fixed. I’m going to need to buy a new pair of trousers and get a tetanus shot after my fall in those roses, but apart from that, I think we’ll survive.’

  ‘How about you, Charlotte?’ Will asked. ‘You’re the most important person in all this. What do you want?’

  ‘I want Bruce Craven out of my life. I knew it was going to be difficult, but he knows it’s over now. I’ve got witnesses too; we’ve all seen what he’s like. If it helps you, George, I’m happy to leave it at that now. But if he tries it again, if he threatens us once more, we have to make a complaint about him. Together. If we stick together, we can sort him out.’

  ‘Okay,’ said George, ‘We’re agreed. I won’t write this up in the incident book, we’ll keep it to ourselves. Thank you, it means a lot to me. This job means a lot to me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlotte said. ‘I mean that, George. I don’t know what he’d have done if you hadn’t stepped in.’

  Will backed her up on that.

  ‘We’d better get back George, we’re up for the early shift tomorrow. I’m going to see what I can do to calm this soreness on my face. I’ll walk you back to your room Charlotte, just to make sure you’re okay.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Present Day - Morecambe

  ‘Oh my God, have you got a name for the security guard?’ Charlotte asked, following Nigel out of the building.

  She couldn't believe what he'd just told her - a security guard bludgeoned at the former holiday camp. It seemed unbelievable in such a quiet area.

  ‘No, there’s no name - it’s a breaking news story. Apparently, it was lucky he didn’t get crushed in the demolition. Why, do you know someone out there?’

  ‘Yes, George has been working shifts there. We’ve known him for years. He’s an old man now. What on earth are they doing attacking a man of his age? I only saw him last night, at the guest house.’

  Charlotte struggled to keep her voice steady. The thought of something like that happening to her friend was inconceivable.

  ‘It’s a screwed-up world, and I’m pleased to say things like that don’t happen very often around these parts. Which means we just got our front-page story for this week’s paper. Do you want to tag along, see if we can find out any information about George?’

  ‘Yes, if that’s alright,’ Charlotte asked. ‘If I won’t be in the way?’

  ‘So long as you let us get on with our job, you’re welcome. Hop in!’

  Nigel opened up the passenger door to the heavily branded car. The photographer was holding the keys, so claimed the driving seat. Nigel climbed in and took the seat at his side.

  ‘All buckled up?’ he asked.

  He must have kids, Charlotte thought to herself.

  ‘This is Chris, by the way,’ Nigel said. ‘He’s our staff photographer. He comes out with me to cover the serious news stories. He’s also available for weddings, bar mitzvahs, family occasions and so on.’

  Charlotte laughed, distracted for a moment.

  ‘What were you coming to see me about?’ Nigel asked. ‘Sorry to rush you off like that, but as a journalist in Morecambe, stories like this are few and far between.’

  ‘It’s okay, I’m anxious to see if George was hurt,’ Charlotte replied from the back seat, speaking more loudly to be heard over the sound of the diesel engine. ‘I was just after some advice, really. I’m trying to find somebody who used to work at the holiday camp. It was a long time ago, 1984 or thereabouts. I just thought you might know how to find him, as a journalist.’

  ‘Yes, I can give you a bit of guidance on that,’ Nigel said, turning back to speak to her. A police car came tearing past them as they turned onto the promenade.

  ‘I wonder if he’s heading where we are?’ Chris remarked.

  ‘I’ll bet he is,’ Nigel laughed. ‘A news story like this gets the cops and the journalists salivating.’

  ‘Was your guy local?’ Nigel said, returning to Charlotte’s question.

  ‘No, from Newcastle I think. It’s so long ago now…’

  ‘Yes, no internet, no social media, it makes you wonder how we ever coped. Your best bet is old newspapers or telephone directories - what used to be our internet in the dark ages. You’ll find those on microfiche at the local library. Also, try a website like 192.com or ancestry.co.uk - if you pay a small amount of money, you’ll be able to search the electoral roll on one of these online websites. That’s where I’d start if it was a news story I was researching. Does he have a family or any other connections? Do you have a place of work, anything like that?’

  Charlotte shook her head, then realised she’d have to answer aloud - Nigel couldn’t see her in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘I know very little about him,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’s so long ago and nobody used computers back then. The holiday camp company doesn’t even exist any more. It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack. We were once part of a feature about the holiday camp in summer 1984 though - it might have even been in your paper, come to think about it.’

  ‘Morecambe Library will have the local back editions of the newspaper. Otherwise, try my suggestions,’ Nigel replied, ‘And let me know if you hit a dead end. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Charlotte said.

  They were nearing Overton and Charlotte’s stomach was beginning to feel unsettled in the back of the car. She always forgot what it was like to be a back seat passenger, since most of the time she was either driving herself or sitting in the front passenger seat. She considered mentioning it to Nigel, but she didn’t want to hinder them in their work. She’d be able to hang on until they reached the holiday camp - it wouldn’t be long until they arrived.

  ‘We’ve had a great response to that story we ran on the guest house.’

  Nigel’s words distracted her from asking Chris to stop the car for five minutes while her stomach settled.

  ‘Oh yes?’ Charlotte replied. ‘All positive, I hope?’

  ‘Yes, it seems that quite a few people around here remember you. I’ve spoken to a couple of locals in the past week who were asking after you.’

  ‘Really?’ Charlotte asked, surprised at his answer. ‘We haven’t lived around here for years. We may know some people still - from college and university, I suppose. I guess some people from the holiday camp might have settled around here too. But I’m quite surprised to hear that. What have they been saying?’

  She shuffled in her seat, trying to make her stomach feel more comfortable. It wasn’t working.

  ‘Oh, just the usual sort of thing. Nosey locals, just trying to find out what you’re up to. How many kids you’ve got, that sort of thing. One guy was very interested in making contact. Not the sort of person I’d expect you to know. I don’t mean to be snobby, but - you know - he was a bit rough to say the least.’

  Charlotte was feeling nauseous to the point of throwing up now. She reckoned in two more minutes they’d be at the gates to the camp. The moment she was out in the fresh air, she’d be fine. She opened the rear window a little and breathed in the air from the breeze.

  ‘Did he give a name?’ Charlotte asked, struggling to think of who he might be. ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘No name,’ Nigel said, ‘He was a thin, wiry guy. One of those men with what I call the look. Just looks like he’s up to no good. He’s probably perfectly alright, I may be doing him a disservice.’

  Charlotte could see the entrance to the holiday camp now. The diggers had moved in already, the old porter’s lodge was half gone, and they’d begun to take down some of the administration block. History was about to be erased.
There were four police cars and an ambulance parked just beyond the wire safety fencing. It was bustling with activity.

  ‘Stop the car!’ Charlotte said.

  ‘What?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Please, just pull up now!’ she said.

  Chris slowed immediately and rode the car up the verge. Charlotte opened the door, got out as fast as her legs would carry her, and threw up just beyond the group of police officers and contractors.

  ‘I’d have given you my hard hat if you’d asked, luv!’ a contractor shouted over, his fluorescent jacket flapping in the breeze. The police officers looked over to her and, seeing that Nigel was rushing over to attend to her, continued with their work.

  ‘Well, you know how to make an entrance,’ Nigel said. ‘Are you alright? You should have said. We could have swapped seats if you get travel sick. Chris throws the car around quite a bit when we’re in a rush.’

  Chris had parked the car in a more suitable place and had already locked it up and begun to take photographs.

  ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Charlotte said. ‘You don’t have a bottle of water in the car do you, so I can rinse my mouth out?’

  She felt stupid and humiliated. It hadn’t been the first time she’d experienced that same emotion outside the porter’s lodge. She felt ridiculous throwing up in front of those people.

  After a few moments, she was steady on her feet again, her mouth rinsed thanks to a half-finished bottle offered by one of the contractors. She was anxious to see if George was alright after the incident.

  ‘Don’t go anywhere the police tell you not to,’ Nigel advised. ‘And remember, this is an active building site, it’s a dangerous place.’

  Nigel checked in with the police and the foreman, showing his ID. Charlotte observed the nods coming from the group ahead of her. She was impressed by how fast Chris was working, taking pictures of everything, moving on the periphery while Nigel worked at close quarters. Nigel gave her a wave.

  ‘You’re here on a work exchange if anyone asks,’ he smiled at her. ‘Here, take a hard hat and fluorescent jacket from the table over there. We’re allowed in - the DCI is on site, she’ll answer my questions. The ambulance crew are still attending to the security guard over there too. Come on, follow me and look like it’s all in a day’s work.’

  They made their way along the drive and took a turn towards the staff accommodation. It seemed remarkable to Charlotte that she’d only recently been there, looking around, walking with George and Una. The place had changed already, becoming a building site in no time at all. They’d have the place levelled soon and there would be no evidence of it ever being a holiday camp.

  ‘Follow my lead,’ Nigel said. ‘I know a lot of these cops - we see them all the time… DCI Summers? It must be serious if you’re here!’

  At last, another woman, Charlotte thought.

  ‘Hi Nigel, good to see that the vultures are here already. We haven’t even moved the victim off-site yet; did you get a tip-off?’

  ‘Now you know I can’t reveal my sources,’ Nigel smiled. ‘This is Charlotte Grayson, by the way. She’s on a work exchange.’

  ‘From a guest house?’ DCI Summers asked, not allowing him to finish.

  ‘You saw the newspaper article too?’ Charlotte said, extending her hand. The DCI took the prompt and shook her hand.

  ‘DCI Kate Summers. Yes, I’m a local copper. I read the paper every week - it’s surprising what you pick up in there. It’s what counts as light reading in my job. So why are you really here?’

  ‘Oh, I just tagged along with Nigel. I’m anxious to know who was hurt. We used to work here many years ago. I know the security guard.’

  ‘Well you might be able to help us with some identification,’ the DCI remarked. ‘His ID was gone when we found him, so we’re still waiting for his security firm to come down and identify him.’

  As she spoke, she saw two uniformed ambulance workers walking down the staircase to the chalet with a stretcher.

  ‘He’s not… he’s not dead, is he?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Please tell me George isn’t dead!’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Present Day - Morecambe

  Charlotte hardly dared look as the medics reached the bottom step and turned to walk in front of them. As they levelled up, she could see that whoever was on that stretcher had a breathing mask over their face. That meant they were alive, surely?

  ‘Do you know him?’ DCI Summers asked, hopeful of a quick resolution.

  Charlotte braced herself and took a proper look. The person on the stretcher had a heavily bandaged head.

  ‘That’s definitely not George,’ Charlotte said, relieved. ‘He’s much younger than George. He can’t have been working last night after we saw him.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ DCI Summers asked.

  Charlotte nodded, a feeling of relief washing over her.

  ‘Okay, we’ll pick up from here,’ she said to the medics. ‘Go and take care of him.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what happened up there?’ Nigel asked.

  ‘Not really,’ DCI Summers replied. ‘It was probably just someone scouting around, seeing what they could steal. It’s an occupational hazard on building sites - it goes with the territory. Whoever it was used more violence than was strictly necessary. That guard took a bad blow to his head. It’s at least a concussion, I’d say. But what’s more worrying is the way they left him up there in one of the rooms. If it wasn’t for the foreman running a tight ship here, they might have assumed those buildings were empty. He’d have died if they’d bulldozed them.’

  ‘Are we on or off the record now, Kate?’ Nigel asked.

  ‘Are we ever really off the record, Nigel?’ she replied.

  Charlotte sensed they liked each other, in spite of the professional rivalry.

  ‘This is on the record, nobody died here, we need to get to the bottom of it. My gut tells me it’s just a case of security guard disturbs thieves who beat him up for doing their job.’

  ‘Thieves? Or a thief?’ Nigel challenged.

  ‘We’re not certain yet,’ DCI Summers continued. ‘We’ll get this area fingerprinted and check the tyre treads in the parking area just outside the gates. I’m not holding out much hope though, not unless the guard can identify his attackers.’

  ‘CCTV?’

  ‘No, not this far out from the town. You can only just get a mobile phone signal out here. It’s a bit of a dead zone on the beach side. I don’t suppose the owners thought it was much of a risk. Besides, they’re levelling the place - I reckon they’ll have it all flattened and cleared in two weeks.’

  Nigel was taking notes in a notepad all the time she was talking. Charlotte noticed his shorthand; she’d seen loops and squiggles like that before. The school secretary used to use it.

  ‘Anything you want me to place in the article?’ Nigel asked. ‘Or is it a Crimestoppers job?’

  ‘Let’s leave it at Crimestoppers for now,’ DCI Summers said. ‘But put my name to it as well. If this turns out to be something different, I wouldn’t mind the calls coming directly into my office.’

  ‘I got your good side!’ came Chris’s voice from behind. Charlotte hadn’t even realised he was there, cataloguing and recording everything that might make the paper.

  ‘Do I have a good side?’ DCI Summers smiled. ‘I’d only just dropped the kids off to school when this call came in. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet!’

  Charlotte smiled and walked over towards the chalet block.

  ‘Don’t go up the stairs please,’ DCI Summers shouted over. ‘We’re not finished up there yet.’

  In the distance, Charlotte’s eye was drawn by the flashing blue lights of the ambulance. They’d save the siren until they hit the traffic, closer to Morecambe. She didn’t envy the security guard the winding journey along the road to Middleton. If the beating didn’t finish him off, the ride might. She was relieved that it wasn’t George. Her mind went back to that night with Bruce, the
fight that they’d had. George had been able to handle himself back then. She wasn’t so sure how he’d fare nowadays. Thank heavens it wasn’t him.

  As Nigel finished off his questions and Chris ravaged the area with his camera, like a locust feeding off images, Charlotte surveyed the scene. The diggers were positioned like predators, ready to reduce their prey down to nothing. DCI Summers was right; they’d have it levelled and cleared in a short time. Good riddance to the place. She had many happy memories from there, but she was pleased to see many of them buried for good, in the past, where they belonged.

  ‘Okay, we’re done here!’ Nigel said. ‘We need to get back to file the story online.’

  ‘Bloody signals are so bad I can’t even send pictures back to the office,’ Chris moaned.

  ‘It’s an internet-enabled camera,’ Nigel remarked. ‘Unfortunately, much of our area isn’t covered, so it’s not a lot of use. How about you take the front seat this time, and I’ll take the back? It might be safer for the upholstery.’

  There was little conversation on the return journey. Nigel was scribbling in the back seat writing out his news copy to file on the website and Chris was letting him get on with it.

  Before long, they were back in Morecambe and Charlotte had been spared a repeat of her earlier humiliation with travel sickness.

  ‘Just let me know if you need any more help,’ Nigel said, keen to get back to the office. ‘But the library is the place to look. That’s where I’d go first.’

  Charlotte checked the time. The library was only a few streets away, so she decided to act on Nigel’s advice immediately. It was modern and airy, set out over one level. She couldn’t recall having gone there on their day visits to Morecambe. Why was that? It seemed to be an obvious place to kill time.

  The library staff were almost too eager to assist her. They assigned her to the local history expert, a man called Jon, who looked as crusty and dusty as the archives he presided over.