by Jennie Finch
Iris watched her son’s face as he puzzled over what she told him.
‘Seems we did a better job of keeping our secret’n we realised,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t ‘a bin so worried if I’d know you had no clue. Don’t get me wrong,’ she added hastily as Newt leaned forward, anger on his face. ‘I never wanted to lie to Derek. He was a decent father to you and Biff, and some nights I wanted to just cry over what’d happened but wasn’t safe. You know what a temper he had. What do you think he’d a done if he’d found out you was someone else’s? There was three of us I was having to protect – was me, and you and yer real dad.’
She dropped her head and stared at the hands, clenched together on her lap. There was genuine anguish in her voice and Newt felt his anger melt away.
‘Must’a bin hard,’ he ventured.
‘Wasn’t easy sometimes,’ Iris conceded. ‘Yer Gran, she said I’d made my choice an’ was only right I stood by it. Set myself to being a good wife to Derek and the best mother I could to you an’ Biff. I wonder sometimes …’ Iris hesitated for an instant. ‘Maybe if I’d not been all roiled up with feeling guilty, mebbe I would’ve been a bit firmer with him – and you boys too. Might ‘a stood up to him more. Maybe this all wouldn’a happened.’
Newt had spent a lot of his time in Dartmoor reliving the events that had brought him to the door of his lonely grey cell and had wondered how much blame he had to take for events. Quite a lot, he’d decided. Biff followed his lead – always had. Newt himself had been proud of his skill at breaking and entering, sure he could continue to outwit the local police and becoming foolish in his over-confidence. The one person he never thought to blame was his mother. She stood apart from the rest of the family and although she had been utterly loyal to her husband and sons, she had not liked their chosen career path.
‘Wasn’t your fault,’ he said. ‘Would’a happened sometime anyway. Was always something wild about our Biff.’
There was a clanging from the doors at the far end of the room and around them families began their farewells, some with tears in their eyes, others with barely concealed relief.
‘Won’t be long now,’ said Newt as he rose to his feet. ‘I’m out in a few months and – Mum?’ She looked at him, eyes searching for the little boy she had sacrificed herself to protect. ‘Will be different. I’m doin’ classes – learning to use a computer, even. Will be better – I promise.’ With a last smile he was gone, swallowed up by the crowd of men that slouched its way through the barred door and back into the belly of the beast that had devoured the rest of her family.
News of the third attack sent the people of Highpoint into a fury. Despite all the efforts of the police, rumours had begun to circulate in the town, each more lurid than the previous, but the impact of this, a confirmed incident, was worse then anyone had anticipated.
‘Seems we got a serious problem on our hands,’ said the Inspector at an emergency briefing. ‘People are scared and they’re angry – not a good combination in my experience. Now, you’ve all got details of this latest incident. Take a moment to read through what we know and then I want any ideas you have. We need to catch this bastard – and fast.’
Dave sat with Sergeant Lynas in the front row. He kept his head down, re-reading the slim folder and studying the map of the three attacks but he could feel the Inspector’s eyes on him. The man had high expectations of all his detectives and Dave knew he had so far failed to impress. His probationary period was trickling away and his big chance was heading home with it.
‘Well?’ There was silence in the detectives’ room, broken by the soft sound of shuffling feet. ‘Come on – anyone? There must be something, however stupid – or obvious.’
Dave lifted his hand tentatively.
‘This is miles from the second attack,’ he said. ‘But not all that far … um, less than two miles from the first one.’ The Inspector regarded him, nodding to show he should continue. ‘Well, they’ve got a couple of things in common. All of the houses are off the main roads. Up footpaths or something similar, and I bet this was the last house in the row, or on its own.’
This time the Inspector nodded in approval. ‘It was actually. How did you know that?’
‘Maybe it’s actually Detective Brown,’ said one of the men behind him. A snort of laughter greeted this witticism, attracting a scowl from Sergeant Lynas.
‘Don’t have time for all of that,’ said Dave easily. ‘Too busy trying to catch myself in the act.’ He glanced back at the Inspector and hurried on with his thoughts.
‘I think they must all be the same person. Same type of behaviour, same disguise, same type of victim and we were very careful about details for the first two so I don’t think this is a copy-cat.’
‘Same hair colour too,’ muttered a colleague, but this time the Inspector silenced the voices with a raised hand.
‘Enough. This is a very serious business and if any one of you thinks it is funny then I suggest you go to see some of the victims. Try talking to them and see just how badly they’ve been affected.’ There was a shamed silence in the room as he continued. ‘These innocent women had been attacked in their own homes. They may never feel safe anywhere ever again. Now, I want the forensic teams out there now looking for any trace, any shred of evidence. You,’ he pointed to Dave. ‘You and Lynas did a good job interviewing the earlier victims so I want you to speak to this …’ He consulted the note from the dispatcher. ‘Miss Bradshaw. Eleanor Bradshaw – she owns a shop in Highpoint apparently. Uniform are there at the house and she should have a WPC with her by now. The rest of you, look for any signs of how he got there and how he got away again. For God’s sake, he’s human – he didn’t fly to Enmore so there should be something.’
‘Yeah, if Uniform haven’t trampled all over the scene,’ said one of the specialist team sourly.
Uniform, in fact, had done very well. The call had gone to Highpoint, Dave’s old station, and the Inspector there had taken charge personally. Both the garden and the lane leading up to the house were marked off with uniformed officers guarding the entrance and trying to ensure only essential personnel used the road. All cars were parked on the main highway and police and forensic teams shuffled along a narrow strip of grass running next to the track, leaving the main access untouched.
‘Don’t know what good it’ll do though,’ said Sergeant Lynas as he peered through the evening gloom at the muddy surface. ‘Look at the state of it!’
The lane was certainly badly churned up, an uneven mix of tyre marks and hoof prints. It had rained the previous evening, Dave remembered. The softened surface could have been the answer to all their problems, yielding just the sign they needed – but once again the one vital piece of information had eluded them.
‘Is them bloody kids,’ said the uniformed PC from his post at the end of the track. ‘Riding them stupid little bikes everywhere. They been up on the Quantocks, tearing up the footpaths and frightening the deer last week. If’n I had my way I’d take them bikes off’a anyone caught doin’ damage.’
‘He lives out by North Petherton,’ said Lynas softly as he and Dave turned away and picked a route up the road. ‘Had a bunch of BMX lads racing down from Kings Cliff and messing up the paths last month. Seems to think they’s second only to skateboarders in major public nuisances!’
Dave grinned but then composed himself, ready for another interview with another potentially traumatised woman. They had to get a breakthrough soon, he thought. The whole thing was getting very nasty and this man, whoever he was, was making the whole of the Avon and Somerset police force look like fools.
Alex started the day in a meeting with one of her least favourite clients. Jake Hollis was a petty thief, a recurring nuisance who had been in trouble in several countries and never seemed to learn from his mistakes. He had been blissfully absent from the area when she arrived but a couple of months ago he had landed on their doorstep following a spate of minor break-ins at local pubs. In his twenties but look
ing at least five years younger, he was tall and thin, a pale, washed-out looking individual. The fact he had an inflated opinion of himself and his abilities did little to endear him to his peers and Alex spent a lot of the time in interviews fighting an urge to reach across the desk and slap him.
‘How are you getting on at the workshop?’ she asked.
Jake managed a sneer as he flicked at a microscopic speck of dust on his sleeve. ‘They are mainly morons,’ he said. ‘Apart from the two cretins and the bully.’
Alex waited but it seemed that was all he had to say on the subject.
‘The foreman – uh.’ She searched through her notes but could not find the man’s name. ‘He speaks very highly of you. He says you’re one of his best workers and they might have a full-time job for you at the end of your placement.’
Jake looked suitably unimpressed by this news. A lot of her probationers would view this as a way out of their problems, a chance to start again and work towards a better life. Jake, by contrast, thought he was far too good for the Community Programme in the first place. By the time he finished his year he would certainly be above working next to unskilled, underpaid young men – young men just like himself.
‘I shouldn’t even be here,’ said Jake angrily. ‘There was a big misunderstanding in Rotterdam and the Dutch police were just looking for someone to blame. Picking on the foreign workers, as usual. I was completely innocent and they had no right to do what they did.’
‘Deport you once you had completed your sentence,’ murmured Alex glancing back at the file in front of her. ‘Well, unfortunately as a convicted criminal, they had every right. And sadly for us, that means you are our problem now.’ That was, she realised, rather less supportive than it should be but there was something odd about Jake, something unpleasant that set her on edge.
‘It is a complete waste of my intelligence,’ said Jake, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair.
His fingernails were bitten, Alex noted. The sight of those torn, red hands turned her stomach and she looked away.
‘Perhaps you should look at one of the apprenticeships?’ she suggested.
‘Modern-day serfdom,’ said Jake. ‘Why should I work for years, for a pittance?’
Because you might learn something, thought Alex. Like a valuable skill, or perhaps some manners. She studied the file in front of her, avoiding the sight of Jake staring out of the window, for as long as possible. Finally she closed the folder and pushed it away in disgust.
‘You have almost a year of your order to run,’ she said. ‘This includes another six months in the hostel.’
Jake shifted in his chair and turned his head to glare at his probation officer.
‘I don’t like it at the hostel,’ he said.
There’s a surprise, Alex thought. She waited, hoping to force something further from the young man before her. Despite all the meetings and the reports in the file, she still knew hardly anything about him and that worried her. The pause stretched into a silence, a wordless contest between them. Alex forced herself to sit absolutely still, a slight smile on her face as she waited. Finally Jake looked away, the fingers of his left hand drumming a rapid tattoo on the desk and Alex tried not to let out her satisfied smile.
‘Unless the court decide to reduce your order – and that is such a rare occurrence I don’t know why I even mentioned it – you have to stay there and work where directed until your time is up,’ she said.
Jake glared at her. ‘You can change it,’ he said. ‘I know you can. You did something for that loser Kevin Mallory so he could go off with the Fair.’
Alex blinked at him. ‘Where did you hear that?’ she asked.
‘Everyone knows,’ Jake sneered. ‘It’s all round the hostel. So what do I have to do before you help me like that?’
Alex felt an awful rush of apprehension as she looked at his smug face.
‘Your favourite little criminal,’ Jake sneered. ‘Back last week, lording it around the place with money in his pocket – for doing nothing. Just hanging around the Fair. How did he get that then?’
Alex was not about to discuss another client with this man, but she did need to stop any further gossip about Kevin. An accusation of favouritism could be disastrous, especially now, with a new senior arriving in the next few weeks. And it wouldn’t do Kevin much good either.
‘Every client is entitled to confidentiality,’ she said firmly. ‘Mr Mallory is fulfilling his obligations and keeping to the conditions of his probation order. I would suggest you focus on your own situation as a good employment record and success under the hostel regime will stand you in good stead in the future.’ God, I sound pompous, she thought.
For a moment it seemed Jake was going to answer her back – or worse – but he just shrugged his thin shoulders and looked away again.
Alex felt compelled to offer him something. She wasn’t going to help him leave the hostel and she didn’t trust him, but her job was still to assist his rehabilitation, despite the changes outlined in the new Criminal Justice Act that was going through parliament. Perhaps, she thought, he might find one of the new groups at the day centre more to his liking than the workshop evening.
‘I’m starting a photography group in a couple of weeks,’ she said. ‘You might like to transfer on to that. The workshop is a bit basic for you I know and it must get boring, doing the same thing all day and then during the evening too.’
‘You don’t want me on the raft race team then?’ asked Jake.
Alex had forgotten about the raft race. Or, to be more accurate, had deliberately pushed it from her mind. Press-ganged into the team last year to make up the numbers, she had experienced some of the most terrifying hours of her life as the home-made raft wallowed and ploughed its way around the coast from Watchet to Minehead, only to almost sink a few hundred yards from the safety of the quay. Alex had gone overboard and almost drowned when her life jacket, sabotaged by Newt’s deranged father, had failed. It was not an experience she was eager to repeat.
‘Of course you should stay with the workshop team if you want to do the raft race,’ she said. ‘It’s quite an experience. Still, there are other groups you are welcome to try as well if you like.’
Jake shrugged again and she gave up the unequal fight.
‘Well, let me know about the job next week,’ she said gathering her notes together. ‘I’ll have a list of the new groups for you to look over then.’
When he was gone she riffled through the file but a glance at her watch reminded her the Monday auction was due to start in less than an hour and she needed to speak to the little band of clients who would be accompanying her before they set off for the sale. Notes on Jake Hollis would have to wait for a few hours she thought as she left her dictaphone in the desk drawer. Locking the office door behind her, she thought of all the other notes she needed to bring up to date. The paperwork was getting seriously out of hand again and she’d probably be back in the office over the next weekend, scrambling to catch up.
There was a babble of voices from Reception and Alex hurried through the day centre to meet her charges before they caused too much disruption.
Chapter Twelve
Despite her initial misgivings, Ada was looking forward to the arrival of her first goat. That morning she rose early and was hovering in the garden, ears tuned to the sounds of approaching vehicles long before Tom’s battered van appeared round the bend from Middlezoy dragging a small horse box.
‘What-ho, Ada,’ Tom called cheerily as he swung the vehicle up next to the hedge and killed the engine. Ada hurried down the path, stopping just shy of the garden gate to sniff the air.
‘What you been driving through, Tom?’ she said. ‘Smells awful.’
Tom kept his back to her as he fiddled with the trailer door. ‘Well now,’ he said over his shoulder as the ramp fell down with a loud thud. ‘I don’t rightly know.’
As he reached into the vehicle and hauled at his passenger the smell intensi
fied and as the goat emerged the stench seemed to roll around her, acrid and all enveloping. Ada stepped back, flapping her hands in front of her face in a vain effort to dispel the horrible scent.
‘What in all holy hell is that?’ she demanded, eyes fixed on the animal standing next to Tom, its twisted horns splayed up and out from its head and its strange golden eyes regarding her with intense curiosity – or malevolence. It was hard to tell which, thought Ada, what with them slitted pupils. She had been expecting a neat, fawn coloured animal with a white beard and fox-like head not this huge, shaggy beast with a long nose and ears hanging down the sides of its face.
Tom stroked the animal’s nose gently and the goat shook its head, chewing reflectively whilst never taking its eyes off Ada.
‘He’s an Anglo-Nubian,’ said Tom. ‘Looks a bit frightening at first but is a real softy underneath. Come and say hello.’ He began to lead the goat through the gate but Ada back off as the aroma washed over her again.
‘What about that smell?’ she persisted.
Tom grinned, looking a bit sheepish.
‘Well now, they is stud animals and so – well, they wee on their heads. Makes them more attractive to the lady goats, so I hear.’ He rubbed the animal’s nose again, taking care to avoid the top of its head.
Ada was astonished by this information.
‘What, they wee on one another?’ she asked after a moment.
‘No,’ said Tom. ‘On their own heads. Very flexible and agile animals is goats.’ He tugged at the halter gently and the goat clattered obediently down the narrow brick path behind him, stopping for an instant to nibble delicately at Ada’s washing line.
‘Come on Marmaduke,’ said Tom firmly as he guided the goat between the neatly planted beds and into the fenced-off area beyond.
‘What did you call it?’ asked Ada.
‘Well, Bob, he calls him Marmaduke. ’Cos he’s a bit lanky and clumsy like that cartoon dog, I think.’