by Jennie Finch
‘What you looking for then?’ asked one of the waiting PCs. Dave shook his head and kept walking. He’d know it when he saw it.
Alex and Sue decided to take advantage of Garry’s absence and treated themselves to a rare day off. Although her wrist was still plastered, Alex offered to drive, leaving Sue torn between indulging in a decent glass of wine at lunchtime and putting up with Alex’s awful old car. In the end the wine won, but half-way to Street she was regretting her choice.
‘Bloody hell, can’t you take the bends a bit slower?’ she growled as she was thrown against the door and then bounced up and down over a short gravelled patch of road. Alex glanced at her in surprise.
‘Sorry, I’d not realized it was bumpy,’ she said and slowed down slightly. The aging Citroën wallowed over the irregular surface, bobbing and rolling slightly from side to side.
‘I’m getting sea-sick,’ Sue complained, grabbing for the dashboard in an attempt to steady herself.
Alex frowned, concentrating on the narrow road.
‘It’s not that bad. What a fuss.’
‘It’s all right for you,’ snapped Sue. ‘You’ve got the steering wheel to hang on to.’
Her mood improved as they pulled into the large car park behind the factory shop and the sun came out, driving away the last of the drizzle.
‘Shop first,’ said Alex firmly. ‘I’ve seen you in here after a few glasses of wine. On our budgets we need to be a bit more selective in our purchases.’
They spent a happy hour and a half browsing through the huge store, opening boxes and trying on new and unusual shoes. The factory shop was a source of constant delight, though mixed equally with disappointment. Some of the more interesting items were only available in one size – inevitably the wrong one. There were even some shoes only offered in one pair, prototypes or ends of run priced to recover cost. Glancing at her watch, Alex realized she was hungry and it was creeping past lunchtime. Reluctant to leave such a treasure-house, Sue was eventually lured away by the promise of a pub meal and they retired to the Bull’s Arms to gloat over their purchases.
‘I don’t know how you can resist,’ said Sue, eyeing Alex’s one shoe box. ‘And they’re not exactly exotic are they?’
Alex put her desert boots on the floor, hurt by her friend’s remarks.
‘Well, at least I’ll have warm feet,’ she said sulkily. ‘How many pairs of tiny, shiny sandals do you need anyway?’
‘One more than I’ve already got,’ said Sue firmly. ‘Always one more. Can we have pudding?’
They emerged from the pub’s dim interior into a perfect spring afternoon and Alex felt a sudden rush of optimism.
‘I know,’ she said, ‘Let’s go to the seaside!’
‘But there are all these other shoe shops,’ Sue objected. ‘We’ve only been in one so far.’
Loath to spend the rest of the day staring at endless (in her eyes identical) pairs of shoes, Alex decided on a compromise. One more shop, it was agreed. Sue could decide which one, and she had half an hour to browse as she wished.
‘Take it,’ said Alex. ‘It’s the only deal on the table and you know what the buses are like round here.’
Sitting outside on a metal bench, she closed her eyes, enjoying the speckles of gold and red that floated in to her vision. The sounds of the busy road faded away and she felt warm and drowsy, and really quite content.
‘You can’t sleep there,’ came a scandalized voice and she jumped, almost falling off the bench. Lauren was standing in front of her, a wicked grin on her face.
‘Bloody hell, you startled me!’ said Alex. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going out somewhere with Dave.’
A scowl flitted over Lauren’s face and she shook her head angrily.
‘He’s off again, working,’ she said. Somehow she made it sound as if poor old Dave was spending the day cavorting in a sauna with scantily clad ladies of dubious morals.
‘’Um,’ said Alex, as she tried to keep a straight face. ‘Well, he is trying for promotion.’
Lauren gave her a hard stare before turning round and looking back up the road for her brother.
‘Well, Jonny promised we could go get some new shoes,’ she said. ‘There he is,’ and she waved at the figure hurrying towards them from the car park.
‘Try in there,’ suggested Alex, pointing towards the largest shop on the street. ‘Sue’s inside, probably driving all the assistants mad.’
‘That’s Lauren’s speciality,’ said Jonny, puffing slightly as he came to a halt next to them. He flashed her a smile and, not for the first time, Alex was struck by his charm. His easy way and good looks had many of the younger staff in the office sighing over him, much to Lauren’s amusement.
‘Reckon they’s all too dumb to see they is wasting their time,’ she commented one afternoon after watching several juniors on YTS ‘work experience’ flutter around him like anxious butterflies. Now she was tapping her foot with impatience, eager to start spending Jonny’s money again.
‘You coming?’ she asked Alex, who shook her head and settled back on to the bench.
‘I’ve already got some new shoes,’ she said, tapping the box beside her.
Lauren reached out and lifted the lid, peered inside and closed it again without comment.
‘What?’ asked Alex.
Lauren shrugged. ‘Well, at least they’re not boring brown,’ she said. ‘Though I’m not sure Garry’s going to take to that shade of blue.’
‘I knew I should have got the lavender pair,’ said Alex thoughtfully, tucking the box back under her elbow.
Jonny laughed and raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are turning into a bad woman!’
In the end Sue had to be prised out of the shop and Alex eyed the sky anxiously. Although the clouds had gone, the light was already changing as the sun moved towards the horizon and the short early spring day began to draw to a close.
‘I really wanted to go to the sea,’ she said a little sadly.
‘Why not,’ said Lauren cheerily. ‘Let’s go to Brean – is beautiful, the sunset off the sands. Magical to see.’
She turned to Jonny, looking up at him hopefully. Jonny glanced at his watch and she said, ‘Plenty of time for you to get back. You’m not wanted anywhere else until seven. Come on.’
‘I’ll need to get you back home before I head back to Glastonbury,’ he said, looking markedly unenthusiastic.
‘Tell you what,’ said Alex. ‘I’ll run Lauren back if you need to get off. It’s only a few miles past Highpoint – easy.’
‘I don’t know as I should,’ said Jonny, eyeing Alex’s plastered wrist. ‘Are you sure you’re okay to drive with that?’
Alex glared at him and wriggled her fingers through the grey, fraying remains of the plaster.
‘I think is a great idea!’ said Lauren. Come on, you go off ahead and we’ll follow, right Jonny?’ She was off down the street towards the car before anyone could react. With a heavy sigh, Jonny set off after her wondering what he had done to deserve such a stubborn older sister.
Over the rise and down the narrow path, PC Dave Brown was walking slowly and carefully, observing every mark and sign of recent activity. One of the photographers trotted along with him, keeping to one side to avoid damaging any evidence. Occasionally, Dave stopped and indicated a boot print or some bruised grass but the path revealed very little after the overnight rain. The light was beginning to dim with the setting of the sun when they finally reached the entrance to the old peat works. The two men stopped and looked around them, hesitating before entering.
After a few moments Dave moved in to the deserted yard, keeping to the right of the main path that led to the grass surrounding the fenced-off workings. Suddenly he spotted an area of flattened grass, off to the left and near to a clump of willows. Beckoning to the photographer he picked his way over whilst the cameraman adjusted the aperture and focus.
‘Can you get this with and witho
ut the flash?’ Dave asked, pointing to the area where the grass was clearly torn up near the railings. ‘Gives a better idea of the colours and such without, if you can manage it.’
The photographer nodded and leaned over the damaged turf, snapping and adjusting the settings as the sun dropped lower in the sky. Finally he stopped and shook his head regretfully.
‘Sorry, I’ll need to use the flash for the last few. Is too dark now.’
As the flash went off there was a sparkling in the grass, a reflection throwing the light back at them. Dave blinked to clear his sight and gestured to the photographer, then leaned forwards and parted the remaining foliage. Embedded in the mud were pieces of glass and as Dave lifted the largest segment with a gloved hand he realized it looked as if there was blood along one edge. He turned to the photographer and grinned in triumph.
‘Got him!’ he said softly.
Chapter Twelve
Derek Johns had always kept different parts of his life separate. Only his long-time confidant, ‘Big’ Bill Boyd, had been privy to all his business secrets and Bill, sadly, had ultimately proved to be unreliable. With his usual ruthlessness, Derek had disposed of Bill, cutting his throat and leaving the body out on the Levels last summer. Now, back in his safe house in the old cider factory, Derek felt his loss and for the first time experienced a twinge of remorse. Bill had served him well and faithfully for thirty years – from the time they first met at school – and there was no-one Derek had trusted as much as Bill. Derek wandered around the small room that was hidden at the back of the storehouse, once a repository for cartloads of apples, fresh picked and destined for the huge presses on the main factory floor. The air was still faintly scented, even after ten years of abandonment. The ghosts of several generations of workers, those who had dedicated their lives to the perfection of the cider-maker’s art, seemed to wander, aimless, at night, driven by the wind as it whistled through the gaps in the slowly rotting timber walls.
Derek was not a superstitious man but he was beginning to regret his choice of hidey-hole. Apart from the cold, the damp, the draughts and the illusion of movement produced by moonlight shining through the branches of the surrounding trees, he was too close to the peat works for comfort now the coppers had descended in force. Expecting to be able to spy on his rivals and disrupt their operations, he found himself confined to the concealed room with a limited view out over the land behind the building. The outlook over the heath to the emerging nature reserve at Shapwick was stunningly beautiful at dawn and dusk but Derek Johns stared through the grimy slats that concealed the glass from outside, unmoved by the starlings as they swarmed and pirouetted across the golden sky.
His supplies were running low and he contemplated a quick trip out to hunt for something to eat but the cold was starting to affect him, making him lethargic and slowing his responses. He’d cut his hand on the glass from the torch and after a few days it showed no signs of healing. In fact it was still red and very painful. In the dim light he could not see clearly enough to detect the signs of infection and he was so inured to the smell of his own unwashed body he failed to detect the tell-tale scent of decay as the wound began to suppurate. Like a wounded animal, he went to ground. For all his violent temper, Derek Johns could be a patient man and now he waited, still and poised, for the fuss to die down, the coppers to clear out and Tom Monarch to come calling at the peat works down the road.
Alex and Sue rolled in to work on the Monday after their shopping trip feeling remarkably happy and relaxed. The absence of their senior was having a positive effect all round, with smiling faces on the reception desk, short but highly efficient meetings led by Gordon and a new willingness to volunteer for unpopular duties such as the Family Court.
‘All we need now,’ said Sue, standing in front of the glass door leading to the upper corridor and admiring her shoes in the reflection, ‘is for some of this to rub off on the clients.’
‘I wish,’ said Alex ruefully. ‘Still, it’s nice while it lasts. Oh, by the way, I meant to ask you about Simon.’
Sue frowned. ‘What about Simon? Shy, weird, drives that imaginary lorry everywhere – what?’
Alex glanced out of the window and spotted several of her workshop group arriving. They filed in to the hut on the far side of the car park and she was relieved to see Eddie was already there, giving instructions and ushering in the latecomers. She had a few minutes to spare, she decided.
‘Well, how on earth did he end up on probation in the first place?’
Sue dragged her attention away from her new shoes and sighed theatrically. ‘It is one of the most ridiculous stories I’ve ever come across,’ she said, leading the way down the corridor. ‘Honestly, it’s like some stupid farce.’
In her office she rummaged through her filing cabinet and hauled out a large, exceedingly battered manila file. Alex took it gingerly – it looked as if it might fall apart if opened.
‘Do you mind if I have a quick look through?’
‘Knock yourself out,’ said Sue as she floated across to the desk and sank gracefully in to her chair. Pulling a diary out of the top drawer, she lit a cigarette and began flipping through the pages, making a list with her free hand.
Alex sat in the ‘client’ chair opposite and began to sort through the mass of papers. Simon’s fascination with transport in general, and lorries in particular, had started early, she discovered. Social Services had been called in when he was only four. He’d been spotted inside a junk yard, clambering in and out of old, wrecked vehicles. Despite the best efforts of his mother, Simon kept getting out and was repeatedly returned to her care by the owner, a neighbour or, increasingly, the social worker. Things came to a head when he had to be rescued by the Fire Brigade from the top car in a stack of seven precariously balanced vehicles. Simon was removed from his family and placed in a care home for evaluation.
Whatever the authorities had hoped to achieve, it probably wasn’t the terrified, traumatized young man that was the result of several years intensive therapy, foster homes and clinical intervention. Simon stopped speaking and developed a number of autistic patterns of behaviour, especially an aversion to being touched. It was this that finally landed him in court, when he was ‘driving’ his imaginary lorry around an apple orchard, supposedly helping with the harvest. Despite repeated requests to leave (that was the polite version), he continued running round the trees and demanding the pickers move the ladders so he could reverse his trailer into position. Eventually a couple of casual labourers grabbed him by the arms and tried to bundle him out of the gate. In the resulting chaos, Simon managed to break someone’s nose and left several men with black eyes. When the police arrived to arrest the screaming boy he hit one of them too. Bloody hell, thought Alex. Assault, trespass, GBH and resisting arrest. Not to mention hitting a police officer. Simon was lucky he’d not ended up in prison with that lot. Yet there was nothing wilful about any of it.
She slapped the folder down on the desk and stared at Sue.
‘Farce hardly covers it,’ she said. ‘He sounds like some hardened nut-job if you read the offences but actually he was trying to get away because he doesn’t like being touched. He panicked, right?’
Sue nodded but made no comment.
‘He doesn’t understand,’ Alex mused. ‘He’s got no real idea of private land and I think he forgets most of what he’s told almost as soon as he’s heard it. Just runs around in a world of his own, safe inside his lorry. I’ve never had any problems with him. What about you?’
Sue put down her pen and fixed Alex with a bright, hard stare.
‘Just what, exactly, are you after?’ she asked.
Reluctantly, Alex related her run-in with Brian in the day centre, repeating his accusation towards Simon. Sue snorted in disgust.
‘Brian?’ she said. ‘Brian Morris? The toe-rag of the town – that Brian Morris? Why on earth would you believe one word that little shit utters?’
‘He was really angry,’ said Alex.
‘Darren was his friend and he’d just learned he was dead. I don’t think he was lying but I suspect he was telling what he saw as the truth. Simon’s very – suggestible. He has virtually no friends and if someone’s kind to him he’ll do just about anything they want.’
‘Is that what you really think or what you’re hoping?’ Sue asked as she took the file and tried to cram it back in to the cabinet.
‘Bit of both I guess. You’ve got an awful lot of paperwork in there. How many cases are you carrying at the moment?’
Sue pulled the drawer right out and forced the folder back into place with a grunt.
‘Oh, about thirty something – thirty three I think. You’re right though – there does seem to be more in here than usual.’
She closed the top drawer and pulled open the next one down, flicking through the contents.
‘What the hell is all this?’ she said, pulling out a pile of very old, battered folders. Opening one at random, she stared for a moment and then slapped it shut again. ‘Shit.’
‘What?’ Alex asked, reaching for the file. Sue pulled it out of range and shook her head.
‘Oh no, believe me you don’t want to see.’
Alex grabbed the next folder from the pile and opened it, staring at the photograph on the top for a moment before closing it again, putting it on the desk and rubbing her hands on her legs in disgust.
‘Why are you keeping pornography in your filing cabinet?’ she asked.
Driving down unexpectedly from Bristol that week, Max dropped into the Royal Arms for a bite to eat and to see if he could pick up anything interesting from his local contacts. When he walked in through the front door, Marie, who was serving a couple of likely lads with more money than most folk seemed to have at the moment, left by the kitchen door, scooting around the back to alert her husband.
Phil emerged from the cellar where he had been changing a keg and peered over the bar before hurrying out to join her by the cooking range.