The Black Pathway

by Mark C Sutton

  “We’ve also found footprints, Mrs Dunning. Footprints made from a mixture of mud and sand. They’re in, of all places, your brother’s bath-tub.” Advised Tom.

  “Footprints? But surely, they would have just belonged to Alfie?” Mrs Dunning queried.

  “No, I don’t think so. The footprints appear to have come from a pair of soft trainers, the sort of footwear that a young man or woman might use.” Said Tom.

  “Oh, come on, you don’t know that.” Dismissed Mrs Dunning.

  “Well, I’ve got a lot of experience in this sort of area, madam, and I can tell you now… and with a good deal of certainty… those prints do not come from a pair of shoes. Certainly not the sort of shoes that your brother would wear.” Pointed out Detective Grogan.

  “I see.” Mrs Dunning said. “So, do you think that there was an intruder in this house?”

  “Well, if there was, then that would solve another little puzzle that one of my colleagues noticed when looking around your brother’s home a bit earlier.” Replied the detective.

  “What is that, Detective Grogan?” Mrs Dunning asked, curious.

  “A tiny slither of metal. A tiny slither of metal that we found in your brother’s front door lock.” The detective informed her. Carefully, Tom produced a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, before walking across to Mrs Dunning and sitting down next to her on the settee. Tom sat the handkerchief on his open palm, and opened it carefully with his other hand; in the middle of the handkerchief was a small piece of metal. “Do you know what this actually is, Mrs Dunning?” Asked Tom.

  “It looks like part of a paper-clip.” The woman responded.

  “That’s exactly right. I think this was used in order to open the front door of this house, and the little piece here, on my handkerchief, broke off in the lock. I’m guessing that this happened at night, in the dark, and the intruder didn’t notice.” Suggested the detective. “If I’m being perfectly honest with you, Mrs Dunning, I think that your brother might, MIGHT, have been murdered.”

  ***

  Howard Trenton looked out from his bedroom window, across to Alfie Whitehouse’s home, puzzled. What the hell is going on over there? What’s with the two vans that pulled up a few minutes back, and those men inside them, all kitted-out in fucking protective clothing? Why haven’t they taken that old fart’s body out yet? What the fuck is going on? Howard’s curiosity, and anxiety, got the better of him. He left the bedroom, went downstairs, and then out of the front door. Howard walked over to Lucas and Kay, who were still hanging around outside, together with another dozen or so onlookers.

  “Do you know what’s going on in there, Lucas?” Asked Howard, trying not to appear too agitated.

  “Well, some guys pulled up a few…”

  “Yeah, in the vans. I saw that from the bedroom window. Who are they?” Interrupted Howard, eager for answers.

  “I’m not sure, but I think that a couple of them may have been from forensics… or something like that.” Kay informed him.

  “Forensics? What the fuck would forensic examiners be doing in there? I thought that the old… I thought that Mister Whitehouse had died from a heart attack?” Queried Howard, growing increasingly anxious and paranoid.

  “I don’t know, Howard. Maybe it’s just standard procedure…”

  “No, Lucas, it is not just standard fucking procedure.” Snapped Howard Trenton. “You don’t send lab guys, or whatever the fuck they are, into a house where a simple, natural death has occurred.”

  Howard’s cousin wore a look of surprise on his face.

  “Hey, calm down a bit, Howard.” Lucas responded. “I’m sure that we’ll find out what’s going on soon enough.”

  “I’m sorry, Lucas.” Howard apologised. “It’s just that… I don’t like this sort of thing… the thought of something bad happening to Mr Whitehouse.” He tried to explain.

  “What do you mean, Howard?” Asked Kay.

  “Well, you know… if there’s forensic people in his house at the moment, then that tells me that Mister Whitehouse might not have died… from natural causes. Which possibly implies something else… something a lot more sinister. And I don’t like thinking about that, Kay… a poor old man being subjected to… well, who knows?” Bluffed Howard.

  “We don’t know that, Howard. There’s no point working yourself up over something that might not have happened.” Lucas responded.

  “Yeah, well… I can’t help it, Lucas. You know how sensitive I can be sometimes.” Pointed out Howard. I need to know what the fuck is happening inside that house, he thought, at the same time. It was as this thought went through his head, that Howard Trenton happened to glance down the road, and notice two figures approaching, a young man and woman, holding hands. Howard suddenly felt as if his whole gut had been turned upside down, and then violently squeezed, as he recognised the couple; it was Mary. With Alex Crennell.

  Mary and Alex walked up to the crowd gathered outside Alfie Whitehouse’s home. Howard stared at the pair, completely gob-smacked, his heart and head pounding with jealousy.

  “Hi Howard.” Smiled Mary. “Erm… this is my new boyfriend, Alex…”

  “Alex Crennell.” Howard finished Mary’s sentence for her. “Yes, I know who it is.” He said, frostily.

  “How’s it going, Howie?” Grinned Alex. Howard didn't reply.

  “What the fuck’s going on here?” Mary asked, referring to the crowd of people gathered on the pavement.

  “Oh, it’s old Mister Whitehouse. He’s dead. Heart attack, or something.” Replied Howard. Lucas and Kay walked over.

  “Hey, who’s this?” Kay asked her sister, referring to Alex.

  “This is my new boyfriend, Alex.” Beamed Mary. “Alex, this is my sister, Kay, and her husband, Lucas.” She continued.

  “I already know Alex.” Said Lucas, who nodded at his sister-in-law’s new beau, before giving him a frosty look. Alex nodded back at him.

  “Hi Alex!” Kay said, excitedly. She turned to her sister. “Wow, you kept this quiet, sis!”

  “We only met at the weekend.” Explained Mary.

  “Ah, but that explains why you’ve been out every single night this week.” Kay responded.

  “When did you two meet again?” Butted-in Howard.

  “At the weekend, Howard. On Sunday. After our little trip to Hingley.” Mary informed him. Howard felt like a knife had been pushed into him, and then twisted around several times.

  “Oh.” Said Howard. He gave Alex and Mary a quick, poisonous glance, and then slowly walked away, heading further up the road. His heart was racing, and Howard's stomach was completely knotted-up with jealousy. He found a small garden wall to sit on. What the fuck is Mary doing with that clown? I can’t believe this. Of all the people in Coldsleet that she could have ended up with… it just had to be that stupid fucking moron, thought Howard, not noticing the tall, moustached man with a slightly pock-marked face quietly approaching him.

  The man with the moustache sat down next to Howard on the wall, startling the teenager.

  “How’s it going, kid?” Asked the man. Howard stared at him, perplexed.

  “Who are you?” He wanted to know, eyeing the man with suspicion.

  “I’m Tom Grogan. Detective Tom Grogan.” Replied the man. “I’ve been inside Mister Whitehouse’s house for the past two hours… there’s a lot of activity going on… people examining things, gathering evidence… it does my head in, to be honest… all of those people.” Said Tom. He leaned back slightly. “I mean, I know they’re just doing their jobs… we’re all just doing our jobs, aren’t we?” He asked.

  “We are?” Howard replied.

  “Well, I didn’t mean you, obviously.” Said Tom Grogan.

  “No, of course not.” Howard said, with a nervous smile.

  “So, what’s your name, kid?” Detective Grogan wanted to know.

  “Erm, it’s, erm, Howard. Howard Trenton.”

  “Are you a neighbour of Mister Whitehouse, Howard?�
� Quizzed Tom.

  “Yep. I live over the road, with my cousin and his wife.” Answered Howard, his voice shaking slightly.

  “Did you know Mister Whitehouse well, Howard?” Asked the detective.

  “Yeah, I suppose so, you know, to say ‘hello’ to, that sort of thing. He was very friendly with my cousin though. They got on well, always chatting.” Said Howard, but the detective didn’t appear to be listening; he was too busy staring down at Howard’s feet.

  Detective Tom Grogan looked up at Howard.

  “Those are nice hi-tops that you’re wearing, Howard. My son’s got a pair like that, except they’re black, rather than blue.” Said Tom. “I didn't know that you could get them in that colour.” He went on. Howard stared down at his footwear.

  “The blue colour is hard to come by. I had to order them online. They were a limited edition thing.” He explained.

  “They’re really nice though. My son would love a pair in that shade. Hey, Howard, how much did they cost you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Forty nine quid. Plus the delivery costs, obviously.” Answered Howard Trenton.

  “Obviously.” Smiled the detective. “How long have you had them for?” He wanted to know.

  “Oh, not long. A couple of months.” Howard told Tom.

  “And what… are they those… now what do they call them… ‘distressed’ hi-tops?” Queried Tom.

  “‘Distressed’? Ah, you mean like, when you buy them, they’re already a bit worn-looking, dirty, torn? I’ve got some jeans like that… but these? Erm, no. These ones weren’t ‘distressed’ when I bought them. Why do you ask?”

  “I just noticed how well-worn they look. Do you do a lot of walking, Howard?” The detective asked. Alarm bells started to go off inside Howard Trenton’s head. Why does this guy keep asking me about my fucking trainers?

  “I do a lot of walking, yes… hey, I’m sorry, but I need to be getting back home. I’ve got coursework to be catching up on for college.” Said Howard.

  “That’s okay, Howard. You go home, get on with your studies.” Tom smiled. Howard jumped off the wall.

  “Goodbye, Mister Grogan.” Howard nodded. He was just about to walk back across the road, when the detective gently clutched at his arm.

  “Before you leave, Howard, I’d like to share a little secret with you… if you don’t mind.” Said Tom.

  Howard took a deep breath, trying to control his body, which was shaking. Badly.

  “I really have to be off, Mister Grogan.” He said to the policeman, panicked.

  “Of course you do, Howard, but this’ll only take a moment. I just want to tell you something strange.” Replied Tom.

  “What do you mean, ‘strange’?” Responded Howard. Tom Grogan let out a little laugh.

  “We found a set of footprints… in Mister Whitehouse’s bath.” The detective confided. “Now isn’t that just the weirdest thing?”

  “Pardon?” Howard said.

  “A set of footprints. Just as if someone had been standing up, in the bath-tub. And here’s the strange part, Howard. I recognised the pattern on those prints straight away, because my son… his name’s Bernie, by the way, which is short for Bernard… perhaps you know him? Bernie Grogan?”

  “I don’t know anyone called Bernie, sorry.” Snapped Howard, impatiently.

  “Oh, okay. It was just a thought… well, my son, Bernie, he’s like you, Howard. He does a lot of walking. He goes into the mountains and the hills a lot… Bernie is a born rambler. Me, I prefer to stay indoors, relax, watch a bit of soccer on the…”

  “Mister Grogan, I really need to get home.” Said Howard.

  “I know you do, Howard, I know that you do, but just let me finish… Bernie, he goes off rambling a lot, wearing hi-tops, just like yours. And I’m always querying with him if those hi-tops are suitable footwear for trudging over rocks and stuff… I mean, they don’t offer much in the way of ankle protection, do they, Howard?” Asked the detective. Howard rolled his eyes. Please, just shut up about your fucking son’s hi-tops, and just leave me alone, he thought.

  Howard wriggled out from the policeman’s grip, and took a step away from Detective Tom Grogan.

  “I have to go. I’ve got loads to do.” Said Howard.

  “But I haven’t finished yet, Howard. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, my son, Bernie. He wears those hi-tops when he’s out on his walks, and I’m always telling him that he should buy himself a proper pair of hiking boots… but that’s all beside the point. Do you want to know what irritates me about my son, Howard?” Asked Tom.

  “I really haven’t the slightest, sir.” Replied Howard, in a high-pitched, agitated voice.

  “I’ll tell you what irritates me about Bernie. He’s always traipsing mud and grass into the house. He goes off on some walk, comes home, and never wipes his ruddy feet. My wife, Sheila… she’s forever having a go at Bernie for dirtying the kitchen floor with those bloody hi-tops. I have a go at him, too. It’s annoying, Howard, when someone keeps walking in mud, slowly wrecking the carpet… but now, Howard, I’m glad that he did.”

  “You’re glad that he did what?” Asked Howard.

  “I’m glad that Bernie left all of those dirty footprints. And do you know why I’m glad that he did, Howard?” Smiled the detective.

  “No.” Responded the teenager.

  “Because it helped me recognise, straight away, those footprints that were found in Alfie Whitehouse’s bathtub. The pattern that those hi-tops leave… they’re unique, Howard. Unique. As soon as I saw them, I thought to myself, whoever was stood here, they were wearing hi-tops, just like the ones that Bernie wears.” Said Tom. He stood up from the garden wall. “So, that’s what we’re focusing on now, Howard. Those footprints. Footprints that could have come from my own son’s hi-tops. Or yours, come to that. Good night, Howard.” Grinned the detective, before shuffling off back down the road. When Tom Grogan reached Alfie Whitehouse’s front pathway, he glanced back up the road, and smiled at Howard. Then he vanished inside the home of the murdered pensioner.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mary Broderick lay on her bed, next to Alex Crennell.

  “Howard didn’t look too pleased when he saw us walking up the road together.” Smirked Alex.

  “Well, he wouldn’t, would he? I told you that he’s got a huge crush on me, Alex. I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him though.” Mary replied. “He looked really hurt.”

  “Ah, he’ll get over it. Anyway, there’s a rumour going around Elman college that he’s been having it away with one of the staff there.” Revealed Alex.

  “You’re fucking joking?” Asked Mary. She propped herself up, using her elbow, and looked at Alex with interest. “What member of staff? Do you mean one of the tutors?” Mary desperately wanted to know.

  “Nah, it’s the in-house career advisor. Her name is Kate Williams.” Answered Alex.

  “You’re pulling my leg?” Mary responded. Alex laughed.

  “No, I’m not pulling anyone’s leg. By all accounts, Howard and Kate are really close… too close. They’re always in her room together and stuff, and…”

  “What’s she like? Is she young? Old? What’s she like, Alex?” Interrupted Mary.

  “Kate? She just looks like a frumpy, overweight, middle-aged mom.” Alex told her.

  “What? She’s got kids?” Mary asked.

  “No, no, she ain’t got kids, Mary. What I mean is, she looks like one of the mom’s that you get, standing around outside Coldsleet primary school, waiting to pick their kids up. She’s nothing special at all.” Informed Alex. “Kate’s a real plain-Jane.” He added.

  Mary wanted to know more about Kate Williams.

  “This woman… Kate… does she have her hair styled in a bob?” She asked Alex.

  “Yeah, yeah, she does. I think that Kate's a natural blonde, because she’s got this sort of brown-coloured hair, but with fair roots always coming through. Well, I suppose they could be grey roots… but they lo
ok blonde.” Alex laughed. “Her hair is a fucking mess… and so are Kate’s teeth.” He added, as an afterthought.

  “Let me guess. They’re crooked. And she has spider veins on her nose… and a bit of a double chin.” Said Mary. Alex nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah, she does, she does. Hey, how the fuck do you know that?” He asked, puzzled. Mary smiled.

  “Because Howard told me all about her… he never revealed her name, but he listed all of her faults to me, and then said that despite those faults, to him she was the most beautiful woman in the world.” Confided Mary. Now it was Alex’s turn to prop himself up on his elbow.

  “Really? He told you that?” He asked.

  “Yep, a few weeks ago.” Mary Broderick answered.

  “Fucking hell, so it looks like the rumours about Howard and Kate are true then.” Alex said.

  “Not necessarily. Howard didn’t mention anything about… you know, sleeping with this Kate woman… and if he was, then why would Howard be chasing after me at the same time?” Wondered Mary.

  “Because he’s a greedy little bastard, maybe?” Said Alex. He cuddled up to Mary. “And let’s face it, who’d be able to resist you?” Mary playfully pushed Alex away.

  “Aw, get lost, you creep.” She grinned, before pulling at Alex, so that he ended up lying on top of her. Meanwhile, downstairs, Howard Trenton was just retrieving his canvas hi-tops from out of the washing machine, before placing them onto a radiator to dry.

  ***

  Howard sat on his bed, speaking to Kate Williams on a mobile phone.

  “Please, Kate. I could really do with some company tonight.” He pleaded.

  “Howard. I already told you earlier… the other night was a big mistake. It should never have happened.” Replied Kate.

  “Why? Why should it never have happened? I thought that you enjoyed it?” Howard wanted to know.

  “I did enjoy myself, Howard. You know that I did.” Said Kate.

  “Then what’s the fucking problem?” Howard demanded to know.