HE (The Dartmoor Thrillers)

by George Rufus

  He was back in control of his home and work and he was not going to risk that with a relationship or any changes to his lifestyle.

  Others found this difficult to understand but then they hadn't been in his head and suffered the way he felt he had suffered. His therapist said he had suffered a trauma that would take time to work through but like the John Mayer song, he was good man with a good heart and he'd get through. Reassuring, expensive and a lengthy process but he was back on track and he no longer needed the counselling sessions he felt.

  He caught up on his son’s news while eating supper for the first time that evening, trying to remember that he had to eat later too. Feeling guilty as he left them with a baby sitter, he promised himself that they would have family quality time on the moor tomorrow or at the beach that weekend.

  Driving with some urgency, he realised he was twenty minutes late. He pulled up outside Neil and Jackie's, grabbing the wine and flowers bought earlier, he headed for the front door with some degree of in trepidation as he noticed an unrecognised car on the drive.

  "Greetings gorgeous", said Jackie, as she leant forward to kiss his cheek. Enveloped by the smell of heavy perfume, he nervously stared over her shoulder into the kitchen to survey any new faces that might be about.

  "Come and meet Tessa," grinned Jackie. “Just moved into the renovated barn in Quither,from Exeter. She's a crime writer, you two will have so much in common.

  His stomach dropped into his size twelve shoes, at the thought of an excruciating evening pussy footing around Jackie's mate, Neil arrived with two unopened beers.

  "Doombar or Jail Ale?" He broke the silence. "You can leave your car here mate and get a taxi?"

  He had promised himself not to drink, but after an obvious blind date set up, Rob decided a beer or two might be in order.

  "Come through."

  Rob followed Neil through to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding his head, he bowed down under the wooden door frame and came up to meet the full eye contact of a very attractive, hazel eyed brunette, with a curious smile on her face that immediately gave him a full once over as he stood up to his full height. At six feet four, broad shouldered and light fair hair, with piercing blue eyes, he wasn't oblivious to the looks that he got from the opposite sex, however he felt quite unnerved by the brazen way this woman literally ate up every detail of his body without shame of being caught in the act.

  He suddenly became aware that Jackie was introducing him formally to her friend and he found himself embraced on the cheek. There was no hesitation in her warm greeting and it was accompanied by a pleasant smell and soft touch to his arm that gave him a soft tingling feeling that reminded him of the warmth and femininity he hadn't had in quite a while. A feeling that he hadn't realised he missed, but it left him momentarily wanting more. Softness in the police force was a rarity, a quality you often didn't realise you were without. He felt a little out of sorts and a little vulnerable. He clumsily returned the kiss, felt horribly awkward and immediately turned to his friend to hide his embarrassment and collect his beer.

  "So you are in the police?" Asked the persistent brunette still trying to regain eye contact and start a conversation.

  "Certainly am, twenty four seven, last seventeen years, married to the organisation," blurted out Rob, realising instantly how lame he sounded.

  " Well that's good to know, we can all sleep a little easier knowing how busy you are. Would you like a hand with anything Jackie?"

  With the brisk end to the conversation, Rob busied himself by wandering through to the lounge where Neil was having a sneaky peak at some sport highlights with the television turned low so his wife wouldn't cotton on to his rudeness, as she would call it, with their guests there.

  After five minutes and Rob downing his first pint, to help overcome his embarrassment from earlier, both men were summoned back to the kitchen by the obvious arrival of another couple, Rob remembered meeting vaguely before. A teaching couple from a local school, who had children roughly the same ages as Rob's two boys.

  The three men managed to escape to the garden patio area to admire Neil's new road bike, when they were asked to come back in to join the table for their supper. Rob found himself sandwiched between two of the two women, Jackie and the brunette, who were discussing their joint interest in criminology which is where they had met, while studying the subject at university.

  He thought god help me so loudly in his head, that he was scared he had said it out loud. This is all he needed a night away from the job listening to two amateur sleuths postulating their theories on crime solving. He asked Neil if he'd managed to get tickets for the oncoming World Cup, as a way of saving himself from any crime conversations.

  "So detective, are you involved in any interesting cases at the moment?", asked the pushy brunette, butting in and still devouring him with her eyes.

  "Call me Rob, please, I am not at work," he stammered, feeling ridiculously unable to meet her intrusive stare. He felt bloody stupid, he could eyeball any criminal, but the depth and colour of her eyes and the way they sucked him in, had him more than a little hot under the collar. He was used to knowing when people found him appealing but this was downright lust he sensed. He wasn't that experienced in the realm of interviewing nymphomaniacs but this woman was really unnerving him. He found himself remembering the words of his therapist, when she had helped him through elements of anxiety when he split with his ex. She had said this had nothing to do with him as a man and his sexuality. In fact she had alluded to it being like, getting back on a horse when you been bucked off. Your confidence only returned once you had got back on. Right now, he felt like the hunted much smaller prey, being sized up by a sexual predator.

  "I am afraid I never make it a rule to discuss any aspects of my work socially,"

  God what a pretentious prick he sounded like. The minute he had spoken, he realised for the second time that evening, he had made a total prat of himself and let everyone know in the room just how much on the defensive he was.

  The silence around the table was broken by Jackie passing around dishes of steaming food and Neil asking the other man at the table about his view on the Ashes that summer. Obviously avoiding Rob's opinion in case he made another sensationally stupid conversation slammer.

  Rob attacked the large glass of red wine that had been placed in front of him and shuffled to feel comfortable, saved a little by the lady opposite who had asked after his sons. Her own son attended the same swimming lessons and the penny dropped where he had seen her before. As he thankfully diverted to the safety zone of a non predatory woman and talking about his son, he relaxed aided by the wine but still horribly uncomfortable at the presence of the sensual brunette to his right, who he was to all intents and purposes now ignoring.

  The rest of the meal passed in a blur, helped by copious amounts of wine and laughing way too often at anything remotely funny said by anyone other than the person to his right. The teaching couple had a mountain of funny anecdotes about their school experiences in boarding schools they had worked in, though they were discreet enough not to be drawn in to conversation about their current jobs at the independent boarding school in Tavy. Like all towns gossip always got around and being misquoted was not favourable.

  Everyone at the table likewise had numerous accounts of their own school days, which made the conversation easy going until the inevitable lead into what school friends were doing now and as Rob could have predicted people's relationships.

  " So the hottest girl in my year, that I miserably stalked for at least four years without so much as a grope or a glance, ended up with a female boxer from Bournemouth," threw in Neil, almost swallowing his own tongue as the weight of his subject matter had barely left his mouth.

  Rob picked up his empty glass for an excuse for something to do with himself and Jackie sailed in with a good diversion of a girl in her sixth form who told the sports teacher she feared she'd broken her clitoris during a match. Obviously biology not her stro
ng point, making everyone laugh and giving Rob time to recover some composure. Jackie simultaneously stared at Neil in a withering manner, hoping everyone else had not realised the faux pas.

  An hour later Rob climbed into his taxi, staring bleakly out the window, going through another set of embarrassments from that evening, wondering whether time would ever eradicate his feelings of awkwardness and vulnerability. Also he worried if his friends would always be needing to feel they couldn’t laugh about things openly without causing him grief.

  As he apologised profusely to the babysitter for being late, he glanced at his mobile to check texts. One was from Neil and Jackie, asking him if they could pass on his number to Tessa, as she had asked.

  Bloody hell, no bloody way, were his last thoughts as he fell asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  He entered the pub and without making it obvious, glanced fleetingly in the direction of the table near the men's toilets, where David Hardy sat nursing a pint and his paper. With no present or expected company, the paper was his focus. When the fifty year old teacher got up for a much needed toilet visit five minutes later, no one noticed the young man from the bar finishing his coke in one, follow him in the same direction, slipping something in the remains of his pint, doing a double turn and leaving the pub.

  He waited in the small white caddy van, along the road and waited for closing time. Not long to wait at all. He pulled down his cap and watched as people spilled out the doors, loudly whispering their goodbyes and reminding each other to be considerate to the neighbours. A solitary figure walked with caution towards the van, seemingly negotiating the pavement with difficulty. The man paused to regain his balance and was more than a little unsteady on his feet.

  "Come on you old bastard, a little bit further," angrily muttered the young man in the van.

  He waited with impatience and agitation for the man to stagger past the van, where he slouched down in his seat, cap covering his face. Looking up only to check if anyone else was about. He quietly opened his door, slipped around to the back and opened the double doors. David Hardy didn't look around once. He was trying with the greatest of effort to negotiate his way home. He had no idea why his normal three pints had affected him to this extent. He felt really unwell, confused and as if his limbs belonged to someone else. He kept sending the messages in which direction he wanted to go but his legs and eye focus was all over the place.

  Just as he grappled for a hedge to steady himself he felt a hand roughly over his mouth and an arm wrap itself around his waist with such purpose that he was dragged backwards and became so disorientated, he forgot to fight back. He started to breathe, to gulp air and to use his feet to regain some control over the terrifying chain of events that he was suddenly a part of. His deep however refused to land straight on the ground, they were acted like a clown performing antics and he fell heavily backwards onto a plastic sheet on a cold metal floor, banging his head, causing him to cry out in pain, just as his breath was stifled again by a fierce application of heavy tape across his mouth and the base of his nostrils. The inability to breathe, the disassociated chain of events, totally clouded by an unknown stupor meant he panicked as he had never done before. He cried and thrashed about desperate to breathe, to move and yet more restrictions were happening as his hands were viciously taped behind his back and his ankles bound too.

  His hands throbbed with the tightness of the tape, his ankles agonisingly at an odd angle, felt as if the bones were piercing through the skin. He tried to calm himself. He sobbed. He was so confused. Then he heard the doors of wherever he was close and lock with a clarity that meant he wasn't going anywhere. A minute later, the engine started and he was painfully thrown around, face sideways down as the vehicle moved hastily away.

  His confused state of mind would not clear. The panic kept rising, he felt vomit like lava about to erupt up through his throat and drown him in molten bile. He kept trying to breathe. Kept trying to make some sense of what had just happened and moreover why?

  The driver gripped the wheel until he was out of Whitchurch Down, with very little traffic, he still drove at a moderate pace, not wishing to draw attention to himself. Taking the road through to Pew Tor, he followed a small dirt track leading to a derelict outbuilding. Pulling up, he cut the engine and took stock of what had just done and what he now had to do.

  He relived the deep felt hatred he had for his victim by revisiting some of the worst moments and incidents he had suffered at his hands in his mind. With his batteries recharged and his focus hardened, he grabbed a torch and the heavy duty lock he had brought with home and ventured out into the night. There was a deep dark sky with little light from the moon to see by. He opened the wooden doors on the granite outbuilding, placing the lock on the outside, ready for sealing later. He strode purposely inside to where some rusting, broken farm equipment lay and pulled aside a tarp that lay across some old wooden doors on the floor. He then picked up the doors to reveal a deep grave shaped hole.

  He had no intention of talking to David Hardy now or ever again. Or letting him utter another word either. He was simply going to leave him there to die.

  He would die in a way that terrified him. He had let it known in class once, how claustrophobic he was, so that would be a part of his punishment. He would have no food, no water and very little air. He would have lots of time to think however and to wonder why he was being brought to task. The moor would be the perfect place for paying his dues. Its presence dominated and resided over the town where he had chosen to spite others. David Hardy deserved no explanations, no one would miss him. No one should have to suffer his existence again. More importantly, he could erase his face from the scoreboard. Another step nearer to a clean slate and a new beginning.

  As the fifty year old was dragged from the van barely conscious, he was only aware of the fresh air and the smell of the moor. He loved the moor, it had been a place he had loved to walk on and it made him feel one day he could write poetry about, leaving a legacy of his life to inspire others. In particular, the future generations, who seemed to be starved of a love for great literature. He fell with a thud, after being supported roughly to his final resting place. As his confused mind, realised he was lying on damp, cold, earth, he tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position only to find his back and front hitting solid earth and rock. He was trapped, but worst still in a tight, small and restricted space. The tape across his eyes allowed a little light in at one side once his eyes had readjusted, but he became aware that was partially and then wholly gone as it appeared a heavy lid was placed over him. Panic was beating his desire to sleep again, he was overwhelmed by the hopelessness of this sudden twist of events and he knew that this was it. He was alone, he was not going home. No one knew or even cared where he was. He could be here for a long time or indeed a short time, but he going to be here alone. He was so terrified at the sum total of his life and the way it was going to end, that he sobbed silently, aware of the salty tears running down his face, the warmth of his own urine as he wet himself and for the first time In a long time, he cried for his mother.

  Chapter Eleven

  The team met early Monday morning at Tavistock station, where an incident room had been set up to coordinate the Freda Adolphson murder enquiry. Alongside this, the enquiry into the disappearance of Andrea Sellars was also being investigated by colleagues and a team from Plymouth.

  The chief had opened the rather noisy meeting by going through all the key lines of enquiry being followed and immediate actions in the timeline of events still under scrutiny. His angst at the lack of progress in both cases had everyone feeling his tensions and twitching with a bristling need to get on.

  There were no witnesses to help corroborate all of Ian's story of events and yet with nothing to gain from her death and no concrete proof, he had not been charged formally with anything.Likewise Steve Cranbourne was also under scrutiny as he had been out on call in his truck that night and had exact knowledge of where Freda had
been camping that night.

  Freda's death was caused by a severe blow to the head, it was unlikely she had ever regained consciousness before being thrown in the reservoir.

  Ian Shepherd was staying in the area while investigations continued, albeit not at his original mates address but with a relative. He was cooperating fully with the police despite his obvious frustrations and despair.

  This was a murder investigation with two suspects but no hard evidence as yet. Endless questioning had revealed nothing further. Ian did not waiver from his story of an idyllic day, with his girlfriend that ended so tragically. There was no explanation as to how Freda ended up face down in the reservoir over six hundred yards from where the tent had been pitched, particularly with a sprained ankle and on a clear night.

  Likewise when interviewing Steve's wife, Charlotte Cranbourne, she had begrudgingly backed up the fact that the young couple had been blissfully happy, she had witnessed no rows, no tiffs and no signs of the relationship under a strain. The husband, Steve who had known Ian since secondary school had shown great concern for his friends loss, while his wife was only to glad he had been asked to leave their house and stay elsewhere because she didn't want to have any killers under her roof. She couldn't however substantiate why he might be a killer, her irritation of the man staying in her home was enough.

  Steve, along with his solicitor had proven the timings of his call out to a breakdown that night, which left him little chance to be capable of going to the camping place, albeit he was somewhere in the area.

  The missing young sixteen year old Andrea appeared to have disappeared off the face of the earth. The only possible sighting had been from a couple who contacted police after the national news broadcast, who had been travelling back late through the moor on the road to Sourton and thought they might have had seen her by the side of the road, but didn't stop to pick her up. They had however passed other vehicles which they gave descriptions of and those leads were now being followed up.