by George Rufus
He bent over and grabbed the chains around his wrists and clear of the plastic, he dragged him up the slow gradient of the single pathway. Jesus's journey up the hill to be crucified came to mind. His years of physical labour allowed him to pull the man slowly along, he found himself whistling a tune he often heard Roy whistle and stopped immediately. The vicar attempted to thrash his legs about, putting an extra strain on his arms but he just kept going relentless in his task. He reached the crush area and left the vicar with his head and neck awkwardly placed and with no room for manoeuvre, while he broke into the cabinet for the stun shaped pliers required. As he returned, the sight of the large implement made the vicar's eyes stand out on stalks like a movie he had once seen and he waved them in front of his face to ensure he was suitably aware of what was about to happen. Like an animal, unable to voice his terror and to communicate his need for clemency, the vicar’s eyes were expressing every tremor of emotion they could. There was no exchange of feeling as he then placed the electrodes behind each ear of the holy man and sent a current of electricity suitable for a small pig through the vicar's head. This action added another smell to the fragrance mix, as the man's body convulsed and shook, he released his bodily fluids and the scorched smell of his hair complimented the odour ensemble.
With no time to waste and sticking to his meticulous plan. He attached the chains around his ankles to the winch that allowed him to hoist the man upside down to a ceiling based conveyor belt. Once up, ignoring the thirty second rule applied to the humane slaughter of animals, he waited to see if the vicar would wake. He had given him only a brief stun, so he hoped he would. He waited patiently. He was getting impatient to finish, when at last he slightly stirred. He accepted the vicar would probably feel muddled and he couldn't wait that long, so he removed the sharp filleting knife he had brought with him and with two sharp precise cuts he sliced through his carotid arteries. Blood cascaded from the neat, symmetrical slashes into a glistening pool on the floor below. He watched for a thirty seconds, knowing the man would have repaid his debt within the minute. He removed all traces of his presence with the pressurised hoses, using only gloved hands and keeping the plastic sterile covers on his boots.
He retraced his steps clearing as much as he could see. It had been a different kind of Sunday evening at the abattoir. A different sacrilegious wolfish lamb to the slaughter on the Sabbath.
As he cleaned and splashed around detergents, he found himself strangely whistling Rob's tune again.
As he drove off he reflected on the words that accompanied that tune, he nodded to himself, he was clear of all debts owed and he would indeed now surely be able to look on the bright side of life. So what was niggling him?
Chapter Twenty Eight
By nine o'clock Monday morning, the abattoir had had more police officers and officials walking the runways, than beasts, whether they benefited from Temple Brandon's stress free designed walkway was debatable. The tension was measure able, as once again a despicably gruesome murder had taken place within a fifteen miles radius of Tavistock. There was a despair, that no one was voicing but everyone was carrying around with them like a life sentence. The relief that Steve Crambourne's arrest had alleviated was long forgotten and now tripled. Three vicious unexplained murders, no clear suspects, no tangible motives or evidence to work with. Frustrated, angry exhausted police and yet another media frenzy, with frightened locals, all amounting to unbelievable pressure.
Roy hadn't turned up for work on Monday. Highly unusual. He was a creature of fastidious habit. He always arrived at 6 am, they sorted through the days jobs, tinkered a bit then had breakfast. Roy would always make the tea while he would go to the kitchen and collect two rounds of bacon sandwiches with brown sauce, wrapped in foil to keep them warm. He assumed Roy was ill and went down for his breakfast at the same time, having boiled the kettle already.
"Here we are love, 'spect you are a little lost 'eh, without your buddy?"
No response, though he inwardly cringed, so the kitchen woman gabbled on.
" Mind you none of us are surprised him being off. Came as a nasty shock when he got the letter."
He stood there longer, waiting for her to finish the story. But she returned to fussing around the dishwasher and cussing it for being uncooperative.
He wandered back up to the work shed. As he ate the sandwich and drank his tea, he went back over the night before, the cleaning up operation, the replacing of the thoroughly scrubbed heavy cross in the school chapel. All in all a good nights collection of dues. He washed up his mug, burnt all the stuff he needed to from the day before and got on with the business of the day.
Rob was now again snowed under with work with some staff illness. Kate was also still off and he was still trying to take stock of the gruesome details of the vicar's killing, like everyone else in the force. He felt a very small part of the enormous team now working on the hunt for what the professionals were calling the work of a pathological spree killer. They were still treating Freda's death as potentially separate and there was intense pressure to formally charge Ian with murder but absolutely nothing to prove he did it. He was under such a strain that he was receiving medical help and all questioning had to now be done with the doctors permission. Rob was still convinced that they were wasting time and should focus on other avenues. Just as the day was ending and he was about to leave, he picked up his phone, eager for a distraction of the pleasant kind and sent a message to Tess.
The next morning, when he arrived at work, he found a note on his desk asking him to ring the school where his son had recently played a football match and where Kate and he had visited, checking on vehicle leads from the earlier murders. He found himself talking to the rather pompous well-spoken receptionist who had directed them on the first visit.
“So an employee hasn't turned up for work for the second time and you think it is a police matter?"
He quipped rather abruptly, but her grating highbrow tone was irritating him and the demand on his time.
“We are conscientious employers and felt with all the strange goings on and the fact that this is the first time in eighteen years with this particular ancillary worker had gone AWOL, so as to speak, we should make you aware. Who do you suggest we ring?" she chirped back at him, in a counterattack to his shortness.
"Have you checked his home number, has anyone called around, spooked to next of kin or work colleagues?" Rob asked, trying to leave some of the exasperation out of his voice.
“Officer, he has no next of kin, as far as we are aware, if you are too busy is there anyone else in another department I can speak to!" Her tone now made him realised he was being less than helpful, so he conceded that he would make enquiries, took details of the employee and ended the conversation.he was however now slightly intrigued, as the worker taking an extended weekend was the old maintained ace guy, Roy who had been the topic of conversation on several occasions recently. He resolved to finish up some paperwork and go over to the man's house.
A stop off at the local pasty house, for a decent takeaway coffee and a muffin, en route gave him a chance to check any texts that might have come in. Disappointingly nothing from Tess, but one from Jackie offering to pick up and feed both boys if he needed to work later. He hated accepting the fact that he was palming them off again, but he needed to grab any offers of help that came his way so he texted back to say thank you. He then walked back to his car which was dubiously dumped in a side street illegally and double checked the address where the old guy lived. It was literally two minutes away on the road leading out towards Grenofen, so he pulled up outside the small terraced house and finished his coffee and muffin. While he sat there he noticed how dated the curtains were, but the front garden was meticulously well kept. Everyone else in the row of houses had their rubbish and recycling our except the old man's house. He rather cheekily dumped his empty bag and takeaway coffee cup in the next door neighbour's bin, keeping an eye out to see if he was being watched and walked
up to the front door of number twenty six. He rang the doorbell and waited. He also knocked loudly on the door knocker. No answer to both, so he peered through the front room window, where he saw the same outdated type of three piece suite that matched the curtains. A burgundy swirling mass of flowers covered the suite and clashed with a turquoise seventies styled cheap looking carpet also blazoned with over large flowers, the room was immaculately tidy, with no sign of any disturbance. He peered through the small bronze letterbox, but again saw nothing unusual. He called through the small space his name and asked if anyone was in. No reply.
He decided as there was no obvious way around to the back of the house, to knock on the neighbours doors either side. There was no response at either, so he walked along the street looking for a way around the back, to gain access to the garden or backyard. At the very end of the row, he found the entrance to a back alleyway, with unfortunately no numbers on back gates, so like a peeping Tom he found himself guessing how many houses along he was and then jumping up to look over several gates, until he found the right one. The back gate was locked and so he unceremoniously had to stand on the old guys recycling bin and then shin over the tall red brick wall to get over into the small garden on the other side. When he landed he knocked over a small tub of rather splendid red geraniums sending the dark peaty earth and the plant all over the immaculately swept patio. He looked around for a shovel and broom but as there was no in sight, resolved to pick it up later or apologise for his clumsiness.
The whole garden was extremely well kept and Roy was obviously a keen and able gardener. The patio had numerous pots with highly coloured flowers arranged around its perimeter and the lawn was cut, with neat edges around the stone path running through the middle. On each side along the garden walls were neat, abundantly planted borders, rob thought with shame about the last time he even mowed his lawn or put down weed killer on his pathway.
He walked to the back, down through which he could see the kitchen and found the door locked. Through the small panes of glass in the old wooden style back door, he could see nothing out of place. There was nothing disturbed. No washing or wiping up. By the electric kettle on the side, there was one mug with a teaspoon in it, as if waiting for a drink to be made. His gut feeling was he needed to gain access to the house. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was the similarities to some of the other victims, but he had a bad feeling. Agnes, David and the vicar had all lived alone. He thought about ringing it through to the station.
He used a thick plastic old grow bag, he found in a bin, to put around his hand as he reached through the broken window pane on the door. He has smashed just one pane nearest to the middle of the door, to give him access to the key he could see on the inside of the lock. He managed to turn the lock but cut his arm in the process, swearing under his breath, he opened the door. He called out loud and clear his arrival inside the house, but the only response was an emptiness that made his talking out aloud like that of a crazy man. He listened intently as he walked around each room on the ground floor, he could feel himself tensing every time he entered a new room, as if he expected to come across a gruesome scene that his brain might not comprehend. The entire house was so spick and span, he almost felt he should remove his shoes. He started to climb the stairs his nerves jangling as he trod on a creaky step and then another. There was again nothing out of place and he began to regret his hasty decision to enter the house, until he looked in on the master front bedroom where he found Roy.
He looked asleep. He was as neatly arranged in the bed as the house was tidy. Lying in a pair of blue striped button up pyjamas, which made the grey pallor of his skin seem more pronounced, his head perfectly central on the pillow, arms folded, but most definitely dead!
Rob immediately rang for assistance, being careful not to touch or disturb anything. It was then he noticed the two letters on the bedside cabinet, the glass of water and the pill packets. He stared at the old man's face which whilst dead, looked serene. He walked back down the stairs to open the front door and await the back-up requested.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Picking up the boys a little later than planned, Rob found himself sitting in Jackie's kitchen joining her in a large glass of red wine while all the children watched the end of a film they had started after tea.
While Rob didn't say anything, Jackie could see he'd had a taxing day and so she chatted away about trivia, which he wasn't really listening to but made appropriate facial expressions to anyway. His attention was grabbed when Tess' name came up, she had not responded to his last text.
" So, Nicky and I asked Tess at the book club we all go to, if we could review one of her books for the next read, but she was really funny about it," Jackie rattled on.
"So you've never read any of her stuff?" Rob asked joining in for the first time.
“Of course," Jackie chuckled, " as if we wouldn't. They are good, bit steamy in places, but then what would expect from a femme fatale like Tess."
“I thought she was a crime writer?"
“Rob, so naive honey," she said in a jokingly disapproving way.
At that moment, the children came running into the room all asking for a drink and a snack, despite having been fed well an hour or so earlier and the conversation about Tess ended.
On the way home, Rob found himself wondering if Tess' acts of spontaneity with him were just part of her research for her writing. He again doubted her sincerity in her attentions to him, if that was all he was to her. Most men would probably think he was complete bonkers complaining about a woman practising seduction scenes for her new book on him, but it did make him uneasy and disappointed that it meant she'd simply move on to someone new if and when her current book was finished. Perhaps that's why she hadn't texted him back. Perhaps he was done with, no more use to her.
News of Roy's suicide had reached the school. He was not surprised though everyone else was making a meal out of it. He carried on with his routine, irritated by everyone's focus on him. He was not going to pretend to weep for a person he had worked with for their benefit. It had been the old man's choice to end what had been a miserable life and he could understand that. The only tinge of sympathy he might have felt had long gone after he had seen the pornographic images on the laptop. The old man was probably consumed with guilt with guilt and shame , so he had made a wise decision to go before he was found out.
The same policeman as before had come and spoken to staff to ascertain Roy's state of mind in the time leading up to his fatal overdose. The head reputed the fact that the school had said him a letter two days before forcing his retirement had been the trigger to the poor man's demise, everyone else thought differently. The newspapers had already somehow got hold of the contents a of the suicide note found next to the letter from the school, telling him his services would no longer be needed as he would be retiring after Christmas. So the school was on a damage limitation exercise. When he had spoken to by the policeman, in his own limited to the point fashion he had been required to give answers about Roy as it seems he was the closest thing Roy had to family. He had answered yes or no or been silent. The policeman accepted his limited responses, as if he realised he had nothing else to add. He processed each question slowly and again that was facilitated.He was an expert at not showing his true feelings. Over the years, he had perfected the non-response, even when comments hit a raw spot.
“So could you sum up your relationship with Roy?", the copper asked him, bluntly.
Silence.
"Did you socialise together?" The copper continued. He knew where this was going, but he didn't let on.
"No," he replied in monotone.
"Were you more like father and son, than just work colleagues?"
"No."
“Did you ever meet any of his mates outside of work," the copper persisted.
"No, " he maintained.
The only question that took him by surprise, but he masked it well, was when he was asked if he had realised he was Ro
y's sole beneficiary in his will. He simply said no, but it had taken longer to get out that response than the others. As he had left the policeman said he might need to speak to him again, so should he ring the station with his new address after he left the school. He didn't say anything just nodded.
Roy's death was his own affair and he had his own plans. He had no forwarding address but he might contact the school later if one was needed and he was settled. He would need money and if there was some coming from Roy's will he could use it. He had only saved limited funds from the job and it was going to be used up by relocating and possibly finding his mum.
Rob had found the young man's emotional response to his colleague strange, but as Kate and he had observed before he struck them as having a communication difficulty of some kind so perhaps if any more conversations needed to be had, he could use the support of a registered intermediary. Rob had found the young man's lack of eye contact difficult and he was agitated by a gut feeling of uncertainty. Over a cup of the stations finest instant coffee, after her return to work that day from sick leave, he tried to gauge her feelings.
"My gut feeling is something's not quite right about the whole relationship between the two."
"Who?" Kate responded.