Timothy Blake was tied securely to the bed, a gag tight across his mouth.
*
Right, bitch; that’s quietened you!
Now, what next? Let’s see… oh yes, I remember! Oh what a good idea! Yes, let’s do that; what a jape! Oh yes, she should fit; if she doesn’t, well, we’ll break a bone or two; after all, it doesn’t matter now, does it?
It doesn’t matter at all!
*
Before the DI could react, Gwilym’s voice called him from the main bedroom. The Welshman had momentarily stayed behind, his attention caught by a small door. Almost invisible, it was flush with the walls and papered with the same old-fashioned wallpaper as the rest of the room. Wondering if it was a small side room or just an alcove he opened the door. Seeing it was, in fact, just an alcove, he started to turn away, intent on re-joining Calderwood. Then his eye was caught by a box file placed neatly on the floor of the small space; or rather, his attention was caught by its label – “Rhymes and Things” – written out in neat, childlike handwriting.
It was after he’d carefully partially opened it, using the tip of a pencil, that he called in Calderwood.
In the meantime, Desmond and Bulmer had joined the DI in the second bedroom, where a quick check confirmed that the prone figure of Timothy was still breathing. Bulmer loosened the ropes that bound him to the bed and, for safety’s sake, turned him onto his side, while Calderwood and Desmond crossed the small landing.
Gwilym, who’d carefully not taken anything out, pointed to the box file, lying on the floor of the small recess. Calderwood, his face now professionally inscrutable, ensured his gloves were fitted correctly before picking the file up and gently fully opening the lid. Inside were a number of what were clearly a child’s exercise books. Attached to the bundle was a short list of what looked like five sets of initials. The fifth set were untouched but the remaining initials had been crossed out. So savagely had this been done, that the lines scoring them out had almost penetrated the cheap paper:
SB
ABR
EDW
EBA
EVG
The blood drained from Desmond and Gwilym’s faces as the fourth set of initials, blazed up at them from the cheap paper. They were followed by two question marks, but then slashed through with the same savage horizontal lines.
‘Those are Mum’s initials,’ Desmond whispered. ‘What the hell has she got to do with all this?’
‘ABR looks as though it refers to Alan Rutherford, his middle name was Bernard,’ Calderwood mused. ‘EDW is almost certainly Emily Wilkinson; her middle name was Doreen. You say EBA is your Mother?’ he queried turning to Desmond. Then who does SB and EVG refer to?’
‘Dear God! SB must be Samuel Blake – her father!’ Desmond whispered. ‘Does that mean…?’ he broke off in horror.
‘And EVG is Ellie Grinton,’ said Gwilym suddenly. ‘Remember how she used to sign notes to parents as EVG?’ he asked turning to his partner. He turned when Desmond didn’t answer to see him frantically using his phone.
‘She’s not answering!’ he said after Eleanor’s phone had rung unanswered several times.
‘You go with Colin; Gwilym and I will go to Miss Grinton’s,’ said Calderwood decisively. ‘If anything’s happening at either one, you’ll need lawful back-up,’ he added, seeing Gwilym’s intention was to go with his partner.
Saying no more, the four raced out to their cars. As they did so, Bulmer called an ambulance to attend the still unconscious figure, and for wider back-up at both Eleanor’s and Ellie’s, whilst Desmond agitatedly kept trying to call his mother.
Giving up trying to phone, and crashing frantically through the gears, he raced his car through the narrow lanes. Fortunately nothing got in his way – the mood he was in it was as well for them. Once in sight of the green, he slowed down.
‘You realise that we should wait for the back-up to arrive,’ murmured Bulmer, as they got out of the car out of sight of the house.
‘Would you, if it was your mother?’ Desmond responded crisply, neither expecting or getting a reply.
They were there to help Eleanor should she need it, not necessarily catch any fleeing perpetrator, so they didn’t bother covering the back of the house. Both stood at the front door as Desmond fumbled with the keys, his fingers suddenly not answering his brain. Bulmer gently took them from him and, quietly opened the heavy door. They stepped into the spacious entrance hall, careful that their feet made no sound on the black and white tiling.
And stood stock still, shocked into immobility.
*
Calderwood and Gwilym left their car out of sight of the small row of pretty terraced cottages, the end one of which had been Ellie Grinton’s home for most of her sixty-odd years.
Pray God it’s not her coffin, the Welshman thought as, seeing no signs of life, they walked quickly up the garden path, flanked by some of Ellie’s much loved flowers.
Their knocks being met only with silence, they followed a small, neatly gravelled, side path round to the back of the little house. Again, their knocks brought no response.
‘I know where she keeps a spare key,’ murmured Gwilym.
Calderwood, unsurprised, sighed inwardly and was making a mental note to have a word with the local crime prevention officer, when he glanced through the small window into the kitchen and his gaze sharpened and his priorities changed.
‘Good – get it quickly!’ he said tersely, in a crisp but calm voice to the startled Gwilym.
Responding to the tone of the younger man’s voice, he quickly reached under one of a row of plant pots lined up neatly next to the back door and got out the key.
‘Put these on,’ instructed Calderwood, passing him a new set of thin rubber gloves and putting on some himself, as Gwilym unlocked the door and they entered the cottage. The Welshman could see that something had alerted the young DI, so he had asked no questions as he’d pulled his gloves on quickly.
As in the previous house, the door led straight into the kitchen, but there the similarity ended. There was no sign of the almost frozen desolation evidenced in the earlier cottage, but quite the reverse; the little room sang with life. The cheerful curtains, with their yellow primrose pattern set against a vibrant green background, perfectly matched the equally cheerful yellow and green of the woodwork throughout the room. The joyful, life-affirming colour theme was carried through into the green of the floor tiles and the cheerful yellow and green of the little table and chairs set into a corner. The whole room was, obviously intended to be set off with a large vase of freshly cut flowers which was on the draining board. The untrimmed flowers lying by its side, though, told them it was a job only half-finished.
Or it would have done if they’d been looking in that direction; but they weren’t.
From the moment they’d entered the room, Calderwood’s eyes had been focused on a large, brightly coloured corner cupboard. He now moved swiftly towards it, picking up a knife from the block on a side unit as he did so.
It was the only implement he could immediately see that stood a chance of slicing through the thick bands of tape fastened securely over every edge and join of the cupboard door, securing it firmly against anything inside getting out - and, of course, they realised later, against any air getting in.
*
Thank God! thought Desmond, weak with relief, even as he exchanged puzzled glances with the DS as they listened to the sounds of voices, interspersed with laughter, coming from the kitchen.
Still moving quietly, they walked more quickly to the small passageway that led to the kitchen. Thankfully the door was slightly open.
Bulmer, reaching round Desmond, pushed it gently open. The two women were engrossed in what they were doing, as they chattered happily together. Dolly was leaning over a table which was piled high with some of the cakes they were baking for the upcoming Coffee Morning. Eleanor was near the door, by the large dresser, reaching down for some dishes. They both looked up in surpris
e as the door opened.
‘Oh hello, darling,’ his mother said, as she straightened up. ‘We didn’t hear you come in. Gossiping too much, I expect,’ she added, turning and smiling at Dolly – whose face told a different story. The younger woman’s polite smile of welcome to Desmond, froze on her lips as she saw Bulmer standing behind him. Whether it was the policeman’s presence or something in Desmond’s manner, they were never sure, but something alerted her and a blaze, wild and feral, ignited in her eyes. In one swift movement she picked up a knife lying on the table and, with a scream of fury, she launched herself at the two men. In a micro-second she was within striking distance, the knife thrust out threateningly within an inch of their chests.
Bulmer reacted swiftly and, avoiding the snarling teeth dangerously near his face, he pushed Desmond to one side and grabbed both her arms, pinioning them to her sides.
But it wasn’t enough.
Such was the strength coursing through her body, the fury boiling away inside her that was, at last, given the light of day, she almost broke free.
Desmond, seeing the DS’s difficulty stepped quickly in to help hold the now shrieking woman. All trace of the gentle, reserved woman was now completely subsumed by a demented, writhing creature spitting hate and obscenity. As he took a grip of her arms, he looked briefly into her eyes – and for the rest of his life, wished that he hadn’t. Even to Gwilym he couldn’t explain exactly what he saw; after all, can someone really see psychic suppuration; see an emotional wound break open and its pus-covered insides pour out in foul-smelling, but longed for, relief? After that fleeting moment, Desmond not merely believed, but knew that one could.
*
Gwilym, after exchanging the briefest of alarmed looks with Calderwood, stood to one side and watched as the younger man slashed through the heavy tape. So thickly had it been layered over the joins that it took several deep, time-consuming cuts along each side of the door’s four sides to cut it all away. Once he’d finished, he reached quickly to the handle to open the door – but it wouldn’t move. Cursing, he realised that it was locked and looked frantically around for the key. Fortunately, Gwilym saw it, placed, mockingly it seemed, on a hook only inches from the cupboard. Swiftly Calderwood unlocked the door; but it still wouldn’t open. They both feared it was the wrong key, but a further hard yank by the DI finally had the door swinging open.
*
Dolly’s strength was super-human. Fighting to keep her from freeing her arms to harm either them or herself, Desmond was conscious of his mother’s white, shocked face and his own fury at her distress.
So loud were the now entirely demented woman’s screams and so savagely was she struggling, that the twin wails of distantly approaching police cars and ambulances could scarcely be heard. It was also moot how much longer the two men would be able to hold her.
That, at least, was Eleanor’s view. So she took action by picking up a large vase and hit the other woman over the head with it. The result was immediate and Dolly collapsed into their arms, silent and safe at last.
‘I’ll let them in, shall I?’ Eleanor asked calmly, hearing the vehicles come to a noisy halt outside the door.
*
Quickly, but carefully, Calderwood opened the cupboard door. As he did so, blood ran out and over his shoes. He ignored it and everything else, his whole attention on the crumpled, bloody form of the little ex-school mistress, crammed into the cramped, airless space. Despite her small size, she’d had to be forced into the limited space between two of the shelves. Her whole frame was bent into an extreme foetal position, her head bent sideways and facing the door, her arms pinned against her chest and her legs crushed up under her chin.
My God! What a way to die, breathed Gwilym silently as he took in the broken bloody form of the little woman he’d known all his life.
Suddenly though, Jenny’s bruised eyelids flickered open and showed her terror.
‘Confirm that the ambulance is now definitely needed,’ Calderwood said over his shoulder to Gwilym, as he reached under the shelf pinning the victim’s head to her chest, speaking soothingly to the badly battered woman as he did so. Reaching gently past her body, firmly wedged under the shelf, he pushed hard against the wooden underside. It didn’t move, so he exerted more pressure and felt it give and, with a small protesting screech, it conceded defeat and Calderwood raised it carefully and lifted it out of the cupboard.
With the pressure on her neck and lungs lessened with the shelf’s removal, Ellie’s very faint, irregular breathing grew a little stronger, but her look of absolute fear and panic didn’t disappear.
‘It’s alright now, Ellie, you’re safe,’ Gwilym said suddenly, stepping from behind Calderwood. He’d realised that she didn’t recognise the young law officer; her statement had been taken, like most others, by Bulmer and his team.
‘Gw… Gwi…? Is that…? Oh! Th… th…!’ She couldn’t say anything more, her bruised mouth made it difficult; the sobs now welling up into her damaged throat, made it impossible.
He reached over and took her hand. ‘We’ll not move you, love. The ambulance is on its way. You’re safe now, your safe,’ he said, his own tears almost blinding him.
*
‘She did what?’ asked Calderwood asked in a resigned tone, sometime later.
Ambulances had taken away both Dolly and Ellie Grinton. Timothy, drugged by Dolly, had come round and had also been ferried to hospital. Crime teams were swarming over both houses and the first pieces were being put together of a picture, that, when complete, would prove to be one of the most shocking to emerge, not just in the county, but across the nation.
‘Hit her over the head with a vase. A coronation vase; it was of great sentimental value, apparently,’ replied Bulmer straight-faced. Having got over his own shock, he was rather enjoying his young superior’s stupefaction. ‘To be honest, guv, I’m glad she did whack her with it. Two of us were finding it all but impossible to hold her, so Mrs BA wasn’t over-reacting.’
‘I didn’t suppose for a minute that she was, but…’ He trailed off. This bloody family. It’d been bad enough last time; now this! Thank heaven I’m leaving in a few months, he thought, before they really do manage to screw up my career entirely.
Chapter 21
‘So come on, tell us then! We’re busting our corsets here,’ said Mollie, who clearly didn’t wear any. ‘And don’t give us any of that bollocks about not repeating gossip, either,’ she added coarsely. ‘It’ll be all over the papers, anyway, when she comes to trial.’
‘If she comes to trial,’ Gwilym responded sombrely. He was well aware that the shrieking, clawing banshee that Dolly had shockingly morphed into was many weeks away from even a preliminary assessment as to whether she’d ever be fit enough to stand trial.
It was ten days after her apprehension and collapse. They were all sitting in the spacious private ward that Eleanor had insisted Ellie be moved into when she was rushed into A & E in Estwich’s large hospital. The police had worked out that she’d been in the cupboard for upwards of two hours and the cramped incarceration had added significantly to the damage the massive injuries themselves had inflicted. If the truth be told, few, if any, of the staff, looking at her broken body and horror-filled eyes, thought she’d ever get to occupy the private room, but, miraculously, she did. It had been touch and go for the first five or six days. During most of that time, Eleanor, taking over from Gwilym, had scarcely left her side. Then Mollie, who had also long been a friend of Ellie’s, hearing about what had happened, had been driven up from Somerset. By her mix of bullying and herself promising to sit with Ellie, she got Eleanor, finally, to go home for short breaks, and then the bedside vigil became more evenly shared. But for every one of the ten days following her attack Ellie had had someone by her bedside, to hold her hand, lift a glass of water to dry lips, or whisper soothing words of love and safety in the darkest of the dark night-time hours
Conscious of what private rooms cost, Mollie had offered
to contribute, but Eleanor re-assured her. ‘Desmond and Gwilym insisted they pay,’ she told her old friend. ‘They flatly refused to let me, despite my assuring them that I could afford it,’ she added.
‘And you let them?’ Mollie asked surprised. She was well aware of her old friend’s flat refusal to take anything off her son, throughout his increasingly prosperous London years, beyond the allowance she’d been reluctantly forced to accept.
‘Yes,’ replied Eleanor.
Mollie, who knew her perhaps better than anyone else left alive, looked at her curiously. Then she realised. ‘Ah! It’s because he’s back, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it’s because he’s back,’ Eleanor had replied simply and didn’t elaborate; she didn’t need to.
‘So get on with it, then!’ Mollie now repeated imperiously, prodding Gwilym with the walking stick she’d reluctantly started to use. Because of the far-reaching effects of Dolly’s unmasking, it was the first time that all five of them had been able to get together. All knew bits of the story, but only Gwilym knew most of what the police had discovered and they had requested that he say nothing until preliminary enquiries and searches had been completed. These now done, he was free to speak – though only to the small group present, and only then on condition they say nothing at all of what they were about to learn.
Gwilym looked round the small gathering. Besides himself and Mollie, there were Eleanor and Desmond, and all four were grouped round Ellie’s bed. Looking across at the elderly victim now, heavily bandaged and still partially sedated, he realised that she still had a long way to go to get back to the active, lively and confident lady they’d all loved and taken for granted for so long.
That she’d survived at all had astounded everyone. The speedy arrival of the medics, with their immensely caring and professional skills had, they knew, played a large part in that survival. Hiding their shock at her ill-treatment and, after ensuring she could still feel her various limbs, they’d gently and carefully lifted her out of the cupboard and placed her on a stretcher. She calmed under their gentle ministrations. The only time she panicked was when they were carrying her out to the ambulance and she lost sight of Gwilym.
The Nursery Rhyme Murders Page 13