The Overlooker

by Fay Sampson

‘It’s got some wonderful pictures,’ Suzie said. ‘Prints of watercolours. They give you a good idea of what it must have been like growing up in these dales nearly two hundred years ago. Look. There’s a little girl jumping across the stepping stones over the beck. And that one of the village school. But this is the one that really intrigues me.’

  She found the page and turned the book round to show Nick.

  A lean, bespectacled figure with a long beard sat leaning over a workbench in front of a window. He was holding a glass flask of yellow liquid. Strewn around the bench were bundles of herbs. More hung from the beams. The shelves behind him were lined with books and with stoppered bottles of many colours.

  ‘Do you see what it says underneath?’ There was excitement in Suzie’s voice. ‘The Herbalist.’

  Nick stared at it stupidly. He could tell that she was expecting him to respond with surprise and delight. But his anxious mind could make no sense of the picture in front of him.

  ‘The herbalist?’ Suzie persisted. ‘James Bootle? Handloom weaver and medical botanist?’

  The little piece of family history fell into place. Suzie’s work on the censuses of 1851 and 1861. The self-employed weaver put out of work by the Industrial Revolution and reinventing himself as a herbalist.

  Against the background of the sinister goings-on in Hugh Street and the threatening phone call, it seemed far away and unimportant now.

  But he made an effort. ‘That’s great. I couldn’t really picture him before.’

  Millie leaned over the sofa to see. ‘Looks just like Geoffrey Banks to me. Take away the beard.’

  She was right. The bony figure, the head slightly too large for the body, the spectacles slipping forward on his nose, the pale, slightly bulging eyes in the hollow face.

  Suzie looked up in surprise. ‘I never thought of that. And in a way, I suppose it’s the same sort of thing, give or take a century or two. I don’t know exactly what an industrial chemist does, but I suppose it has to do with brewing concoctions of some sort. Just on a bigger scale. The only difference is that James Bootle took up herbalism when his work as a weaver was taken away from him. Poor Geoffrey was a chemist, but there’s no work for him now.’

  ‘And not likely to be, I’m afraid,’ Thelma said. ‘He’s taken it hard.’

  At last they were alone in the small back bedroom. Nick closed the door.

  ‘Right.’ Suzie turned to face him. ‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about? It was that phone call, wasn’t it? You came back indoors looking like death.’

  It was on the tip of Nick’s tongue to deny it. But he took one look at the determination in her hazel eyes and gave in.

  ‘You’re right.’ He told her the threatening message. The order not to contact the police about what they had seen. The warning that accidents could happen to his family.

  Suzie sat down on the bed, as though her legs no longer felt strong enough to support her.

  ‘It was that man, wasn’t it? The one in Hugh Street. The woman we met was clearly terrified of him. And you saw enough to make it clear that something illegal was going on.’

  ‘Enough to resort to death threats?’

  ‘We were only guessing about the sweatshop. Maybe it’s something worse. I don’t know. And even if it is, if he’s that sort of controlling bully, exposing an illegal workshop and getting it closed down would make him really angry. He’d certainly be fined heavily. He might even end up in prison. He’s not going to take that lightly.’

  ‘Of course, it could be a bluff. Just to scare us off.’

  ‘And will it?’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘Nick, we have to decide. Either we report this to the police, both what we saw in Hugh Street and this phone call, or we let cowardice get the upper hand and say nothing.’

  Fear crawled through Nick. He had known all along that telling the police was a clear duty. That Suzie’s sense of justice would demand it. It was another thing to steel his courage to defy that threat. It had not just been levelled at him. It was the danger to his family. To Suzie. Millie.

  He heard again that harsh voice in his ear. Accidents can happen.

  Suzie got up and walked to the window. It was dark outside. Their room faced up the hill, away from the town. Only a few lights glowed in houses higher up.

  Her fingers fiddled with the edge of the curtain. ‘Nick. Don’t you see? There’s something not quite right. This man rang your mobile. He knew your phone number, your name, your architect’s qualifications. How could he find all that out? He only saw us for a couple of minutes. Who is he?’

  He stared at her, speechless. It was not just the shock of what she had said. It was the realization that not once this evening had it occurred to him. The threat had been so immediate, so convincing. He had not dared to ask those questions.

  His mouth felt dry. His voice was like the rustle of paper. ‘I could kick myself. Why didn’t I think of that?’

  Suzie turned back to face him. Her normally rosy face seemed paler than usual. ‘We didn’t have the car with us in Hugh Street. He couldn’t have traced us through the number plate, even if he had access to that information. So how did he learn about you? About us?’

  Nick concentrated on the memory of that unexpected voice. Just half a dozen sentences. There had been something chilling in its harshness in that first question about Nick’s identity, even before he issued his warning.

  ‘I think . . . it may have been someone else. It was a very short call, but I’m not sure it was the same voice as our Mr Harrison. The one who shut the door in my face.’

  ‘So there’s a gang of them. This is getting seriously scary. Ring the police now.’

  Nick hesitated. ‘It’s half past ten. There’ll only be the night staff at the police station. We need to get there first thing in the morning, to talk to someone with sufficient clout.’

  Her eyes were darker now, troubled. ‘I don’t like this. You don’t think he can really know our movements? Where we are now? Whether we do go to the police? I might have thought he was just saying that. Talking big to frighten us. But if he knows so much already, what else does he know about us?’

  They slept that night with Nick’s arm protectively across Suzie.

  SIX

  Nick told Thelma only that they would be going into town in the morning.

  ‘We’ll be up at the hospital to visit Uncle Martin at half past two.’

  ‘I’ve rung the ward. They say he had a good night. He’s looking forward to seeing you.’

  Nick breathed a sigh of relief. In spite of the disturbing events of yesterday evening, he had still found time to worry about his great-uncle. Ninety-three. A major stroke. There was still the possibility – to put it no stronger than that – that another cerebral haemorrhage would put an end to that long life before Nick could get to his bedside.

  ‘I don’t like hospitals,’ Millie said. ‘They smell funny. And there are all those people, like, at death’s door. It just makes me want to turn and run out again.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ Suzie told her. ‘At least, not if you use their disinfectant washes. But that’s more about you not bringing bugs into the hospital as picking them up there. And they put curtains round anyone who’s poorly.’

  ‘Dad is so looking forward to seeing you,’ Thelma said. ‘He’ll be that disappointed if you don’t show up.’

  Millie said nothing more. But Nick had seen the obstinate set of her mouth.

  I hope she isn’t going to play up about it, he thought. I don’t want to leave her behind. After that phone call, I want to keep all my family under my eye. Besides, there’s Uncle Martin. It sounds as though this is really important to him as well.

  ‘Tom’s coming over as well at the end of the week. We’ll have the whole family then,’ Suzie said. ‘I rang him to put him in the picture about Uncle Martin. He says his last lecture finishes at twelve on Fridays. He wasn’t sure which train he’ll be getting, but the station’s near the hos
pital, so we’ve arranged that he’ll meet us there.’

  ‘Little Tom!’ Thelma exclaimed. ‘I remember him from when I came down for your grandfather’s funeral. My Uncle David, as was. It seemed a long way to travel down south in those days. Tom must have been about five. But he had that lovely wavy black hair and blue eyes, just like his dad.’ She smiled across at Nick. ‘I don’t remember Millie, though. She would have been a baby.’

  ‘Yes. We didn’t think it would be a good idea to bring her to the funeral. A neighbour looked after her.’

  ‘I get to miss out on all the exciting things,’ said Millie. ‘Just because I’m the youngest.’

  ‘A funeral’s not exactly what I’d call exciting,’ Thelma reproved her. ‘Especially for someone who’s just said she’s scared of hospitals.’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ Millie muttered.

  She hunched over her toast. This morning she looked more like a moody schoolgirl than the glamorous platinum-blonde young woman Nick was becoming used to. Teenagers. They lived on a roller-coaster of emotions, still discovering hourly who they were, or wanted to be. He smiled across at her, but got no response.

  Nick had his leather jacket in his hand. He was staring out of the back bedroom window, without really noticing what he saw.

  ‘Nick!’ There was a little edge to Suzie’s voice, as though this was not the first time she had said it. ‘We said we’d go to the police station first thing.’

  The present came rushing back to him. He had almost been afraid to leave his phone switched on, in case there was another unsettling call.

  In the clear light of a sunny autumn morning, he began to have doubts. He tried to imagine himself recounting the bizarre events of yesterday to a sceptical police officer. Did they have a stream of nutters coming through the doors with stories as improbable as this? He wondered now how seriously he should have taken that tearful woman, the one occupied house in the boarded-up street, the enigmatic Mr Harrison.

  But it had not just been what had happened in Hugh Street.

  Accidents can happen. To any of your family.

  It was that phone call which had turned a suspicion of lawbreaking, in which the Fewings would be public-spirited people reporting the irregular goings-on they had witnessed, into a far more menacing scenario.

  He heard again that harsh voice and shivered.

  ‘Right!’ he said, sounding brighter than he felt. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  They drove down the precipitously steep hill from High Bank into the town centre. Nick had not wanted to ask Thelma where the police headquarters was. There was no point in alarming her unnecessarily. She had enough on her mind.

  He glanced in the rear-view mirror at Millie. For all her glamorously blonde haircut, the face beneath looked small and childish this morning. He had not warned her about last night’s phone call. Should he?

  Suzie had said, ‘Let’s tell the police first, and see what they advise. If they take it seriously, we’ll probably need to tell Millie. Just so that she’s careful.’

  Neither of them had wanted to discuss just what they imagined might happen.

  Nick drove into an almost empty car park. The town had a dead feel. Too many people who had no jobs to get up for. He saw another man getting out of his car and went across to him.

  ‘Excuse me. Can you tell me where I can find the police station?’

  ‘It’s out of town a bit. Follow the Halifax road and it’s on your right, about half a mile up.’ He pointed.

  ‘So, no friendly blue light in the middle of town,’ Nick said, getting back into the car.

  They found it without difficulty. Modern buildings, with a magistrates’ court. The morning sun lit up the slopes of Skygill Hill beyond it. Nick looked up at it wistfully. ‘We have to find a time to climb that when Tom’s here.’

  ‘It looks a long way up,’ Millie said gloomily. ‘And steep.’

  ‘We can drive up some of the way, and then take the footpath.’ Nick ruffled her hair.

  She squirmed away. ‘Dad! Do you know how long it took to get my hair right this morning?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He sensed the vibes were not right today. He hoped desperately that Millie was not going to be difficult about visiting Uncle Martin in hospital. He told himself it was just a teenage thing. A super-sensitivity, perhaps. She’d be all right when they got there.

  ‘Well then,’ he tried. ‘Let’s get this over.’

  There was a sergeant at the reception desk. Nick cast a questioning look at Suzie. His head jerked fractionally towards Millie.

  Suzie took the hint. ‘Come on,’ she said to Millie. ‘Let’s find a seat over by the window. Dad can tell them about the queer goings-on at Hugh Street.’

  Nick kept his voice low as he addressed the sergeant. ‘I’ve got two things to report. I assume they’re related.’

  He gave a brief account of their visit to his grandparents’ old address, the agitated woman, the glimpse of another in the boarded-up house, the strange behaviour of the man she had called Mr Harrison.

  ‘And then last evening, I got this phone call.’

  ‘Was it the same man, sir?’

  ‘Hard to be certain. It was a very short call before he rang off. But I’d say not.’

  He tried to keep his voice level as he detailed the words of the call as accurately as he could remember them. They still had the power to scare him.‘How the heck did he get my phone number? How did he know who I was?’

  ‘So he threatened you and your family, if you came to us? But you’re here.’

  ‘It seemed like the right thing to do. Whoever it is, I want him caught and stopped. I couldn’t go around with a threat like that hanging over me and not do anything about it.’

  ‘Quite right, sir. Not everyone is as public spirited. Probably it’s nothing. Just some petty felon trying to sound big. But you did right to report it. I’ll put you through to Inspector Heap. If you wouldn’t mind taking a seat.’

  They were kept waiting long enough for some of Nick’s hard-won certainty to seep away. For a while this morning, he had wondered whether the whole thing had been too trivial to take to the police. Now he had other reasons for questioning whether he had really done the right thing. It was not just his own safety at stake.

  Was it possible that something worse was going on at Hugh Street than the illegal sweatshop they had imagined? He struggled to think what. His imagination showed him the closed face of Mr Harrison, barring to the door to the frantic woman.

  But it was the memory of the voice on his mobile that really chilled him. He took the phone out and glanced down at it. No calls, no messages, since then. He put it away again.

  At last the duty sergeant called to them. ‘Inspector Heap will see you now. Down that corridor. Second on the right.’

  Suzie rose to join him. Millie made a movement too, but Suzie put a hand on her shoulder, restraining her.

  ‘Stay here, sweetie. Two’s enough.’

  Nick saw the rebellious jut of Millie’s lip. Too late he wondered again whether they should have taken her into their confidence about the menacing phone call. Still, he could imagine her explosive reaction if he told the inspector about it while she was present. It was better that she stayed where she was until they knew how seriously the police would take it.

  ‘But I’m a witness too!’ she was protesting. ‘I was there when we met that woman with the little boy, wasn’t I? And when that man told her he didn’t know her and practically slammed the door in your face. How do you know I didn’t notice something you two didn’t?’

  ‘If the inspector wants to talk to you as well, I’ll come and fetch you. Promise.’

  He could feel the indignation seething inside her. For a moment, he was afraid it would erupt into a violent scene of teenage tantrums there in the police station foyer. But she glared at both of them and flounced back into her seat.

  They made their way down the corridor the sergeant had indicated. A backward glance sho
wed Nick only Millie’s hunched shoulders and short-cropped blonde hair.

  Detective Inspector Heap’s door was half open. Nick tapped on it.

  ‘Come in.’ She was already rising from behind the desk.

  Mary Heap was a tall, angular woman. She wore a black skirt with a white blouse. Only the red scarf at her neck counteracted the initial impression that she was in police uniform. Her fair hair was drawn back into a chignon.

  ‘Please. Sit down,’ she said when they had introduced themselves.

  She stared at them steadily across the desk. There was something chilling about the light blue eyes. Nick sensed no warm curiosity in her smile. A businesslike woman.

  ‘Sergeant Manners tells me you had a strange encounter yesterday in the Canal Street area. Would you like to tell me about it?’

  Although it had been Nick who had reported it at the desk, the question seemed addressed to Suzie. Nick noticed the little start she gave. She, too, had assumed that he would take the lead.

  She told the detective inspector about their family history quest and their reasons for wanting to find if Hugh Street was still standing. About the unsettling meeting in Canal Street with the woman in the shalwar kameez, who was so visibly upset. How the woman had handed over the little boy and then disappeared down a side street. Finally, she told the detective inspector about the demolished area and then finding Hugh Street still standing but boarded-up, with just this one house that seemed accessible.

  ‘It was the house we were looking for. The one where Nick’s grandmother had lived, before they came south.’

  Inspector Heap’s voice was clipped. ‘It’s not the past I’m interested in, but what’s going on there now.’

  ‘Nick rang the bell, to see if they’d let us look inside. We thought no one was going to answer. Then this man appeared. Sort of peering round the half-open door.’

  ‘Describe him.’

  Suzie looked for help to Nick. He had been the one standing on the doorstep with the closest view.

  ‘Shorter than me. And fleshier. Dark hair, going grey, slicked back. Big brown eyes.’