A Village Not So Green (John Harper Series Book 1)

by Edward Holmes

  A Village Not So Green

  By

  E. J. Holmes

  Text Copyright © 2012 Edward J Holmes

  All Rights Reserved

  To those I owe so much my mother and father

  And to my long suffering muse, Eleanor

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty One

  Chapter Forty Two

  Chapter Forty Three

  Chapter Forty Four

  Chapter Forty Five

  Chapter Forty Six

  Chapter Forty Seven

  Chapter Forty Eight

  Chapter Forty Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty One

  Chapter Fifty Two

  Chapter Fifty Three

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  The weather was to be expected in the summer months of England, lashing down with rain. It was late and Harry Bailey had to be up early as usual to tend to the farm. His estate was a struggle to run singlehandedly but he refused to hire anyone to help. Yet it wasn’t the rain that was keeping him up; he could hear something on his roof. The old house was in need of much repair but the noise was new, not one of the usual groans and creaks of a building of that age.

  Diane, his trusty Jack Russell terrier, was yapping at the foot of his single bed, “Shhh pup, I’m awake,” he stood up and put on a pair of trousers and a jacket as he heard yet another bang, it sounded like footsteps. Shuffling down the stairs, that cracked as loud as his aching joints, he nearly tripped on the dog as she ran ahead of him. Yet again there was a bang. Before stepping out he went to the closet underneath the staircase and picked up his flatcap, a torch and his double barrelled shotgun.

  “I tell you pup, if it’s those boys from the estate I’ll fill ‘em full of shot,” he grumbled as he put his bare feet in the Wellington boots in his porch. Harry loaded the gun and snapped it shut, there was no safety on it.

  He pulled up his collar, switched on the torch and stepped out into the rain. It was rhythmic as it beat down on his hat and on the jacket, soaking through in seconds as he turned around and scanned the roof. The torch flickered over the stone facing, glinting off the windows and disappearing into the night sky. Since he was out of the house, he walked over to the nearest barn having heard yet another noise even over the pounding of the rain. Diane raced out of the house and followed him in, “No girl, back in the house,” he said in a stern voice. The dog stopped and stared up at him, “you heard me, back,” the dog tilted her head and then ran off back into the porch but she sat and starred out at her master, after shaking her coat dry.

  Harry checked three barns in turn but found nothing. He was tired and it was getting far too late for him to still be up with the day he had planned ahead. Thick mud squelched under his feet as he splashed in the shallow puddles forming in the yard, the shotgun and torch now slipping in his grip. The air was warm and humid, the only indication that it was summer. Harry was enjoying the smell of the rain as he neared his porch door, when a shadow emerged from the side.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked recognising the person in front of him, the shotgun raised out of instinct.

  “Just wishing you good night,” the voice said before a large stone came out of the figure’s hand, smacking Harry on head, knocking him unconscious in one motion. The slight man fell to the ground the reflexes in his finger pulling the trigger firing the shotgun into the rain softened dirt yard. The loud discharge did little to wake the farmer though as he lay on the wet mud. The shadow came closer and lifted Harry onto his shoulder with some difficulty before climbing up the set of ladders that had been placed out earlier in the week. They then dropped him back to the ground with a muffled thud splashing the farmers back in mud. Again it was not enough to kill the man, but he was rolled onto his back, dirt running down his face as a hand opened his mouth to the elements; the water cleansing his body as it cleansed the area of evidence.

  Chapter Two

  Another file landed on John Harper’s desk but he refused to raise his head from his hands. A low groan came from him as he rubbed his face, “What now?”

  “CPS said they don’t have enough to get a conviction on the Johnson murder, matey,” Detective Chief Inspector Simon Jones said to him, “One of the Junior silks was running his mouth saying that it would be easier if we’d got a confession out of him.”

  A string of expletives left John’s mouth as he looked up at the overweight man in front of him. The threat of new health standards that the government had planned had yet move him to losing his large gut, one well earned by copious amounts of ale when in his local, “Si remember the good old days when they used to plant bombs at courthouses. Can’t we go back to that? Might rid us of the idiot barristers and solicitors in this city.”

  Jones laughed; both men had been new to the force during the Irish attacks on Manchester but few forgot the devastation the Republicans caused to the people and buildings of the Northern city, “True but there’s enough bloody schools churning out more of bastards than there is plastic explosive to blow them up in this country.”

  “Screw it,” John picked up the folder and was tempted to fling it in the bin but lashed it down on the desk again in a fit of anger, “Kieron Miles, one of life’s great scumbags gets to walk free because I couldn’t get him to admit to killing an eighty year old war veteran. No one is gonna point the finger at that prick on that estate, everyone’s afraid of those youths. But I worked my arse off, I got statements from his idiot mates and found the flaws in their stories; that should be enough to ruin any alibi. I got CCTV footage from the local kebab shop proving he was out, the description matches perfectly and he even had one of the old man’s knives in his house.”

  “Hey you don’t have to convince me buddy, just our peers in the community,” Jones slid his sizable bulk into the well worn chair next to Harper’s desk, his arms struggling on the rests as if he wondered if it would be too tight a fit.

  “Screw them,” John pulled off his tie and flung it in his desk drawer and stood up, running a hand through his short brown hair, “End of the day I did my job I get paid, they have to live with it not me. I’ve got enough work to get through.”

  “That’s the problem, John. I’m getting flack from the Super on this, you aint closing as many cases as you used to and your attitude has been
slipping,” Simon held up his hands, “You’re not getting any younger.”

  “Speak for yourself fatman, you know that I’m as good as any officer in CID doesn’t matter what I’m on I get closes,” Harper said, staring at the man he called friend. He knew it must be difficult for him to say these things but it was hard to hear it as well.

  Biting his lower lip, the Chief countered, “Not at the moment. Take some time off and come back and we can see where we go from here.”

  “You’re shipping me out?”

  “Not at all John, I think you just need some time away to recharge the old batteries and come back fresher,” the look on his jowly face belied the words he said.

  John realised he was still standing, his hands pressed hard onto the desk. It had come out of the blue but he knew something like this would be long overdue, especially with the new guidelines and the new blood coming into the department but with the current shortages he thought he would be safe from pruning. However he thought there may have been more to it than that and he had often spurned the connections that others craved, “Sounds like you’re trying to put me on the slow boat out of here.”

  “Let’s call it a sabbatical. You’ll still be on pay for the time being but get out of the city and all of this and try and relax a little.”

  “With all this,” John said pointing at the files on his desk, “I’ve got too much to do at the moment,” him wanting to do work was the last card he had to try and stay on the job, “There’s active murders I’m chasing down as we speak.”

  Jones fidgeted a little in his chair, “I know what you’ve got and we can cover for the time being. Play ball with me on this one fella. I can tell the Chief you have decided to take some leave and you’ll be better than ever when coming back. Nobody is going to replace you and when you come back this will all be forgotten.”

  “What am I supposed to do man, sit on my arse and put on weight like you? This is total crap, you know this is what I do best.”

  Jones could see the pain on his friends face and was glad it was only the two of them in the office, the rest of the detail out on the streets or home for the night, “You could go on holiday, one of those all inclusive deals. Get a tan, drink some free booze and perv on the bikini clad slice.”

  It was a pleasant thought but John shook his head, “Yeah that’s not creepy a forty something year old man on his own at a resort. Plus I just burn. I need to do this sort of work Si, you remember what I was like before I made detective.”

  He did and although the man in front of him was much older now, he knew Harper had a very addictive personality. Drink, gambling and solving crime had been his vice back then and to a lesser extent now, taking away one would push him towards the others, “You’re not making this any easier for me you know.”

  “Am I supposed to?”

  “I guess not, but there is something I’ve come across that could distract you. It’s not exactly kosher but there is a freelance job I’ve heard about on the grapevine.”

  “Freelance? Some private dick job? I don’t take pictures of cheating spouses, gets me all riled up reminds me of fat bitch,” John said with venom in his voice. His ex-wife had left him for another man she had been seeing for awhile and it had taken a long time for him to recover, he still hated her for that.

  Simon shook his head, the folds of fat wobbling, “No there’s been a death in the village where I grew up, the local units have ruled it as accidental but out of courtesy to an old family friend I said I’d look into it. They’re willing to pay some expenses since they think it is all a little dodgey.”

  “‘A little dodgy’ what do you mean by that?”

  “I don’t have all the details to be honest, like I said I’m just accommodating an old friend in this.”

  John grimaced, “It’s a little out of order going into someone else’s patch and poking your nose in.”

  “That’s why you would be going there off the clock, spend a couple of weeks in the suburbs, it’s not too far from the city that you’ll get too homesick and it’s quiet enough that you can enjoy your time off. By the end of your stay there you can come back and get on with the job hopefully back to the top of your game and at the same time earning me some brownie points with the family.”

  John stood there for moment and thought about his options. He knew he was onto a loser trying to stay, he could take a holiday, sure there were places he wanted to visit but he would not be able to relax with this holding over his head. Sitting at home, or down the local pub or bookies was out of the question otherwise he would fall back into old habits, he was certain of that. Since he had no one to share this new found time with maybe it would be best if he did help out Simon, helping him could only earn him extra credit to be used in the fight to keep his job, “You can fill me in on what you do know then down the Peveril, since you definitely owe me a pint over this.”

  Chapter Three

  Three days had passed since John Harper had been told to go on holiday and it had taken two of them to recover from the hangover that drinking with Simon Jones had induced. Now he drove his well driven but lovingly maintained black Jaguar XJ6 to the idyllic village of Hollingswood, using the directions of the rather aggressively voiced sat nav, “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he mumbled to himself as he picked up a small bookmakers pen and began chewing it, a way to ease his craving for a cigarette.

  His phone began to play the Pina Colada song and he answered it with a swipe activating the handsfree device so as not to break the law, “Yep.”

  “You’re running late John. My aunt expected you there an hour ago,” Simon’s voice came through with a hint of anger over the loudspeaker.

  John rolled his dark blue eyes as he put his foot further down on the accelerator, “I’ll be there soon enough. I meant to ring you earlier. You’d better give me a heads up on what is to be expected there.”

  “What more do you need? I went through it all with you the other night.”

  “I don’t really remember that much,” he admitted before taking a drink from the can of pop in the cup-holder at his side, “All I remember is you said something about an aunt and uncle, some farmer falling off a roof, that there was an independent bookies in the village and there are more pubs than days in the week there.”

  “I despair with you sometimes Johnny boy. You’ll be staying with my relatives. They have their old cottage close to the farm where a local farmer croaked it the other week. Coroner ruled it accidental death that’s all I know about it. Just get there and enjoy your time off but don’t let on you’re old bill, there’s enough of them living in the area as is.”

  “I remember I’m supposed to be a writer or something, having some time away to find inspiration. Speak to you later fatty.”

  “Woah woah hold on, just do me one thing John.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t piss off my aunt and uncle you tosser.”

  The phone went dead and Harper let out a little laugh. He felt more at ease since he was helping his friend. He still felt a little awkward about staying with Jones’s but there was little in the way of accommodation in the area and since it was free it made it all the better. The Jaguar quickly made time on his journey and apart from one small detour where the sat nav tried to take him down a footpath he arrived at their house without much hassle, taking him down a bridleway off the main road through the village.

  A couple came out of the large stone detached manor house, a throwback to the days of local lords as he parked his car on their gravel driveway. The man was in his sixties and unlike his nephew he had a trim physique. Thinning grey hair and a beard of stubble covered his jaw line but a smile was easily visible on his tanned face. His wife was more like the Detective Chief Inspector, but with a little excess weight. Smaller than her husband’s six foot by a few inches she stood with her arm around his back, a little wary of the man who had arrived but still with an accommodating look.

  John wearing a shirt and bl
ue jeans got out of the car and crunched over to the other people. With his hand outstretched he said, “Mr and Mrs Jones?”

  “John Harper, I presume,” the man said shaking his hand, “I’m Peter and my lovely lady wife here is Mary.”

  “Lovely to meet you both, Simon has told me all about you,” John said putting on his best smile, the one he used for interviewing old ladies.

  Mary shook his hand, “I doubt it; Pip has always been a very quiet boy.”

  “Pip?” John raised an eyebrow.,

  Peter laughed, “Just a little nickname we had for Simon when he was growing up. He was a rather weedy little boy,” John tried his best not to laugh at the thought considering his boss’s stature now, “Anyway let me show you to the cottage.”

  “Yes, and after that you have to come round and have dinner with us. I’m cooking a full roast,” Mary said.

  “Thank you very much that sounds lovely,” Mary left to go back into the house and Peter moved over to the car.

  “Follow me; the cottage is just down the lane. Do you have any bags?”

  John opened the boot of his car and pulled out a rucksack and a Gladstone bag, “This is all I’ve got, other than a couple of suits in the back. I tend to travel light.”

  “I take it you don’t expect to be here long then?” the older man said raising an eyebrow as they walked down a side path to the nearby single story cottage.

  Shouldering his bags John looked at the ground aware of its muddy nature and his new Loakes shoes and suppressed a grimace, “I’m just here for a couple of weeks rest and recuperation. If I can get to the bottom of what happened here and put some people’s minds at ease all the better. I know Simon told you what I do, so do you want to tell me about what went on?”

  “I think that would be best, Mary may read a lot of thriller books but she hates the thought that there might be a murderer around here. We should have some time once I’ve shown you the cottage.”

  The house where John would be staying was an old stable building converted over the years by an elderly couple. There were only four rooms in the tiny domicile. A small porch opened up into the main living area, which in turn led through to a quite spacious kitchen with a well stocked pantry. The kitchen itself had a back door that opened onto a well kept garden. A door leading from the living room went to the bedroom, which had just enough room for a double bed, a wardrobe and chest of drawers. Next to the bed, there was a white tiled bathroom with a bath with a shower attachment to save space.