Threadbare

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  Owen rang Park. “As soon as you know anything, Stuart, I need it immediately. Upload too, in case there’s a link we fail to see.”

  Within minutes of hanging up, his phone notified him of another message. It was Cyril. If nothing else it brought a smile to his face.

  ***

  The shop bell rang as the door opened and the familiar smell seemed thick and pungent but also reassuring. The noise from the fish tanks, the sound of air bubbling through water, was relaxing and potentially soporific – the very reason aquaria are to be found in places where human stress may be present; hospital waiting areas, airports and schools. There is something about watching fish to alter the mood. The owner entered from a door behind the counter. Karl turned and smiled.

  “And how is Miss Taylor this fine evening?” He moved away from the tank he had been inspecting and leaned on the counter; finding a space amongst the plethora of merchandise spread in no particular order, from dog treats to wild bird feed, was more difficult than he thought and he pushed boxes to one side.

  She watched with interest before moving the box back. “I’m fine thank you. There is a structure to all this. You might not think so but everything has a place. Hope you’re looking after your menagerie, Karl. Come for your usual feeds and things? You seemed more interested in the fish than usual. Thinking of keeping fish, are we?”

  He let his finger draw circles on the counter as if considering the question. “I’m negotiating with the retirement complex to get a large aquarium installed in one of the lounges. Some of the residents think it’s a good idea. Need to be a bit bigger than these, mind. Maybe one of those that sits in the centre of the room. That would be in keeping with the place. It has to go through committee and Health and Safety raises its ugly head I’m afraid.”

  “Posh!” Joanne chuckled. “Never marked you as a snob, Karl. Would need a floor power unit, couldn’t have people falling over cables. Best to keep things simple if you ask me.”

  “I wouldn’t say posh. I’m lucky to own an apartment in the complex that comprises a mix of accommodation from private to …” he paused. “Let’s say those needing more direct intervention. Comes to us all in time and that time seems to be fast approaching. Being central to town is so convenient and if I want to go on holiday …” He said no more.

  Karl had been coming to the shop in Cold Bath Place since his arrival in Harrogate. Joanne had a broad knowledge of the pets in which she specialised as well as having an outstanding reputation for their welfare. She had weathered many a storm from those who considered her type of store unacceptable in the twenty-first century but she had not let the doubters win. She had developed strong links with her customers as well as local schools and public offices, and had even supplied the local bookshop with a small fish tank, often popping in to ensure all was well. She ran a boarding facility for certain pets, especially those needing specialist care and handling, a service that allowed owners time for holidays and to recover from ill health. Over the past few years she had specialised in the more unusual reptiles to counter the competition from the larger pet stores. So far, her business was surviving.

  “Turn the closed sign on the door, love. I’ve had enough of this day and need a little attention myself.” She winked at him, made minor readjustments to the counter and left the shop.

  Karl smiled as he moved to the door. He turned the sign. Shopping at Joanne’s Small Pet Store he had soon discovered that she enjoyed his company; there was no pressure as they were both single and both had a love of animals. On leaving the front of the shop he put his head into the back room. He looked into each of the various transparent boxes, every one seemingly holding a different small world of its own. Here was an interesting collection, some of the creatures were staying short term whilst others were for sale. Finally he went over to the largest glass tank and admired the python, curled round a large branch. It was an impressive creature. The word Lilith was written on a card and stuck above the tank. He thought for a moment before shouting to Jo. “You have some wonderful specimens, Jo,” he called as he walked round the room.

  Jo, now upstairs in the apartment, shouted her reply. “I bet you say that to all the girls in your life. Are you staying with the ones in the tanks who are safe or are you coming up here to the one who is free and dangerous?”

  Karl said nothing but chuckled before climbing the stairs and in his eagerness found himself taking the first few two at a time.

  ***

  Owen dialled Cyril’s number and waited. The tone seemed so distant and dissimilar to when he called him locally. After four rings Cyril answered. “Thank you for your message. All’s well here.” Owen felt clumsy and uncomfortable, as if he were intruding.

  “Over a week done, Owen. Not the kind of person who can lounge about all day. What’s happening?... And Owen, I want the truth.”

  Owen went over the case as briefly as possible and occasionally reminded his boss that he was supposed to be on his honeymoon and leaving work behind but he was encouraged to reveal all and be questioned about it. Although he was delighted to hear Cyril’s voice, he was angry with himself for calling. He looked at his phone after hanging up. Cyril’s words rang in his head. Find those in the photographs.

  Moving through to the Incident Room he stared at the whiteboard. Sniggy and Nutter. So, who the bloody hell are you two? he whispered, stabbing a finger onto the board. He felt his phone vibrate just before it rang. He immediately thought it might be Cyril and was relieved to see it was Stuart Park.

  “Fitzpatrick has just been in touch. He’s found the notebooks for 1986 and although he had little recollection it was noted in his diaries. George Lyons, Sam Peterson, Bill Hurst and Trevor Bostock.”

  “Bostock, isn’t he the farmer who owned Peterson’s cottage?” Owen suddenly felt excited as he scanned the board looking for the name. “We have a Ted Bostock. What’s the connection?”

  “Only have the names. I’ll start digging tomorrow. We need to know if they’re both still with us and if so, where they’re now living.”

  Owen stretched and checked his watch. He should have been home an hour ago but he felt restless. The conversation with Cyril had unnerved him and he wondered what Cyril would do right now; the Coach and Horses came to mind. Within twenty minutes he was walking down the passageway that linked West Park with Robert Street. Speaking to Cyril had reminded him he needed to check Cyril’s home.

  The pictures of the wedding in the local paper would notify all and sundry that he would be away. Standing in the empty lounge seemed strange. He could understand the term a woman’s touch as Julie had certainly changed what was the bachelor’s home into something special. There was a mix of their furniture, the paintings were displayed with more structure, a better designer’s eye had been cast over everything but the place, as usual, was immaculate. Sitting on the side were some of the gifts they had received but one remained unopened, it was the Herbert Whone painting. Julie wanted it to be a surprise on their return. After a swift check of all the other rooms he was heading back the way he had come. Within minutes he was in The Coach nursing a well-earned pint. It would seem so strange when their new home was ready; Robert Street was synonymous with Bennett. They were undecided as to whether to keep it and rent it or sell. Owen thought they were in the fortunate position to have the choice. He wondered if Hannah might like it but then looked at his beer and shook his head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Karl heard the alarm, a shrill, intermittent noise and he immediately pulled a pillow over his head as his arm stretched to the bedside cabinet to silence it. He could see that the early morning light in thin sharp beams, was piercing the slight gap in the curtains. The side of the bed to his left was empty but still warm and he could still smell her. It was then that he heard the shipping forecast. Why she had this fascination for the bulletin no one knew. As far as he was aware, she had never been to sea nor had she any intention of buying a boat. He doubted whether she had put a toe in the brin
y in the last thirty years but the shipping forecast was a morning ritual. He knew that it was 5.20 and that German Bight had storms. However, where German Bight was located was anyone’s guess. Climbing out of bed he pulled on his trousers and went to the top of the stairs.

  “Morning, Captain. Would you like tea?” He waited for the response. “Jo, are you there?” He moved down the stairs more slowly than he had taken them the previous night. The radio was no longer on. Normally, once the radio went on in a morning it stayed on until the shop opened. The back room appeared to be the same as usual, the dim lights, the few noises from the creatures; the blackout curtain was doing its job changing day to night. He turned and entered the shop. The morning light mixed with the coloured glow from the tanks brought an eeriness that made Karl feel uncomfortable. “Jo, are you here?” He spoke almost in a whisper. He turned to go back. There was now only the store room, but surely she would not be in there at this time in the morning. It was an old, small shipping container out the back and across the small yard. Suddenly the sound of the doorbell rang, followed by the shop door opening. It made Karl jump and he immediately turned to face the door; it was a sound he was least expecting. Jo walked into the shop, her dressing gown wrapped tightly round her.

  “You may well look startled. Did you lock this bloody door last night, like I asked?”

  Karl was nodding before he spoke. “Turned the sign and dropped the latch. I’m sure.”

  “Top and bottom bolt too?” She could tell from his expression that he had not. “It was open this morning, ajar. I’ve done a quick check but there seems to be nothing missing. Someone was obviously in a hurry to climb the stairs last night.” As she spoke, she let the dressing gown fall open exposing her breasts. Karl stared before a smile broke on his lips. “Now, did I hear someone mention tea? Afterwards, Karl, if you’re a good boy, mummy might forgive you!”

  Had she looked carefully she would have seen it, but they had other things on their minds.

  ***

  The farmyard was quiet. He had watched as Bostock loaded the two dogs into the back of the pick-up along with some interlocking aluminium hurdles. There was little finesse as the four sheets were slid along the back until they hit the cab. The dogs bounced excitedly, their heads to the side as the vehicle moved towards the farm entrance. Bostock saw the person walking along the road but paid no attention. The dogs barked momentarily in protest as they passed but were soon relishing the wind brushing their faces and quietened. He leaned on the wall watching Bostock’s pick-up disappear before checking his watch. On time, Belinda Bostock closed the door, checked it was locked and walked to the small four by four. If it was Thursday it was hair day, the one luxury she afforded herself. Strangely, Thursday had been the day Peterson’s Vauxhall had gone missing from the yard but she neither thought about that nor cared. On approaching the gates to the yard, she too noticed the man leaning on the wall and felt a moment’s hesitation as she considered if she’d locked the door. She stopped, climbed out and walked back to check. She had. On her return to the car, the man had gone. She would be about an hour.

  Belinda nipped for a coffee after having her hair done. She had gossiped too much about the police incident and she knew it. Even though she had reassured herself and Ted that she would say nothing about the incident, Franco, her hairdresser had teased it from her. She was disappointed in herself. Ted, however, did not need to know. She collected a paper and some flowers and a large pie for Ted’s lunch. It would be a peace offering of sorts. She had no intention of telling him what she had said and there was little chance of his finding out.

  The rain started as she approached the farm. It was steady at first but then the sky darkened and it came, large drops that turned quickly into a downpour. Her wipers worked hard to clear the screen and she was relieved when she turned into the farmyard. Parking as close to the house as possible, she pulled her jacket over her head and made a dash for the door. Inserting and turning the key, she entered. She quickly checked her hair. It had survived. Moving to the side she took the kettle and approached the sink. Glancing through the net curtains, she dropped the kettle. At the far side of the yard stood the red Vauxhall. It was positioned as it had been before it was taken. “What the …!” She rooted her phone from her bag.

  ***

  The briefing was just that, brief. Owen quickly directed the investigation. They now had two new names but only one address.

  “We have our missing men from the Ripon Race. Two are dead and we can assume the others might follow or might be responsible. It seems that Trevor Bostock is the elder brother of Ted Bostock. He wasn’t a farmer like his father or his brother and it appears he moved away, bit of a scallywag from all accounts. Womaniser and drinker. Fell out with his father over some issue and joined the army. Have his record here.” He slipped one to each person and they glanced through it.

  April read it out. “Belize, Northern Ireland. What did they always advertise? Join the army and see the world.”

  “Where the hell is Belize?” someone asked.

  “Central Americas,” retorted April. “Used to be British. The Queen’s the head of the country.”

  Owen turned to Quinn. “You need to chat with the Bostocks and discover more. Find out where he is now. Take Shakti with you. Hurst is a bit of a problem. We’ve run a check on Quest. We added his name and what we consider might be his physical description and personal features after professionals looked at the photograph but none meets the criteria of age and location. Bit of a long shot if I’m honest.”

  “Desperation, more like,” Quinn shot back, aware the computer database would require a more accurate input.

  “I’ve given Dan Grimshaw the challenge of locating him.”

  As Quinn drove … the call came through to inform them the missing car had suddenly materialised in the exact spot from where it had been taken. CSI had been notified and should arrive at the farm shortly after them. Quinn brought the car to a standstill. The two dogs leapt from the back of the pick-up and came towards them. “Stay where you are Shak.”

  The barking started and Ted Bostock immediately appeared at the door and whistled before gesturing. The dogs were silenced and ran in the direction of the pointing finger. “Stay there!” He walked over and closed the kennel gate before waving to the officers.

  “Sorry, rushed home when the wife phoned about the bloody car. Can you believe it? It’s as if it’s always been there. That’s just where it was. Whoever took it brought it back, otherwise how would they know?”

  “Have you touched it, Mr Bostock?”

  Bostock cringed. He had been asked the same question up at Peterson’s. “I looked through the windows. Had a strange feeling, but touch it? No. Neither has the wife. She locked the kitchen door and wouldn’t open it until I came home.”

  “Can we go inside? We were on our way here for another reason but we received details of the call you made to DS Richmond.”

  “She gave me her card. Thought you’d want to know immediately.”

  “Indeed, Mr Bostock, indeed.” They walked into the kitchen. Belinda Bostock was nursing a mug of tea.

  Both told the story of their morning and it was only when Belinda mentioned the man leaning on the wall and her returning to check the door that Ted seemed to come to life. He explained that he had seen someone walking close to the gate upon leaving fifteen minutes earlier. They shared their impressions of his clothing and height. It was the same man.

  “He was obviously waiting for you both to leave. He couldn’t be in the car as you’d both have noticed. Have you checked the barn and the house?” Shakti asked and watched the worried expression spread across Belinda’s face.

  “No, bloody hell.” Ted looked around the kitchen as if he had suddenly seen someone hiding in one of the cupboards. The dogs started to bark and Quinn stood, leaned on the sink and moved the net curtain. It was the CSI.

  “It’s only our people coming to check over the car. Can we go and look aro
und the barn and the yard for anything unusual?” requested Quinn as he moved towards the door. “My colleague will take a statement from your wife and then we’ll take yours, Mr Bostock, and talk about the reason we were coming out here in the first place.”

  Bostock collected his flat cap from the peg and followed Quinn outside. Immediately the dogs went quiet. The two CSI were already donning their protective clothing in preparation for the task ahead. They would perform a quick but thorough inspection of the Vauxhall in situ before having it removed for a more in-depth investigation should they feel further investigation was necessary.

  Quinn had a quick word before joining Bostock at the entrance to the barn. It had to be said that structure and order were not Bostock’s priorities. Old equipment, bales and sacking seemed to fill most of the space. Bostock pointed to the far wall. A wooden rail containing a number of nails held leather straps, rope and the odd old jacket.

  “The keys. That keyring shouldn’t be there. I found Peterson’s on that nail when you people were round. I gave them to the lass who came before, the lass with you today, DC Misery. She held open a plastic bag and I dropped them in.”

  “Misra, Mr Bostock, DC Misra. We know that those keys held your DNA, that of Peterson and strangely, that of your wife, but no other. When we first spoke with your wife, she said she wasn’t aware of any keys in the barn linked with the car. She informed us that Peterson had just left the car there. However, now we know she knew of the keys, touched the keys. Did she drive the Vauxhall?”

  Bostock lifted his cap and rubbed his head before raising his shoulders. “Maybe we should just go and ask her rather than standing here guessing, not that I bloody know. Why would she? She has her own car and she drives the pick-up.” There was now a tone of defiance, of frustration in his answer. Quinn moved over and inspected the keys. It was obvious that they had not been there long.

  “Come and look around here but touch nothing. Is there anything else you see that wasn’t here the last time you were in or that’s been moved or …” he paused considering what he was going to ask next … “is out of place?”