Threadbare

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  “She’s downstairs. Although she’s not the instigator of this series of deaths she feels as though she’s the catalyst.”

  Cyril sipped from his cup, his eyes not leaving April’s. If truth be known he was not surprised but asked, “How’s that? Before you explain, let me tell you that Leslie has just killed Bostock and then shot himself. Both are well and truly dead.”

  “Bloody mess it was too,” added Owen.

  “A year ago, Penny met Karl. They were walking back from town. Leonard was with her but he seemed to take a liking to Karl. Karl was walking a friend’s dog, something he did at that time and he allowed Leonard to stroke it and throw the ball. Anyway, she invited him to tea and then he’d call when Leonard was in bed.”

  “Sex?” Owen said. Both April and Cyril turned and looked at him.

  “I asked that, Owen, but in a more, shall we say, a more subtle way. The answer was no, well not initially. However, from being a lifelong carer to being with someone who cared turned the tables even though she knew that Karl was in a relationship with Jo from the pet shop. She told me she felt his relationship with her was strong and that she was disappointed. She had hoped she might have found a man who thought her attractive, saw her as a woman and importantly, Leonard’s mother. However, although she realised that she had found an occasional lover, she was convinced she had found a true friend. As time went on, they talked about their past lives. It was then they realised that they had a mutual acquaintance.” She paused and as if on cue both Owen and Cyril said the name.

  “Trevor Bostock.”

  April nodded. “Apparently, when they were in Belize, Karl saw the true side of Trevor and they soon fell out. On meeting Penny and hearing her story he discovered other things. People talked in the shop about animal rights and animal support. Jo was very anti-blood sports and Karl tagged along. I’ve had someone call at Bostock’s farm with a photograph of Karl taken at Leonard’s party and Mrs Bostock can confirm that it was he who called at the farm regarding Peterson. It was him she identified at the hunt. But it wasn’t Leslie who suggested retribution, it was Penny Ross. She wanted to teach Trevor Bostock a lesson, she wanted him broken and scared and so they plotted. The photograph from the Ripon races was the starting point.”

  “How did that work?” Owen asked.

  “The evening of the races was the night Trevor met Penny. He’d had a good day and was splashing the cash. He got her drunk and they … well. Anyway, the next day, he showed her the photograph and because she thought he loved her she kept the paper and she’s had it ever since.” April took out a transparent sealed envelope in which the news cutting was preserved. “Someone has written the names around the side, obviously, him. Here faintly you can see he has written To Penny, then were added: Lyons, Peterson, Humphrey and me. There was also the word Hurst written beneath Humphrey in a different hand.”

  “She showed this to Karl Leslie?”

  “Karl said he should pay and so he did his research and found out about each man’s past and began to weave each to the other.”

  “The snake, the one that killed Lyons. Did he own that?”

  “No, but I think I know who did.”

  “Jo?”

  “We’ll soon know.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cyril moved to an interview room and both the police doctor and April sat in. April cautioned Penny explaining that she was under oath but at that moment she was not under arrest.

  “Ms Ross.” Cyril spoke quietly. “My name is DCI Bennett.” Both his hands were clasped on the table. Penny looked up and stared him directly in the eye. He introduced April.

  “I have some more bad news for you I’m afraid. Karl Leslie killed himself this morning.” He deliberately did not mention Bostock. Penny’s facial expression did not change. Cyril waited.

  “Did he kill that bastard … Leonard’s father, Trevor Bostock?” Her eyes were cold but optimistic.

  Cyril looked at April and then at the doctor.

  “If Karl is dead then I know he’s done it. He has fulfilled what we set out to do. We set out to find and trap Bostock, that’s all I wanted. Karl wanted the others too, for the animals, to make a stand for Jo.”

  “What about Leonard?”

  Penny smiled. “Planned, we planned it together. He would get what he wanted and I … Leonard had suffered enough. What would happen to him when I couldn’t care for him any more? He’d been getting more difficult year on year.”

  Cyril saw a deepening, callous coldness grow in her eyes, as if the words were coming from elsewhere, an emptiness magnified as if now she had succeeded, she had erased the errors of the past or at least smudged them until they were illegible. He looked at her without blinking. There was more written in her eyes than he could read but he had seen the look before when he had interviewed killers. Was she the catalyst, had she manipulated the whole spree? Had Karl been coerced and if so for what?

  “I loved that boy, so much so I sacrificed my life for him. Can you imagine the life I’ve had because I opened my legs when I was but a child? It might be classed as rape today but then? I was a silly girl. The man was always right. He could lie better and boys will be boys in a man’s world. No. It’s beyond anyone’s comprehension. When your parents don’t want you, you live from hand to mouth. You crawl your way up being respectful but at the same time being rebuffed because you had a bastard child who was different from the rest. Tolerance is a rare commodity in today’s world but this was more than thirty years ago. Bostock beguiled me. I remember this quote, ‘To beguile is to deceive or lead astray, as Lucifer beguiled Eve in the Garden of Eden.’”

  April felt her emotions get the better of her and at one point felt she might have to leave the room. “Could you not have shared his care, Penny?”

  The response was slow and deliberate, matching the way their gazes met. There was a deepening resentment in Penny’s expression. “Are you a mother, Officer Richmond?” Her question was deliberate and strategic. Cyril noted her control.

  April flashed a quick look at Cyril. “No, and I can’t imagine the struggles you have had. What I do know from the time I’ve been involved with this case is just how strong a mother’s love can be but to …” She stopped herself.

  “According to Karl, the constrictor would have killed my son gently and calmly. Leonard loved that snake even though he’d seen it only the once; a planned birthday treat,” she emphasised the word planned and deliberately turned her gaze to Cyril.

  “You knew he went out that morning?” Cyril said immediately after her response.

  Penny nodded and there was a hint of a smile. “I knew his every move. When you have a child like mine you are constantly prepared. I heard him go down the stairs, heard the front door. I looked out as he hesitated, like a timid chick about to take its first flight from the nest. I followed him before waiting outside the shop. I saw him enter and I saw Jo look out. I saw him leave with the snake at arm’s length. I checked on Jo; she was unconscious but breathing; she didn’t know I was there. I watched him go to the park … to the oriental garden, as if to the Garden of Eden with Lilith. I watched my son die and I held his hand.” She smiled and closed her eyes, allowing her hand to move across the table and touch Cyril’s fingers.

  Cyril did not move.

  “You are under oath, Ms Ross.” The doctor spoke quietly.

  “I know. If you’d not sent the liaison officer and then this lovely lady here to my home, I wouldn’t be sitting here, I would be with my son and with Karl.” She withdrew her hand. “This man knows that.”

  “Doctor, a word. April please stay, I’ll send another officer in too.”

  Outside the room Cyril requested psychiatric assessment and that Ross be kept secure. The potential for suicide was clear. The review and assessment would take priority over all else. He would request the CPS use the power at their disposal to seek further evidence and that Penny Ross be moved to a safe place until decisions on the correct legal process cou
ld be made.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Cyril refused a lift home even when it included the offer of a pint. He needed time to think, clear his mind and try to understand the minds of those with whom he had been dealing. He crossed The Stray and stood before the snicket that led to Robert Street. Even on the warmest of days a cool breeze moved through the enclosed space. He leaned against the wall and thought of his mother and the strength of love she had shown for him. He then brought Wendy, his stepmother, to mind. Her selfless kindness caused a lump to form in his throat. He thought of Penny, a woman broken by a love she had cherished and a hatred that had been fuelled by sadness, and the tears began to fall. Had his mother not done the same, plotted and planned for the sake of her child?

  Julie was home when he arrived and she could immediately see he was distressed. As she wrapped her arms around him, he allowed the flood gates to open. He realised, probably for the first time in his life, just how lucky he was. Pulling away briefly he kissed his new wife.

  “Please never allow me to take anything for granted. I’m so lucky. I know that more now than ever before. I’ve seen and heard things today that show the strength of human love and that maybe, just maybe, you have to be cruel to be kind. I should have seen that sooner but it has taken what I’ve experienced today to see it with a sharper clarity.”

  ***

  One week later

  The report came through that Jo had kept the Russell’s viper illegally but as it grew she had become afraid and had asked Karl if he could give the snake to a Zoo where he had once worked. As far as she was aware, he had complied with her request.

  She had broken down after hearing the news about Leonard and Karl. Having a clear police record, she was allowed to return and run the shop but with regular checks on the animals within her care.

  Penny was moved to a psychiatric hospital for further assessment and the case was left pending with the CPS. In Cyril’s mind, what Penny required more than anything now, was a huge helping of human kindness and specialised care. She neither needed to stand for murder nor manslaughter, and that was unlikely to be the case. In his eyes, she was now no longer a risk to anyone but herself.

  ***

  Three weeks later

  Cyril arrived at work early. The sky had been grey but the rain had kept off. He handled the statue, the wedding gift from Owen, Hannah and his team. He allowed the cool metal to fall on the palm of his hand. Liberty, he whispered. It is perfectly named. He then saw the note attached to his computer screen. He pulled it away and read it.

  Sorry to inform you, sir, but we have just received a report advising us of the suicide of Penny Ross. Full report on file.

  Quinn

  Putting down the statue Cyril reread the note. He put his head in his hands. Liberty, he said again to himself. Liberty, for the love of Leonard she’s now free, bless her. He sighed a breath of relief. Justice had been done. Momentarily he thought of his mother and the strains of The Lark Ascending came to his head, the cry of the fiddle, the sound of a mother crying for her son.

  Taking a deep breath, he checked his watch, shook his wrist and looked again. He put the note back on the screen and left his office. He had a briefing to attend.

  Featured Artist

  At the end of all my books I like to write a little about the featured artist. On this occasion there were three but I’ll cover two of those in brief.

  I was fortunate to visit the exhibition held at the Mercer Art Gallery in Harrogate of work by the artist William Frith, the people’s painter who was born not far from Harrogate. This exhibition has to be one of the best I have ever experienced and I congratulate all those who worked to bring so many paintings together. Should you ever get the chance to see any of his work then I politely urge you to do so.

  There was another piece of work mentioned, the bronze of Liberty presented to Bennett by Owen. Liberty is a small sculpture made by Thomas Taylor Bowie (1931–1983) in 1966. Bowie was born in Scotland before moving to Canada. However, he returned to work on a number of commissions including the Robert the Bruce Memorial at Bannockburn.

  ***

  Herbert Bannister Whone (1925–2011)

  However, it is Herbert Whone I want to concentrate on for this section, as here was a man who fascinated me when I was researching for ‘Threadbare’. He was a perfect foil for the role. To find a Yorkshire self-taught artist who not only captured the Dales so freely in his work but who was also a professional violinist, playing at the Royal Opera House and the BBC Symphony Orchestra, was a gift. I could imagine that he and Cyril’s mother might possibly have worked together at some stage; after all, that is what fiction writers create, a possibility of matching the real with the imaginary that I find enchanting. To have a painting given to Cyril as a gift from his new bride, a woman who had nurtured him through emotional and difficult times, seemed perfect.

  Whone retired and moved to Harrogate, another twist of fate, and not only continued to paint but began to write, having nine books published. This is the ninth book in the Harrogate series! Once living in Harrogate he became a guide at Fountains Abbey. If you recall, this was the spot chosen by Cyril to propose to Julie.

  I am keen to search for a perfect Whone painting and one day I feel sure that I will find one.

  Acknowledgements

  The quote from Penny:

  ‘To beguile is to deceive or lead astray, as Lucifer beguiled Eve in the Garden of Eden’ – Joseph B Wirthlin.

  ‘Everyone has a book inside them,’ I have often heard, but to be honest I had my doubts. Yet here I am concluding book nine in the Harrogate series, book ten overall, as I think of ‘Bridging the Gulf’, my first attempt at writing a novel. I also remember it is only three years since my then publisher brought out this series – only thirty-six months and this, I feel, is an achievement of which I should feel proud.

  Writing is a selfish pastime that allows only me to travel to a fictitious world. I have a wonderful time creating the characters, researching the crimes and the elements that make up all aspects of the writing but there comes a time when the ink is dry that I need others to help and therefore, without the interaction from the readers, I do not believe I would achieve the same degree of satisfaction. It is clear to them, from our chats, that for me, Cyril and Owen are real, to them too. They trudge the streets of Harrogate, drink in the same pubs as them, admire the spectacular Stray and breathtaking Yorkshire Dales whilst delivering justice. I try to make them live and breathe.

  For this to happen, however, I’m grateful to many people and I would like to tell you about some individuals and some groups. Obviously, I cannot name them all and if any should slip through the net, my apologies.

  My wife, Debbie, is first to be mentioned. Her dedication, patience and understanding are limitless and I could not do this without her. Thank you x

  To Helen Gray, my sincere thanks for casting your professional eye over each and every word.

  Thank you to Kevin Graham for the cover photographs and to Craig Benyon at Create Print for ensuring everything on those nine covers has the same professional appearance.

  Caroline Vincent, from Bits About Books who has been with me since the beginning through thick and thin. My guardian angel and true friend and to whom I shall forever be grateful.

  What would we authors be or do without the blogging community, those prolific, enthusiastic readers who turn a pleasure into a profession, my thanks to each and every one. To the reading and book groups who spread the word; just remember how vital you all are.

  My ARC readers who kindly give accurate and honest feedback on the books I write: to Stef O’Leary, Kath Middleton, Carrie Heap and Lindsay Muir, my thanks.

  Always at this time my thoughts are with Emily Shutt – a princess, a warrior and a little angel … you are not forgotten.

  Thomas and Lady Ingilby – Ripley Castle – for allowing the wedding to take place at your beautiful home.

  Andrew Forsyth, Geoff Blakesley
, Gill Cleverdon, the staff at The Harrogate Library, Georgie and the staff at Cordings, Harrogate, my thanks for your continued and loyal support.

  If I’m not careful this will turn into one of those Oscar speeches and that would never do. So, to close, as always, the last is not the least, I mention you, yes you holding this Kindle or paperback, the reader, for without you I would not be here. Thank you for buying and reading book nine in the series. If you have enjoyed it then please mention my work to friends and family, as word of mouth is the best way to see more people find Bennett and his team.

  Until book ten,

  Thank you.

  Malcolm