by Tony McHale
“Yeah … sure.” Tyler wasn’t accepting any explanation.
“You’re pretty famous Charlie,” Cassie chipped in, moving the conversation away from confrontation.
“I wouldn’t say famous,” Charlie replied trying to lighten the moment.
“I always know when it’s one of your photographs. There’s something about them, isn’t that right Tyler?”
“They all look the same to me. Some jumped up over paid anorexic bimbo flashing her fanny getting into a car. For me it’s only one step away from a peeping Tom.”
“Ignore him,” Cassie said evenly. “Where do you live?” she continued trying once again to easy the situation
“I’ve got an apartment in Vauxhall …”
“An apartment, is that a posh word for a flat?” interrupted Tyler.
“Apartment … flat … whatever you want to call it. It overlooks the river ….”
“Which river?” Tyler was in again.
“The Thames. You know which river. Don’t be stupid,” said Cassie wishing Tyler would back off. “I bet it’s lovely.”
“I like it.”
The conversation was curtailed with the arrival back of Georgie. He had with him a pen that rested on his lap.
“Pen,” he announced as he arrived back at the table.
“Thanks laddo,” Tyler said as he picked up the pen. He then squinted his eyes at the photograph of the car, trying to read the number plate.
“I can enlarge it for you.”
“All mod cons eh …” said Tyler derisively.
“I bet it’s your life line, isn’t it?” chipped in Cassie as Charlie using ‘iPhoto’ enlarged the section containing the number plate.
“Yeah, couldn’t survive without it,” Charlie declaimed honestly as the number plate became easily readable.
“Couldn’t snoop without it, you mean.” Tyler had already scribbled down the number on the back of a beer mat and was putting it in his pocket, as he did so he stared directly at Charlie.
“You jealous Tyler?” Cassie knew her question wouldn’t go down well with her husband, but she couldn’t resist asking it.
“Jealous? What the fuck would I be jealous about?” said Tyler who was clearly rattled by the question. “You think I’m jealous of some bloke who goes around taking photos all day. That’s not a job. That’s puffs work. Nancy gay boy queer work. Why would I be jealous?”
I wonder why they’re all so hung up about homosexuality. Maybe the problem is with them. But Charlie knew really that wasn’t the case. They just didn’t like change. Homosexuality symbolised change and they didn’t want that.
“What you going to do with the car number plate?” asked Charlie totally out of the blue.
“Mind your own fucking business,” snapped Tyler.
And with that he downed his drink, stood up and headed for the door. Cassie and Georgie dutifully followed, Cassie managing to almost whisper – “Bye” as she left.
Charlie watched them go, hoping that Cassie would turn and look at him as she left. She did. But the expression behind the eyes was not the one he was expecting. He was hoping to see that alive, open challenging look, instead all he saw was pity.
As the door closed behind them, Charlie thought of two things … why would Cassie pity him and what would Tyler do with that number plate.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was about three thirty in the morning when Charlie’s sleep was disturbed. In that moment he realised that once The Dog closed, Beck Le Street turned from a partial ghost town, into a total people-activity-noise free zone. Once that last ale fuelled straggler had wended their way homeward, then the only movement came from the owls, foxes and hedgehogs and none of those had access to petrol driven motors.
But it was the sound of an engine that had awoken Charlie. Naked he moved to the small sash window that overlooked the High Street. Out on the High Street he could see a Renault Espace. As he watched Tyler climb from the driver’s seat, he realised this must be the same Espace that Cassie had mentioned to him. Tyler, carrying a dark and metallic looking object in his hand, moved round to the back of the vehicle and flipped open the rear door and in one easy move dragged first one body out of the vehicle and then another. Both were stripped naked, they were both male, both had grey sacking bags tied over their heads, both had their hands tied behind their backs and both let out a cry of pain as their tattooed flesh hit the rough shingle on the road.
Charlie stared not quite believing what he was witnessing.
Another car came down the road, a white van that once had lettering on the side, which had long since being painted over … badly. Charlie recognised the driver immediately, it was Amos and he reasoned correctly that the passenger would be Lucas. They both got out of the van and joined Tyler standing over the quivering bodies of the two youths, because despite the fact that Charlie couldn’t see their faces, he knew these were the same youths that had robbed and attacked Jenny Pearson earlier that day.
“Stand up.” Charlie could just hear Tyler’s command through the window.
Neither Youth moved. Tyler then quickly jabbed both the youths with the metal rod in his hand. Instantly they twitched, jerked like they’d both been simultaneously struck with a brief epileptic fit. Charlie knew instantly that Tyler’s instrument of torture was a cattle prod.
Both youths staggered to their feet and Tyler wrenched the hoods from their heads. In the moonlight Charlie could see that these were indeed the two youths.
Tyler went up close to the taller youth, his face just millimetres from his and mouthed something that Charlie couldn’t hear. The taller youth just nodded his head. Tyler poked him again with the prod and then slapped him round his head, not once but a number of times - rapidly. The figure knelt down on the ground and doubled over, as he did so his shoulders started to shudder and Charlie knew he was crying.
Tyler then set about the shorter of the two youths. He had a similar cropped haircut as his compatriot and Tyler slapped him around the face, then stuck the cattle prod on his genitals and he too ended up kneeling on the ground.
Tyler took some papers from the front seat of the van and handed them to Amos. Charlie assumed they were Kyle’s photos, colouring books and the certificate they’d stolen from Jenny Pearson. Tyler then gave the two youths another jab with the cattle prod, this time forcibly in the anus, while saying, “Back in … get back in.”
The two youths didn’t have to be asked twice and clambered back in the Espace, where Tyler swiftly re-covered their heads with the grey sacks. It wasn’t until Tyler started to drive away that Charlie noticed he wasn’t the only one watching. Other villagers were poised at their windows and as the people carrier sped out of the village its headlights caught the sight of more villagers who had turned out to witness this act of rough justice.
Charlie grabbed some clothes and hurriedly dressed. Then picking up his phone, camera and car keys he rushed out of his room and down the stairs. He came into the hallway behind the bar and headed for the back door. He wondered if the building was alarmed or not. It certainly wasn’t when he lived there, but maybe it was the one thing that had changed. That said he couldn’t recall seeing an alarm anywhere in the pub. He’d take a chance. He looked round for a key, but he couldn’t see one. In some act of frustration, or maybe it was some vain hope, he tried the door and to his surprise it opened. It wasn’t locked. Does that mean it was always unlocked? And if so was it unlocked on the night his mother was murdered? Had the murderer entered this way? Of course he didn’t know and at the moment he had more pressing things on his mind.
He came out of the back door and headed for his Range Rover parked in the car park. He flicked the locks open with his key fob and was just about to climb in when he heard a voice.
“Where the bloody hell are you going?”
The sound of his father almost ma
de him jump. He turned to face his father and for a moment he was twelve years old again, scared and not in a respectful manner, more in a terrified one.
“You’re not running away again are you?”
“No … no …,” was all Charlie could think to say.
Jed looked at the camera in Charlie’s hand.
“Thought you might take some photos, did you? I don’t think that would go down too well with Tyler.”
Charlie thought about lying, then decided against it. From the age when little boys start lying, his father had always unnervingly spotted his attempts, so there was no real point in trying.
“You saw what happened.”
His father came into the light, dressed in a black tracksuit with white stripes down the sleeves and legs that had never seen any exercise.
“I was hoping you were asleep.”
“Where’s he taking them?”
“Probably up on the moors … or Dark Waters.”
“Seriously …?”
“Maybe not Dark Waters,” knowing that was a bit extreme.
“What will he do with them?” Charlie continues to enquire.
“I don’t know. When you showed him your … photos …” ‘photos’ was said with almost disdain, “… what did you think he was going to do?”
“I don’t know … go to the police.”
“He did go to the police,” Jed said with relish. “Just not the same ones that came round here. He has a mate there that looks up car regs on the police computer.”
“That’s illegal.”
Jed laughed. “So is stealing someone’s personal possessions and smashing their cheekbone, that’s illegal. You need to leave things alone that don’t concern you. This isn’t London.”
“That I know,” Charlie couldn’t help retorting.
His father was about to react, then decided against it and for a moment Charlie was undecided what to do. Then suddenly he knew what he had to do. He had to go after Tyler and his two captives. What he didn’t know was whether he was going because he felt morally obliged, or he was going because of his inherent sense that there just might be a photo opportunity.
Tyler was now well on his way as Charlie climbed into the Range Rover and started the engine. He pulled out of the car park at speed and drove up the High Street. It was now deserted, the voyeurs retreated to their homes or so it appeared to him.
There was a loud crack, which broke through the night air.
Charlie instinctively did a half ducking motion – he knew the sound of a rifle. Growing up near moorland he’d heard it many times, fearing the next shot would go straight through his windscreen. At the same time he lost control of the vehicle. The wheel tugged quite violently to the left and as he tried to compensate for the sudden movement the Range Rover slewed across the High Street. He slammed on his brakes, hoping he could manage to stop the vehicle before it hit something. The Range Rover mounted the pavement and came to a halt just inches away from Jenny Pearson’s shop window.
What the hell happened?
Charlie stayed low in the vehicle, then decided he was a sitting target, so he got out, looking round, wondering where the shot had come from and who’d fired it.
Then he saw why he’d lost control. His front right tyre had blown. Someone shot out his tyre. As he stood trying to take on board the craziness of what had happened, he suddenly sensed he was not alone.
He turned quickly and standing there, his rifle cradled easily across chest almost like a small child, was Old Atkinson.
“Here – anything can happen to anybody.”
Charlie was too shocked to reply and just watched as Old Atkinson seemed to just disappear back into the night.
He’d been given a warning. Beck le Street had its own way of dealing with its problems and they didn’t need the likes of Charlie upsetting that process. He also knew the villagers, at the moment, were going easy on him; he’d just lost his mother. If he decided to stay around and cause more problems for them the next shot might not be aimed at a tyre … it could be aimed at his head.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Devika was missing Charlie … a feeling she thought quite strange. Since breaking away from her parents, she’d prided herself on her independence and ability to be happy with her own company.
But here she was missing Charlie.
Although they both lived their separate lives to a certain extent, her going off on various fashion shoots and him leading the twilight life of a celebrity photographer, they were still very much a couple. Whenever their diaries didn’t clash, they were together. Charlie had no desire to go out drinking with the lads and she was not the type to go on girlie nights out. So during Charlie’s extended absence she found herself watching more television than normal, doing more shopping than normal and eating alone more than was normal.
Charlie had filled her in on the phone about what was happening in Beck le Street and she naturally thought that Charlie’s nurtured hatred of his birthplace had caused him to embellish the situation. However she did realise that everything in the village was … as Charlie would put it … “… not kosher .”
So when Genesis rang and said she’d like to take her out for lunch as a thank-you for all she’d done, Devika accepted.
As they picked at their griddled squid and smoked salmon, Genesis raved on about the up and coming launch party for Caught On The Hop at The Hospital Club in Covent Garden … which, incidentally, was going to be massive … and all Devika could think of was Charlie.
And all the time this chit-chat was happening, Charlie was by himself thinking about Cassie. He was thinking whether his desire to see her was to do with progressing further the search for his mother’s killer, or was it some dormant adolescent passion that was still alive and kicking deep inside. If it was the latter, what did this say about his feelings for Devika?
Still not knowing his true motive he knocked on the cottage door.
Cassie answered it and simply said, “Hi,” almost as if she was expecting him.
Charlie looked at her, not sure what to say.
“Tyler’s out back fixing a car …” Charlie took this to mean it was safe and he also took it to mean that Tyler saw him as a threat – but he already knew that.
“I just need to ask you something.”
To Charlie, Beck le Street seemed to have the capacity to diminish its residents’ powers of worldliness, but as far as Cassie was concerned it hadn’t in anyway diminished her beauty. She had on a loose check shirt, leggings and was barefoot. She was like Devika, she could dress in rags and still look good.
Cassie stepped back to let him into the cottage. Charlie moved up the slight ramp, which was there to facilitate an easy entrance and an exit for Georgie.
The place was small and certainly not tidy. The front door led into a small hall that had a coat rack, which almost groaned with the weight of the coats that were hanging from it. These coats all seemed to be padded jackets and waterproof working wear, not a designer label in sight. Under the rack were boots, wellingtons and a few pairs of shoes and a pile of newspapers ready to be thrown out. There were neat little signs, old now, written with felt tip pen in Cassie’s italic lettering on sticky paper, indicating where various articles should be hung or placed. Charlie guessed they must have been an aid to help Georgie to read when he was a child and nobody had bothered to remove them.
They went through to the kitchen, which was clearly the room that the family used the most. There were more signs, so if Georgie needed to know where the plates or mugs were, then there would be no problem.
Cassie indicated for him to sit at the old wooden table in the centre of the room, which was cluttered with an eclectic mix of items ranging from a heavily laden key ring to an open box of shotgun cartridges, alongside book work for Tyler’s business and some of Georgie’s school books.
“Tea?” enquired Cassie.
“Coffee if you have it.” As soon as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.
“We don’t have anything fancy, it’s instant,” she said in an apologetic fashion.
“Instant’s fine.” He never drank instant. He was a coffee snob, but sitting there in Cassie’s simple kitchen, he knew such penchants were really pathetic.
Look around you these people have far more important things to worry about than types of coffee.
Cassie filled the kettle and switched it on.
“How long you staying?” asked Cassie in a way that Charlie knew his answer would be communicated through the village within the next hour.
“I’m waiting for the funeral … then I’ll be away.”
“Any news on that?”
“No,” he shifted in his seat, “but I can’t imagine it’ll be much longer.”
For a moment he considered forgetting about the reason why he came and passing the visit off as a social call, but something was nagging him, something was telling him that Tyler and the youths, Old Atkinson and his rifle and the murder of Kyle were all somehow connected to his mother’s death.
“You heard what happened last night?” It just came out.
“Last night …?” There seemed a genuine innocence in her question.
“With those youths.”
The kettle started to boil and Cassie made tea for herself and coffee for Charlie. Charlie just waited for an answer, but there was none forthcoming, so Charlie continued.
“What happened to them?”
“Sugar?”
“No thanks … and no milk either,” added Charlie.
“Whoops … I just assumed you still did. I’ll make you a fresh one.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“It’s no problem.” Cassie was headed for the sink to pour away the milky coffee.
“Really, I can drink it with milk … really,” insisted Charlie.
With a slight reluctance Cassie carried the coffee in its mug with the name ‘Georgie’ on it back to the table and placed it in front of Charlie.