The Burning Man

by Edward Figg

  ‘I was coming back from here when you arrived.’ He pointed to the ground. ‘What do you see?’ Carter stared down at the spot Bryant had indicated.

  Reid came around the corner of the hut and joined them. ‘Cotton reckons he knows who she was friendly with and where to find him. He said it won’t be a problem and he’ll have him back at the nick in about an hour.’

  Carter nodded his approval. ‘Good.’ He crouched down to examine the ground. ‘What do you reckon this is, Mike?’ he said.

  ‘Bit vague. The imprint of a tyre, maybe.’ said Reid, bending down.

  ‘You’re right, it is,’ said Tim Bryant. ‘It’s only partial. There’s no way to get a casting of it, but I’m prepared to go out on a limb and say it’s the same bike that was at the farm and the phone box.’

  Carter put his hand in the small of his back and let out a groan as he straightened up.

  ‘He could have waited up here before going down to the farm that night, or he could have stopped here on his way out,’ he said.

  Bryant shook his head in disagreement. ‘No. If that were the case, then the imprint wouldn’t have been here because the soil here is very light, almost powdery.’ He picked up a handful to show them. ‘That heavy rain we had the other day would have washed it away. No, this is more recent. This was made after the rain.’

  The sound of an engine labouring up the slope had them turning their heads. A small black mortuary van came into view through the trees, slowly making its way up the slippery track towards them.

  Bryant looked at Reid. ‘Tell me something, DS Reid. I heard that you are a relative of Detective Inspector Edmund Reid — the one who was involved in the hunt for Jack the Ripper back in Queen Victoria's day. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, Tim. Great-grandfather, Edmund.’

  ‘You must be proud of him and what he did?’

  ‘Well, yes and no,’ he said.

  ‘Why was that?’

  He smiled. ‘He never caught the bugger, did he?’

  ‘If they’d have had forensics back in those days, things would have turned out a lot different from what they did,’ said Tim Bryant.

  ‘Okay,’ said Carter to Reid. ‘Let’s finish up here and then head back to Kent Street and see if Cotton has come up with anything.’

  Chapter 10

  The daylight coming in through the canteen window was slowly fading. The last rays of the watery sun shone a single dust-laden bar of brightness across the room. Mike Reid fed one-pound coins into the canteen’s vending machine and choose two packs of cheese and tomato sandwiches. He put them on the tray, along with the mug of steaming tea, and walked over to where Carter was talking to PC Mike Cotton.

  ‘Right. All ready to go, boss,’ said Reid holding out the tray. I hope he appreciates this, and we get what we want.’

  ‘I told him he wasn’t in any trouble and that you just wanted to talk to him. He wasn’t overly keen about coming in with me, so in the end I had to offer him some grub as an incentive. The cheeky sod tried it on — wanted fish and chips. He must have thought I was a bit of a soft touch. I told him the canteen was shut, so he settled on that,’ said Cotton, looking at the tray Reid was holding. ‘I’ve stuck him in interview room two, sir. It’s less of a confined space, plus it does have an extractor fan. Oh, you might want to take some air freshener. Your informant doesn’t smell too sweet; he’s a bit on the nose if you get my drift. Needs a good bleeding bath. I’ll have to fumigate the bleeding car before the next shift takes it over.’ he moaned.

  ‘Well done, Cotton. I take it you had no problem finding him?’

  ‘That was easy, sir. I just followed the smell. Found him dossing down at the old flats. He was with four of his wine-o mates. His name, by the way, is Edward Bear. They all call him Gummy. Small-time user, big-time drunk. He’s done marijuana and had few convictions for petty theft. You can’t really class him as a criminal, sir. He’s more of a time waster. PC Hobson is in there now looking after him. He’s just the man for the job because he has a nasal problem. Can’t always smell things,’ smiled Cotton. ‘Oh, and Mary Lampton. She was also dossing down at those flats. We’ve put all her stuff, what little there was of it, in the property store. I’ve been through it all, and there’s nothing amongst it to indicate who she went there to meet last night. Apart from a well-thumbed small wildlife pamphlet on her about protecting badgers and their habitats, all the rest was rubbish. I know she was a bit strange but who the hell would want to kill a harmless old bugger like her?’

  ‘Somebody wanted her out of the way, that’s for sure. Hopefully, we can find the answer as to why,’ said Mike Reid.

  The two entered the brightly lit interview room. Carter told Hobson to go and get himself a cup of tea. Reid slid the tray across the table towards Bear, then sat. Carter took the other chair that Hobson had vacated and brought it over to the table.

  He stared at the scruffy-looking individual sitting across the other side of the table. It was easy to see why they called him Gummy. He had no teeth.

  He had a strange appearance. His long, unkempt hair was stiff and straw-like, almost fossilised. He had sad, bloodshot eyes and a distinctive scraggy silver beard. It resembled something a lunatic might have. The only word to describe it was… “scruffy”. His face was weather-worn and tanned from exposure to the elements. Years of alcohol abuse had left his face with thread veins and broken capillaries. His fingers were gnarled and knobbly and the clothes he wore smelt musty. He looked as if he had just left the set of a horror movie. And to add to it all, he had terrible breath. The pores of his skin seemed to excrete the same smell as his breath.

  Gummy took a swig of tea from the mug, then reached over and started to rip away the shrink wrap to get at the sandwich.

  ‘This is Detective Sergeant Mike Reid. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Bob Carter. Thank you for coming in today, Mr Bear — we appreciate your help.’

  ‘Those two coppers of yours, Cotton and Hobson, didn’t give me much choice, did they?’ he said, puffing out his cheeks and exhaling. Breadcrumbs flew from his mouth across the table. ‘It bordered on police brutality. They’re always giving us a hard time and moving us on.’

  ‘That’s not the story we heard. You tap up people in the street for money. You can’t go around annoying people like that,’ said Reid, casually leaning across the table and immediately pulling back into his chair as he came into contact with Bear’s fiery breath. Reid made a face. It said it all… phew!

  ‘What do you want me for, anyway? Those other two wouldn’t tell me,’ Bear asked. ‘I’m a busy man. I got things to do.’

  ‘Got a full list of appointments today, have you?’ Reid said half smiling. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Carter. Carter barely shook his head, but his facial expression said it all. Don’t antagonise the man. Reid got the message, took out his notebook and flicked through it, looking for a blank page.

  ‘We won’t keep you long,’ said Carter. ‘We’d like to talk to you about Mary Lampton. I believe she was a friend of yours? How long have you known her for?’

  Yes, she’s a sort of a friend. I've known her for maybe… err, five years or so.' He started unwrapping the second sandwich, then bit into it. All the time his eyes moved from one to the other as if expecting them to try to steal it away from him. He paused while he took a swallow from the mug, slurping up the tea like some vacuum cleaner. ‘Why do you want to know about her for? What has she done?'

  ‘She’s done nothing. I'm afraid she was found dead. Her body was found earlier today in a hut up in the Plimpton Woods,' said Carter.

  Bears face was expressionless. It was devoid of feelings. Not sad. Not happy. Not indifferent. Not anything. Blank. Even his dark hollow eyes gave nothing away. If there was emotion, it disappeared before Carter could identify it. Bear put the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, his gums going into overdrive as he chewed the last of it. They waited for him to wash it down with the last of the tea. He wiped the
sleeve of his grubby overcoat across his mouth. ‘Plimpton Woods, you say. Up there chasing them badgers again, no doubt. What’s this got to do with me, anyway?’

  ‘We understand that you were a close friend of hers. When did you last see her?’ Reid asked.

  ‘Monday, and I weren’t that close.’

  ‘Do you know of anyone who’d harm her? Did she have any enemies?’ asked Carter.

  ‘She could be a pain in the arse, but most times she kept herself to herself. No. She had no enemies.’

  Bear went through the motions of patting his pockets like he was trying to find something. ‘Hey, any chance of a ciggy. I’ve run out?’

  Reid shook his head ‘Sorry. No smoking allowed in here. We’ll find you some when you go.’

  That seemed to cheer him up. ‘What did Mary die of? Heart attack?’ he asked.

  ‘We think it may have been an overdose,’ cut in Reid.

  Bear shook his head, his long, matted hair too lazy to move. ‘There’s no way. Besides, she couldn't afford that kind of stuff. Not in any amount. The silly cow wasn't that mad. A few pills, wine and a bit of weed was her limit.’ He looked across the table to Carter. ‘Talking to you lot is hard work. Any chance of another mug o' tea?’

  Carter nodded to Reid. ‘Sergeant, would you, please?

  Reid stood up, grabbed the mug and made for the door. ‘And err, leave the door open please, Sergeant. It’s getting a bit stuffy in here,’ Carter added.

  He turned back to Bear. ‘To your knowledge, has she ever taken drugs intravenously?’

  ‘I take it by that you mean a needle. No, never. Not on your sweet nellie. Not with that bad hand of hers. She ‘ad bad arthritis, could hardly hold anything.’ Then, without any hesitation, said. ‘She hated needles. She had — what do they call it — a phobia? Yes, that's what she ‘ad — a phobia.’ He leaned forward and, in a quieter secretive voice, tapped the side of his nose with his finger and said, ‘They do say that when she was a kid, her dad used to stick pins in her. Just like them voodoo dolls.’

  Carter waited for him to lean back and, with his breath out of range, said, ‘Right. So, you say the last time you saw her was on Monday. How was she? Happy, sad, miserable?’

  ‘She was as happy as Larry. Like a dog with two dicks, she was. Told me she had a secret. She said she saw something up in the woods that would guarantee her a steady supply of free drink and other things for months to come.’

  ‘Did she say what it was she saw? Any idea what these things were that she supposedly spoke about?’

  Bear sniffed loudly. ‘Nope, just said that she had to see someone first, and it was her little secret. As for the things, I guess it could have been the pills. Weed maybe or even the booze?’ He looked towards the open door. ‘Look, haven’t you got enough. Can I go now?'

  Carter smiled at him. ‘Just a few more questions and we're done. You’ve been very helpful. Now, who was this someone? Did she say who it was she was going to see? Did she tell you?’

  Bear shrugged and gestured with his hands. ‘No idea. She didn’t say. She didn’t know many people.’

  ‘The stuff she gets. Who supplied her?’

  Footsteps and raised voices were heard out in the corridor. A few moments later, Reid came back into the room and handed Bear his mug of tea. ‘I told PC Cotton to hang around so he can drive Mr Bear back.’

  Carter smiled. He could well imagine the kind of reaction that would’ve drawn from Cotton. The last thing he would have wanted was to fumigate his car.

  He leaned back in the chair. ‘Where did Mary get her stuff? Who supplies her? Do you have any idea? It's important that we find out. He could be the murderer.’

  Bear cupped his hands around the mug of steaming tea and took a mouthful. ‘All I can tell you, Mr Carter, is that there’s this bloke that comes around sometimes. He’s not from these parts. I’ve heard him. He’s Irish. He had this red Toyota Hilux pickup. Sometimes ‘e ‘ad a bike in the back.’

  Carter leaned forward, and, full of anticipation, said, ‘A bike. What kind of bike? A motorbike you mean?’

  ‘Yes, a motorbike.’

  ‘Do you know what kind it was?’

  ‘Nah. No idea. Not my mode of transport. But it was yellow and covered in mud.’

  ‘Yellow,’ repeated Carter, slowly, savouring the information. He leaned back in his chair and digested the information for a few moments. ‘Are you sure about the make of the pickup?’

  ‘Yes, I took a close look at it one day,’ he answered.

  ‘You don’t remember the registration number by any chance, do you?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Okay. Not to worry. What you’ve given us so far is very helpful.’

  Carter looked at Reid to see if he had any questions. Reid shook his head and closed his notebook.

  ‘We want to find out what happened to her up there in that hut. Someone harmed her.’ said Carter.

  His eyes showed fear. His body stiffened. ‘Well, it was bloody well not me.’

  ‘We know it wasn’t.’ Reid studied the man’s face for a moment.

  ‘Okay, Mr Bear. Thank you for your time and co-operation. That will be all for the moment. You've been most helpful. If there's anything more we need to know, we'll be in contact. If you remember anything, or even your friends, please give us a call. I'll get someone to run you back.' Carter got out of his seat. He opened his wallet and gave Bear a twenty-pound note. ‘Don’t spend it all on booze. Make sure you get yourself a good meal. Sergeant, would you please show Mr Bear out and please arrange some transport for him.’

  ‘Bless you, Mr Carter. You’re a real gent and no mistake.’ he said.

  Walking down the corridor some few minutes later, traces of Edward Bear still hung in the air. Carter could still smell him.

  He went straight up to the CID office and collected his raincoat. Apart from the cleaner who was emptying a waste bin, there was nobody else about. Everyone had gone home. Outside it was dark. He looked at his watch. It had just gone seven thirty. He closed the door of his office, said goodnight to the cleaner and headed out through the swing doors into the corridor and down the stairs. As he got to the bottom, he met Reid coming back from seeing off Edward Bear.

  ‘Fancy a pint, Mike?’

  ‘I was about to suggest the same thing. I feel contaminated.’ He sniffed the sleeve of his jacket and wrinkled his nose. ‘I swear I can still smell him. I need to get the taste of that man out of my mouth. How in god’s name can people live like that?’

  A misty rain was falling as they headed across the parking area to their cars. Out on Kent Street, a few late shoppers hurried through the rain on their way home. The lights in the shop windows, many of them now closed, guided them along the wet pavement.

  Carter turned up the collar of his raincoat. ‘Remind me to get that interview room fumigated, otherwise it will smell for days. I'll see you over there in a few minutes.’ He opened the car door and got in. Before driving off, he called Christine and told her he'd be a little late.

  Chapter 11

  Thursday

  Christine Wilcox came out into the hallway and called up the stairs. ‘Breakfast is on the table. Come and get it before it gets cold.’

  With a coffee cup in her hand, she walked back into the kitchen. From upstairs came the sound of the toilet flushing and a door shutting. Carter’s heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  He walked into the kitchen, still doing up his tie. Radio Kent was playing quietly in the background. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Morning, lover,' he said.

  The toaster made a sound, then popped up with the finished product. She smiled, turned back to the bench, took it out and started buttering it.

  He went over, hung his jacket on the back of the chair, then sat down at the table.

  She put the toast down in front of him, then sat down herself. ‘What’s your plans for the day?’ she asked.

  Before answering, he sliced off the top of his boiled
egg and sprinkled on some pepper. Christine stared at him.

  He laughed, thinking about the day before. ‘Get someone to fumigate one of the interview rooms is the first thing.’ She put her head back and gave him a quizzical look. He set about telling her about Bear’s interview, while all the time spooning out the egg and munching on his toast.

  ‘He sounds disgusting,’ she said. She looked up at the wall clock. ‘I need to get going soon. It's Market Day, and Helen will be flat out.’

  ‘Talking about a flat; the one above the café. I think young Hollingsworth has taken a bit of a shine to Helen. I've seen the way he looks at her when he comes in. He’s been coming in quite a lot lately.’

  ‘If I know Luke Hollingsworth, he’s more interested in her food than he is in her,’ he chuckled. ‘Anyway, I thought Market Day was on Fridays,’ he said.

  ‘It's been changed to Thursday just for this week. They're going to be digging up the Market Square tomorrow to do something with the water mains. That reminds me. I was thinking of taking more time off and letting Helen run things. I've spoken to her about it, and she's happy to do it. It might mean taking on somebody part-time, but that shouldn't be a problem. We’d be able to spend more time together, especially on weekends. What do you reckon?’

  ‘I think that sounds fantastic. I like it,’ he said.

  She came around the table and kissed him. ‘We’ll talk about it later. Better dash or I’ll be late.’ She grabbed a piece of toast from his plate, dipped it in his egg and popped it into her mouth, smiled, and said, ‘See you tonight.’ She hurried out to her car, slamming the front door behind her.

  Carter sat for a few moments in quiet contemplation, then slowly got up from the table. He put the breakfast things in the dishwasher, switched off the radio, then, reaching for his jacket, walked out to his car.

  Before setting off on the fifteen-minute drive from the cottage to Kent Street, he connected the hands-free phone in his Blue Vauxhall Astra and called up James Broadbent. He knew Broadbent would be making an early start on the Lampton autopsy. After talking for a few minutes with him and getting the information, he wanted, he started the engine, hit the switch on the armrest and opened the window. Over the hedge that ran along the lane, crows could be heard squawking in the field. A light breeze moved through the tops of the oak trees lining both sides of the laneway. A robin hopped in and out of the hawthorn hedgerow, feeding on the red berries.