Shadow of the Beast

by Michael Fowler

  She rubbed her hands. ‘Okay, good job Hunter. Try and track Wendy’s husband down and re-interview him. Good to have you back.’ She pulled away her eyes and set them on Barry Newstead, slouched over his desk. ‘And you too.’

  Barry straightened and greeted her words with a weak smile.

  Tugging back her gaze she set it on Grace, ‘You had the task of going through his home phone records – anything enlightening?’

  Grace separated a number of sheets she had in front of her, ‘To be honest boss he didn’t make many calls at all. There seems to be a regular once a month call to the Probation Service here, a regular call also to a pharmacist – he has a monthly med delivery, and there are a couple of calls from his solicitor in Sheffield. The only one on his list that is unusual is a number from Dunford Bridge, which is out in the sticks near Penistone. The number is from a phone box there, and he was rung three times from it – twice last year and once this year.’

  Dawn displayed a puzzled frown. ‘Are they long calls?’

  Grace studied her print-out, running a finger down the telephone numbers. ‘The first call in March last year lasted less than two minutes, the second in September, less than a minute, and one this year, five weeks ago, that lasted again less than a minute.’

  Dawn looked around the room, ‘And has anything cropped up about this Dunford Bridge place before in any of our other enquiries.’ She watched her team share glances with each other before responding with a shake of the head or a shrug. Following the negative response she said, ‘Okay, I want someone to run out there and give me a picture of what the place is like. And go back through records and see who he knows out that way. See if anyone from the Chapel estate moved out there. Is it where his female accomplice lives? There must be some relevance as to why Braithwaite should get a call from someone there, especially from a public phone.’ She paused and then said, ‘Terrence Arthur Braithwaite is our number one suspect for the murders of Eric Wheelhouse, Anne Marie Banks, Lesley Jane Warren and also for the two bodies we’ve uncovered in his old cellar. Doctor Wilson has still to do the post-mortem on the second body we found yesterday, but she has confirmed that it is female and that she was strangled like the other victims. Once I get more details I will be putting it out across the media along with his photograph, to see if we can flush him out. Make him panic. In the meantime, we will speak with his probation officer and see if he has links to Leeds and we’ll give his solicitors a call and see who was dealing with his case and ask similar questions, including Dunford Bridge. I’m sure they’ll bleat on about client confidentiality so we need to impress on them how vitally important it is that they don’t impede our investigation – especially if they know where he is likely to be. And regarding the numbers he has telephoned, or been telephoned by, I want them flagging up and monitored. If any are activated, I want someone straight to the address. It’s time to get Mister Braithwaite out of circulation for good and that goes for his accomplice as well.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Limping along the lane, Terrence Arthur Braithwaite had his fleece collar up and head down to protect him from the elements. It was only a light rain that fell, but it was being picked up by such a fierce wind that it stung his face. When he had set off from the cottage an hour ago to explore his surroundings, the weather had been fine, but feeling the icy spits from rapidly gathering clouds, he was reminded how quickly conditions could change up here. He could already feel the damp beginning to seep through his clothes and, despite increasing his pace, he knew that he was not going to beat the rain, no matter how hard he tried. He cursed inwardly, for he knew he would have to suffer the cold and the wet for a good few hours even when he got back, for he dare not light a fire in daylight. That would bring attention to the cottage and thus to himself. And though there were no close neighbours, only a bunch of aged hippies squatting in a row of knocked-through terraced houses half a mile away, nevertheless, he couldn’t afford any unwarranted visitors. To the public who passed the cottage and its outbuildings, it looked to be in the throes of long-term renovation work – which it was. Though, inside, it was a lot more habitable than it looked from the outside, and that was the reason why it made for the perfect hideaway.

  Quarter of an hour later, tramping along the last of the bends in the narrow road, the weathered stone cottage, with its majestic backdrop of the Peak District, came into view. A muddy track quarter of a mile long, and a rusting, badly hanging gate were the only obstacles he had to endure before he unlocked the front door. He heaved a sigh of relief. He felt damp and thoroughly miserable, though thankfully the cold hadn’t started to grab hold. A quick rub down with a towel and a change of clothing would see him good as new he told himself. But before taking that first step of his final stroll, he went through his ritual of looking all around; even scanning the cottage ahead. Only when satisfied the coast was clear did he step onto the dirt track. You can never be too careful.

  Unlocking and opening the front door he got a nice surprise as he stepped inside; it was still warm, and he instantly put it down to the blazing fire he had made late last night; he had stopped feeding it logs at 4a.m. when he had finally fallen asleep on the sofa.

  He pulled off his damp fleece and wet jeans, draped them over the clothes horse, changed quickly into a fisherman’s jumper and fresh jeans and then lit the gas camping stove to make himself a hot drink. As he waited for the pan of water to heat up he drifted his gaze around the room. The two-foot thick walls that helped the building retain its heat in winter and keep it cool in summer were whitewashed. Much of it was yellowed and stained and in one corner, near the doorway that led into the kitchen, there was a damp patch; they had plans to get the place damp-proofed but that would have to be put on hold now it was his hidey-hole. The wooden sash windows were original and had thick black-out curtains drawn across to prevent anyone nosing inside and to stop the gas lamp and candlelight, that he needed at night, from being seen from outside. It left the room in constant gloom but he couldn’t afford to take any chances even given the cottage’s remoteness. That last thought brought about a flashback. He recalled his first sighting of this place. Its location could not have been better. It had the date 1725 above the door but his accomplice told him it had been built over the ruins of another farmhouse many hundreds of years older. The cellar beneath bore testament to that and was ideal for his plans. He had kitted it out to mirror the one back at Chapel Street, yet, unlike that one this one offered more privacy to pursue his craft. That thought prompted another – his accomplice. He wondered how long it would be before he put in an appearance. Seeking his support. Wanting reassurance. A crooked smile played on his lips. It had taken a long time grooming him to become so needy, so obedient, and some of that training had been brutal, but eventually he had seen the recklessness of his ways and changed. The same had to be said of his wife. Sheila had taken a long time to understand his needs – to adjust to his way of wanting things done, and it had been an uncomfortable journey, but in the end she had realised it was futile to resist.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  DAY FIFTEEN

  In upbeat mood, Dawn Leggate closed the front door behind her, kicked off her heels and made her way through to the kitchen where she set down her bag and switched on the kettle. She had just come away from the hospital. Michael had been wide awake when she entered the ward and had remained awake throughout her visit, managing a two-way conversation, even though some of it had been fragmented and at times gone off tangent. He knew he’d been involved in an accident but could recall nothing about it, and he had asked her how long he’d been unconscious and what had happened to him. She told him what she knew – that it was being treated as a hit and run and that an investigation was underway but that they hadn’t caught who was responsible. She decided not to tell him about the phone call from her ex and that she now believed Jack had deliberately targeted him; she wanted to see what the outcome of her own enquiries were first before she told him that. She als
o mentioned the visits he’d had from his daughter and Hunter. He told her he hadn’t been aware they’d been but he said how pleased he was and asked how they both were. When it came to talking about Hunter, she told him that he was doing well and working hard, but held back from telling him about the informant being gunned down and Hunter being suspended; she determined that was for another time. At the end of their hour Michael had become fidgety and she had seen him fighting to keep his eyes open. It had been her signal to say goodbye, and she kissed him and told him she loved him – for the first time in twelve days. She had left the ward brimming with happy tears. As she drove home she’d been able to take in the music playing on the radio, rather than worrying about her partner or thinking about the murder enquiry.

  Making a coffee, she opened the fridge, not just for milk but seeking something decent by way of food. Since Michael’s accident she had only gone through the motions of eating to sustain herself through the day, now she actually felt like she wanted to eat and, as she searched the shelves, she was so glad she’d stocked up with a good shop. She chose to make a salad, remembering she’d bought some fish which was in the freezer. While preparing her meal, she turned on the small TV, drunk her coffee and set the table. As she placed her knife and fork she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before she was eating a meal with Michael again. This had been the most positive she had felt since the accident. Salad ready, she checked the timer on the cooker and, seeing she had another twenty minutes before the fish was cooked, turned down the sound of the TV and telephoned DS John Reid.

  It didn’t take him long to answer, ‘Evening Dawn.’

  ‘Good evening John I’m ringing to see if you have anything?’

  ‘I was waiting for you to call – I have actually.’

  ‘Oh, what’s that?’

  ‘Well it’s not the news you wanted to hear I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘I did a few runs past the address you gave me, but there was no sign of anyone so I made a couple of enquiries with the neighbours, and one of them told me that for the past few months she’d only seen the woman who lived there and no man, so I checked what time she was generally in and went back this evening on my way home to check.’

  ‘And you caught her?’

  ‘Yes, she’d just come from the gym.’ He paused and added, ‘I can see now why he went for her…’

  ‘John Reid, don’t you dare.’

  He made a soft chuckle, then said, ‘On a serious note, we had a quite a decent chat about Jack. It took me a bit of time to get her to open up – she wanted to know why I was asking such personal questions – but as soon as I told her he was harassing a woman, she told me he’d hassled her after she’d ended their relationship and was more than happy to answer all my questions. I spent a good hour chatting with her and I don’t want to pry about you two’s relationship but I found some of what she told me quite disturbing. In fact, you might be on the right lines when you think he’s responsible for what happened to Michael given what she’s said.’

  ‘Jack was always a bit deep, but we were okay. Well I thought we were initially. We had our ups and downs like any other married couple. It was mainly about me working late. He used to go into these sulks that lasted a few days, but I used to make it up to him when I had days off and he’d be fine again. Though, to be honest John, things did deteriorate towards the end, especially after my last promotion. That’s when I found out about his affair.’

  ‘She mentioned a bit about that. She said it started because she felt a bit sorry for him. He used to tell her that he felt constantly alone because you loved your job more than him.’

  Dawn let off an exasperating sigh, ‘The shit.’

  ‘I know. Anyway, she says it started with him asking her if she’d go for a drink after work for a chat and that developed into the odd meal now and then. She said he used to go on about how lonely and neglected he felt, and one night she just invited him back to her house and that was it, as they say. It became a regular thing after that, even staying some weekends.’

  ‘The bastard told me he was going away to conferences!’

  ‘Well there you go. You know what he was up to now.’ Pausing he continued, ‘After a couple of months he was telling her he wanted to leave you, and asked her if he could move in and she agreed.’

  ‘Bastard! I wouldn’t mind but I never fucking neglected him.’

  ‘If I wasn’t one myself I’d say that’s men for you.’ He let out a shallow laugh again. ‘Anyway the relationship ended almost three months ago. She decided it wasn’t for her. She said he never wanted to do anything. I gathered from our conversation that she’s a bit of a party girl and he’d rather stay in, and it just seemed to be one row after another so she called it a day and asked him to move out. She said he took it quite badly and that he began waiting outside the house for her for when she came home from work, begging for her to take him back, so she went to stay at a friend’s for a week. Then, he started hassling her at work and she ended up making a complaint to the boss. He was warned, apparently, but continued and so he was fired. She said he turned up a couple of times shortly after he’d lost his job, threatening her, and she ended up calling the police, but the time they got there he’d driven off. I’ve spoken with the officers who took the call and they tell me they’re still looking for him to give him a harassment warning but they don’t know where he is. They can’t locate him.’

  ‘No idea?’

  ‘None. Unless you can help?’

  Thinking for a moment, she replied, ‘His parents are still around. They live somewhere near Fort William, but to be honest, except for the odd phone call, he wasn’t very close to them. I’ve got their address somewhere in my address book, which is still in one of the boxes in the garage here – I never unpacked it when I moved. I’ll have a look through my stuff over the next couple of days. If you text me the officers’ details, I’ll give them a call. I also know he’s got a couple of cousins near Aberdeen, but again, except for sending Christmas cards that was his only contact. Have you any idea about the car he’s got.’

  ‘The ex-girlfriend says that he bought a Volvo – he lost the company car after he was fired. I tried to get her to narrow it down, but she has no idea about the model – just says it’s. Silver.’

  ‘It was a silver saloon car that knocked Michael down.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Do you have a number by any chance?’

  ‘Sorry Dawn. All she told me was that it wasn’t brand new but neither was it old. We’re looking at it probably being a couple of years old. If he’s still got it. If he’s got any sense he’ll have dumped it.’

  Sighing again she said, ‘Thanks for this John.’

  ‘Do you want me to do anything else?’

  ‘No, you’ve done your bit and I’m very grateful. I’m going to let Traffic know about Jack’s phone call to me the other night and also what you’ve just told me and let them circulate him as wanted. And, if in the mean time you get anything else, especially his car number, you’ll give me a call? That’d be appreciated.’

  ‘No problem Dawn. Hope it all comes good and you take care now.’

  ‘And you John, thank you, I owe you one.’

  Ending the call, Dawn clasped her phone two-handed and rested it against her chin, thinking through what she had just been told. Suddenly, out through the window above the sink, the rear security light blazed on and she targeted her gaze into the garden. She jumped when she caught sight of the figure standing in the middle of the lawn. It was Jack!

  * * *

  Within ten minutes, police officers were swarming all over the estate where Dawn lived. A police dog had picked up a scent of Jack but then lost it at the end of the cul-de-sac where there was a high wall and they were starting a fresh sweep from the other side.

  Holding onto the work surface, Dawn was still shaking as she gave a description of her ex-husband to the concerned policewoman, who was repeating
it over the airwaves to her colleagues. A full search was underway. Inside, Dawn was beating herself up. She had been useless. The moment she had seen it was Jack she had frozen. Under normal circumstances, had it been anyone else, she would have leapt into action and worried about the consequences later. But seeing it was Jack had rattled her completely – rooted her to the spot. She had eventually reacted, but it must have been the best part of ten seconds before she had dialled 999 and grabbed the biggest knife from the drawer. Now, as she tried to pull herself together, she was just glad that there had been a locked door and window between them. Goodness knows what would have happened had there not been. As she tried to dismiss the darkness engulfing her, a wave of nausea hit her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  DAY SIXTEEN

  Shortly after 6a.m. Dawn gave up trying to force herself to sleep. She’d had a terrible night, flinching at the least little noise. She had been surprised at just how many different sounds there were around once the traffic outside had died down. Though, not all traffic – she was grateful for the security of the marked police car which drove past the house every hour; she’d got up once to watch it cruise by and not gone back to bed until she’d probed the shadows of every garden opposite. She had even got up once to double-check that the back door was locked. Jack’s sudden appearance had made her a wreck. She couldn’t believe he was doing this to her. How come she’d not spotted this trait in him all the time they were married. Had she neglected him?