15
Lasser hung around until half-ten, up since six, the soggy egg McMuffin he'd consumed that morning was no more than a distant memory. He said his goodbyes, ignoring the smug look of satisfaction on Hopkin's face as he headed for the car.
Now he sat at home trying to concentrate on some banal programme about teenage pregnancies.
The young girl on the television chewed gum, bemoaning the fact that the council hadn't offered to house her in some new apartment.
It was strange how these people all seemed to have the same stamp about them, a certain something that didn't really have a name, nevertheless you knew it when it was in front of you.
She whined about the price of nappies and powdered baby milk, whingeing about the fact that she couldn't go out with her mates the way she used to.
She looked like a female version of Kyle Connelly, he smiled, wondering if Donald Fletcher had been round to pay him a visit.
An image slipped into his mind, Billy Jones, a skinny runt of a kid last seen somewhere near Rivington. Carl had pointed out the clothes were on the small side, though it was inconclusive as to whether they belonged to a male or female, but still…
Lasser checked his watch, half past eleven.
Ringing the lab at this hour would be pointless, since the cutbacks, forensics ran on a shoestring budget. Unless it was a dire emergency, they clocked off at five like regular office workers. The only course of action was to find out what Billy had been wearing. He groaned, the thought of paying Sarah Jones a visit at midnight and having her answer the door in a baby doll nightie wasn't exactly a thrilling prospect.
Weighing up his options, he found that he didn't really have any, if his superiors discovered he'd not followed the correct procedure then he'd be in the shit and he could guarantee Sarah Jones would like nothing better than sticking the boot into some copper.
Grabbing his car keys, he pulled on his jacket and headed out of the front door. The warmth of the day had evaporated leaving a chill in the air and for a moment, he considered nipping back in to retrieve his overcoat. Then he remembered the stench that permeated around the Jones's living room and decided he would rather freeze.
Fifteen minutes later, he was driving down Lancaster Road, the radio on, a late night 'love fest' where everyone was either broken hearted or head over heels in love.
Pulling up outside the Jones's house, he dragged himself out of the car, just as a hooded figure slid around the corner and stopped. Lasser cocked his head to one side.
'Can I help you, son?'
The figure approached slowly, a hand dipped into the pocket of his tracksuit and Lasser stiffened. Michael Jones slipped into the jaundiced cone of the streetlight, smiling as he pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket.
'Had you going then, didn't I?'
Lasser heaved a sigh of relief. 'You could say that,' he looked at the boy, of all the Joneses, Michael was the only one who hadn't been in constant trouble with the law. Sarah would be disappointed with the way he was turning out.
'What you doing here?' Michael asked.
'I was just passing, so I thought I might as well call to see if Billy had returned home.' It sounded implausible, what sort of copper comes knocking on your door at midnight unless armed with a battering ram?
'Well, I've just nipped to the garage for some cigs and he wasn't in when I left.'
'Listen, Michael, when I called round earlier I asked your mother if she had any idea what Billy was wearing.'
'Yeah I know, she mentioned some copper had called,' he paused and stuck a cigarette between his lips. 'I don't know why you're bothering. I mean, we're not the sort of family who have to be in by ten.'
'I spoke to Kyle Connelly earlier…'
Michael spat onto the pavement.
Lasser frowned. 'I thought you and Connelly were mates?'
'Not anymore.'
'Any particular reason for that?'
Michael shrugged. 'I just got tired of standing around on street corners like a five year old.'
'So, what do you do now?'
Michael flicked him a glance. 'I'm at college.'
Lasser raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'Really, studying what?'
'Information Technology.'
'Good for you,' he tried to keep the condescending tone from his voice but failed miserably.
'Right well, I'd best get in,' Michael began to move away.
'You don't have any idea what he was wearing do you?'
'Knowing him it was probably skanky jeans and a reddish T-shirt. I mean, the dirty little sod never gets changed.'
Lasser felt his stomach slip. 'Right, thanks for that, Michael.'
'You should go home and get some kip, you look knackered.'
'Thanks for the advice, son.'
Michael headed off up the path, letting himself in and closing the door without looking back.
Shit. Lasser climbed back into the car and pondered what to do next. Jones had been right; he did feel bone weary, though if he simply returned home without getting this checked then he really would be in the brown stuff.
The clock on the dash said twelve-forty, the station was ten minutes away, he could pass the information on and be home in bed by half-one. Decision made, he got his foot down.
16
For the second night in a row, Jenna was finding it impossible to sleep. She watched as another minute clicked into infinity, marked by the digital clock on her bedside cabinet.
Clambering off the bed, she pulled the curtain back and slid the window open. Cool air flowed into the darkened bedroom, resting her elbows on the windowsill she peered out into the gloom.
For as long as she could remember this had been a nightly ritual, enjoying the silence and looking out at the stars, although tonight she could find no solace in this simple, familiar act. Sinister shadows seemed to pool around the front of the house, massing under the trees and bushes, an ideal spot for a killer to remain undetected. Jenna shuddered and pulled the window closed before swishing the curtains shut.
''Human remains'', those two words revolved around her brain, in the same way a cheesy pop song could become lodged in your head, going around and around for days until you felt like screaming.
Jenna stood in the middle of the room staring at nothing, her mind working overtime. With a huff she headed for the door and out onto the landing. For a moment, she considered turning on the light and then dismissed the idea as childish. She made her way downstairs, avoiding the steps that creaked and crossed the lounge in darkness, her hands bunched into fists in an effort to control the feeling of creeping unease that tracked her across the room.
The sliver of light under the kitchen door halted her in mid stride; her mind, already on high alert, provided the image of the lunatic in the kitchen, picking out the longest, sharpest knife from the rack. Turning it between his fingers, testing its weight, a maniacal grin smeared across his twisted mouth, 'cutting time'!
The idea was preposterous; the house was locked and alarmed, no one could get in not unless they broke a window and she would have heard that, wouldn't she?
Gritting her teeth, she crossed the room quickly, not giving her mind the opportunity to conjure up any more frightening scenarios, she thrust the door open ready to scream.
Her grandad turned from the sink and she let out a shuddering sigh of relief.
'Hello, love, can't you sleep either?'
She smiled, suddenly feeling foolish. 'Not a chance.'
'Want a brew?'
'Please.'
He flicked the kettle on, before spooning two sugars into a cup.
Jenna slid out a chair and sat down. 'I can't stop thinking about what's happened.'
'Aye, lass, I know what you mean.'
'And what did Patrick mean by human remains?'
Ronnie shrugged; he could take a guess but had no intention of telling Jenna.
'It could mean anything, love.'
She looked up at the ceiling. 'It d
oesn't seem like Mum and Dad are having trouble sleeping.'
'Aye well, your dad has to be up early, he's ploughing over near the woods today.'
She grunted in response, unconvinced. 'I wonder who it is.'
'Who what is?'
'The body, Grandad, or whatever it is they've found.'
'Oh right,' he paused, 'well I dare say we'll find out soon enough.'
Headlights suddenly swept over the kitchen window, like twin searchlights probing into the room. Jenna looked at her grandad in surprise, then leapt to her feet and dashed across the room.
Ronnie dropped the spoon into the sink. 'Who the hell can that be at this time of night?'
Opening the door, she peered outside.
'It's the police!' she hissed, her voice full of nervous urgency.
Ronnie scowled and pushed himself away from the sink, grimacing as his lower back gave a twinge. By the time he reached the door Jenna had moved outside, the security light blinked on. Ronnie watched as a tall man walked into the cone of light and strode towards them.
'Good evening, I'm Detective Sergeant Hopkins,' he pulled out a wallet and flipped it open, holding it out for Ronnie to examine.
'It's no use showing me that, I've not got me glasses on.'
The wallet disappeared; he turned away from Ronnie as if he'd already decided any further conversation with the old man was pointless. 'I take it you're Jenna Fotheringay?'
She recognised him immediately as the Nazi who had been disrespectful to Patrick, she felt her hackles rise. 'That's right.'
'I need to speak to your parents.'
'They're in bed, they have to be up…'
'Yes well, I think it's probably best if you go and wake them.'
Ronnie grunted. 'Hang on, lad, what's this all about?'
'I don't know if you're aware, but there's been a serious crime committed inside a property that you own. Now, I'm sorry if the possibility of a murder is inconvenient but we have certain procedures that must be followed,' he smiled, though his eyes looked anything but friendly.
'I suppose you'd best come in then.' Ronnie turned on his heels and went back into the kitchen.
For a couple of seconds Jenna stayed in the doorway blocking his path. Hopkins frowned and took a step towards her forcing her back.
'Thank you,' he strode into the kitchen, looking around as if he was prepared to pull a gun from his pocket and start blasting away at the first hint of trouble.
'You nip up, Jenna, and wake your mum and dad.'
'OK,' she crossed the room heading for the lounge; the thought of leaving her grandad with the slimy Hopkins worried her. She didn't like the way he looked down his nose, as if he was in some way superior and they were a family of bumbling country folk.
As soon as the kitchen door closed she dashed across the lounge, taking the stairs two at a time and slapping on the light as she headed across the landing. She tapped lightly on the door; even under the circumstances barging in didn't seem right. After a few seconds with no response, she knocked harder, the panic rising.
Her mum opened the door, bleary eyed, hair askew.
'What is it, Jenna, what's the matter?' she asked, sotto voce.
'That copper we saw this afternoon?'
'What about him?'
'He's downstairs. Hurry up, Mum, I don't want to leave Grandad with him for too long,' her voice was full of urgency, her eyes frantic.
Susan nodded as if this drastic news was no real surprise. Grabbing her housecoat, she headed out onto the landing, closing the bedroom door as quietly as possible. By the time she turned, Jenna was already at the top of the stairs.
'Come on, Mum, hurry up,' she hissed.
Susan shushed her with a hand and followed her daughter down the stairs.
Hopkins was standing in exactly the same spot as if he had been unplugged from the mains. Ronnie was busy pouring hot water into three mugs.
'Are you sure you don't want a brew, lad?'
'No thank you,' he turned as Jenna and Susan bustled into the room.
'Where's your husband?' he asked with a scowl.
Susan pulled the dressing gown tight around her body. 'Asleep and if you don't mind I'd like to keep it that way, he has to up in three hours and I'm sure I can answer any questions you might have.'
Hopkins tilted his head slightly before pulling a pen and pad from his pocket.
'I understand and besides I can always catch up with him later should the need arise.'
Susan slid around the table and took the cup Ronnie offered her.
'Would you like to sit down?' she asked.
'I'm fine, thank you.'
'So, how can we help?'
'It's a matter of clarification. Now, as I'm sure you're aware we have a police presence at a property owned by yourselves.'
'Have they found any more remains?' Jenna blurted out the question before it had formed in her mind and then cringed as Hopkins turned to look at her.
'Do you mind telling me how you know about what's been discovered?' his Gestapo eyes pinned her to the spot.
'I…'
'Patrick Fossey called on his way home and explained what was happening.' Susan explained.
Hopkins slowly slid his eyes away from Jenna.
'Did he really and what else did Mr Fossey tell you about the proceedings?'
'Nothing, he just thought we had the right to know.'
Hopkins looked keenly at Susan as if inspecting a prime suspect. 'Unfortunately, I can confirm what Mr Fossey divulged is true. We have found human remains and we are continuing to search the area,' he smiled again. 'So, now you've been fully briefed, I wonder if we could get back to the issue at hand?'
Jenna dug what few remaining nails she had left into the palm of her hand, chewing at her bottom lip in an effort to keep her growing anger under control.
'Fire away, lad.' Ronnie said, before taking a gulp from the mug.
'I've already ascertained that Mr Fossey was up at the house yesterday, but could you tell me the last time any one of you visited the property?'
'I think I was the last one up there.' Ronnie replied.
'I see and when was this exactly?'
Ronnie pursed his lips and whistled. 'God, it must be six months back, I nipped up to hammer a couple of boards back over the windows.'
'And while you were there did you notice anything out of the ordinary?'
'Such as what?'
'Well, for example, was there any evidence that someone had been using the place to live in?'
'You'd have to be bloody desperate to live in that draughty old place.'
'That's not what I asked.'
Ronnie frowned, pompous bugger. 'Like I said, I only hammered a few nails in, I didn't actually look around the place,' he pulled out his battered tin and took out a cigarette.
'I must say, I'm surprised you haven't demolished the building before now, after all it hardly appears safe.'
For the first time Ronnie looked flustered 'Aye well, we used to keep stuff up there, it's handy for storage, besides no bugger ever goes in.'
'I think it's obvious that someone's been using the place without your knowledge, don't you?'
Ronnie didn't answer, he lit his cigarette and peered at Hopkins. He didn't like this bugger, not one bit.
Hopkins smiled as if he could read his mind and then turned back to Jenna.
'And what's the relationship between yourself and Patrick Fossey?'
She squared her shoulders and glared, right she'd had enough of this.
'I…'
'There's no relationship between my daughter and Mr Fossey. In fact, they only met yesterday.' Susan interrupted.
Jenna's mouth snapped shut. She was seething; this slime ball had no right coming here in the middle of the night and grilling them as if they had something to hide. Yet the presence of Hopkins was only part of the reason for her anger. She threw her mother a look of irritation; she was old enough to answer the questions herself. Although
it was obvious, her mother didn't think so.
Hopkins scribbled something in his notebook and looked up as if he hadn't heard a word Susan had said.
'But you must have had some initial contact with Fossey or did he simply turn up unannounced?'
'Well…'
Susan stood up. 'Listen, Sergeant, I don't know…'
'Please, Mrs. Fotheringay; let your daughter answer the question.'
Ronnie jabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and sighed.
Jenna composed herself. 'I wrote to him.'
'How many times?'
'About four I think and then we spoke on the phone to arrange when he was coming to the farm.'
'And do you have copies of these letters you sent to him, Jenna?'
'Well, no, I mean, I sent emails not actual letters.'
Hopkins looked towards the ceiling as if absorbing some important fact.
'When I spoke to Fossey earlier he said he was involved in research for a book.'
'That's right.'
'And you were helping him with his research in what capacity?'
Susan began tapping her foot on the floor in mounting irritation. Hopkins ignored her.
Jenna felt unsure how to reply, she wasn't actually helping him with the research, she'd merely provided him with information that he'd found interesting. However, as she tried to explain this to Hopkins, she got the impression he didn't believe a word of it and she had to admit it sounded implausible, a teenage girl with a keen interest in local history. God, at best it made her sound like some saddo who had no friends or, worse still, a stalker who had a crazed infatuation with Patrick Fossey.
When she'd finished, a brittle silence descended on the room as if she'd just told a tall tale that had fooled no one.
Hopkins slid the notebook into his pocket and sighed loudly.
'Right, I think that's all for the time being. And I'm sorry for calling at this late hour but I'm sure you can appreciate in circumstances like these we have to cover every angle.'
Susan placed her cup on the table. 'That's quite all right we understand; I just wish we could be more helpful.'
Hopkins nodded. 'Just one more thing, until we have a clearer understanding of the events, my advice would be to keep your doors and windows locked at all times.'
The Needle House Page 7