by Ford, P. F.
“Oh yes! Most definitely,” agreed Mrs Brannington, sending both the ladies into fits of giggles.
This seemed to set the tone for the rest of the interview and Slater began to doubt he was going to get any sense out of these two, who seemed to think the whole thing was an absolute hoot.
“Widows of our age, don’t often get to see the working parts,” explained Mrs Grimley. “So when we do, we tend to have a good look. It’s a useful reminder.”
“He’s an old boy, I think,” suggested Mrs Brannington. “Or at least, he’s old enough to have grey hair.”
“Salt and pepper, dear. Salt and pepper,” corrected Mrs Grimley. “And it wasn’t all wrinkly,” she added. “There was none of that ‘last turkey in the shop’ nonsense you usually get with old men.”
“Smooth as silk,” agreed Mrs Brannington. “Not a wrinkle in sight.”
Slater was trying hard not to laugh as he took notes, but the twinkle in their eyes when he looked up was making it very difficult.
“Between you and me, Sergeant,” Mrs Grimley confided, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. “Whoever that man is, he’s a very big boy.”
“Hung like a donkey,” agreed Mrs Brannington, approvingly. “The soldier was standing very much to attention,” she added, as if she thought Slater might not have fully understood the reason for her admiration.
“She means he had a massive hard on,” Mrs Grimley told him, just in case there should be any doubt at all.
“Right. Yes,” spluttered Slater, beginning to blush furiously. “I think I’ve got the general idea.”
“Oh yes.” Mrs Brannington smiled, wistfully. “It was a sight for sore eyes. When you find out who he is, Sergeant, I, for one, would love to know.”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” said Mrs Grimley, dismissively. “He wouldn’t be any use to you. Can you imagine how hard his heart must have to work to inflate that thing? I would imagine actually using it for real would bring on a heart attack. That’s why he just waves it at people. It’s probably the best he can do. Don’t you agree, Sergeant?”
Slater couldn’t stop himself from laughing this time, and he realised he’d now lost control of this interview and the direction it had taken. This was just way too much information, most of it speculation, and none of it would be much use in court.
When they were driving back later, Biddeford told him he’d heard nothing to make him think he knew who the flasher was or how he’d got onto the premises. But his gut feeling told him it had to be someone associated with the leisure centre.
“So, how did you get on with the two old dears?” he asked Slater.
“Ah, yes. The merry widows,” said Slater. “Well, I had a very interesting and entertaining conversation with them. Whether I’ve actually learnt anything as a result is extremely debatable.”
“They must have told you something useful,” said Biddeford. “He waved his willy at them. They’ve actually seen Dick Waver in the flesh.”
“Oh you’re right,” said Slater with a broad grin. “They saw him alright.”
“So what does he look like?”
Slater sighed happily.
“Well,” he said. “It seems we’re looking for an eighth dwarf. Or possibly a donkey disguised as a dwarf. He’s an old guy called Stiffy, who wears white trainers with red soles, and a big, dark blue, ‘Tinton Sports Centre’ dressing gown. When he opens the dressing gown he reveals grey pubes, or possibly salt and pepper, and a nob so big it drags along the floor when he walks.”
“I think Dick Waver’s a much better name than Stiffy,” Biddeford said, smiling. “But if your description’s correct, we just need to look for a trail in the sand. It should lead us right to him.”
Chapter 3
The trouble with adopting a dog from one of these rescue places, thought Christine Pearce, is you never really knew how the dog was going to turn out. Sure, they tell you the dog’s great with people, and he doesn’t fight with other dogs, but what about when you let him off a lead for the first time? In the rescue centre it’s all enclosed, isn’t it? So the bloody dog can’t run away there, can he? And if he does, there are probably half a dozen people around to catch the damned thing.
“Just keep him on the lead for a few days,” they said.
“Once he’s happy to be with you he’ll always come back,” they said.
“A week should be long enough,” they said.
“Dannnnnny,” Christine yelled for the umpteenth time, adding much more quietly, “Come here, there’s a good boy, cos I’m really gonna kick your arse when I find you.”
Rotten little bugger, thought Christine. The sun was still bright but its position in the sky told her time was getting on. She looked at her watch. Six thirty. She was supposed to be meeting the girls down the pub in an hour, and here she was looking for her mum’s bloody dog. Why on earth had she agreed to walk the stupid thing? And what on earth had possessed her to let him off the lead?
“Danny,” she yelled again. She thought she heard something away to her right, near the small collection of trees known as Haunted Copse. Oh great. Well, if the bloody stupid dog’s in that copse he can damned well stay there, cos I’m certainly not going in after him.
Local legend insisted the copse was the home to all things creepy and scary. Like everyone else in Tinton, Christine knew it was a ridiculous old wives’ tale. I mean, come on. Ghosts? In this day and age? And, just like everyone else in Tinton, Christine scoffed at the suggestion she was scared. What me? Scared? Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing to be scared of… But then again, there was no point in taking chances, was there?
There it was again. It sounded like the sort of noise an excited dog would make – a combination of barks and excited yelps. Shit, the little bugger was definitely over by Haunted Copse. Now she didn’t have any bloody choice, did she? She couldn’t go home without the little sod, so she’d just have to go over there. Reluctantly, she began to trudge slowly through the long grass, heading for the trees.
“Danny,” she called. “Danny! Come on, boy.”
As she neared the trees, she could hear the dog more clearly, and she finally caught a glimpse of him. Or, at least, she saw his tail wagging frantically back and forth. She noted with relief that he wasn’t actually in the copse. He was about 10 yards short of it, so at least she wouldn’t have to brave the ghosts and ghouls inside the copse. Not that there were any, of course.
“Danny, you moronic mongrel,” she called as she approached. “For God’s sake, come here and let’s go home.”
She could see his tail and the top of his back clearly now, his tail waving back and forth like a long, black, hairy, scimitar. He was yelping with delight as well, something he always did when he got excited when he was playing. She wondered what he could have found to play with out here. I hope it’s not a dead rabbit or he’s gonna stink to high heaven.
“Danny. What have you got? If it’s something dead, I’m gonna kill you.”
She made a lunge for the dog, trying to grab his collar, but he skipped away from her with ease. And that’s when she lost her balance and began to fall. As she fell, she saw what the dog had found, just before she landed on top of it. It certainly looked dead alright, there was blood and gore everywhere. But this was no rabbit.
Horrified, she froze for a split second as she landed, but then a piercing, involuntary scream split the evening peace. Terrified now, her hands pawing uselessly at the slimy mess she had landed in, panic inevitably took over. Christine finally managed to scramble back to her feet, blood and gore dripping down her front. She became aware of the most god-awful smell, and then she began to run for her life.
Danny, a big, energetic mongrel, thought this was the greatest game ever, and he took off after her just as fast as he could go, barking and yelping for all he was worth. She had only gone about 10 yards before he caught up with her, giving her heels a playful tap with his paw as he did so. It was enough to trip her up and she crashed to t
he ground, face down, all the wind knocked from her.
Suddenly the panic was gone, reality began to set in, and she realised exactly what she had seen. Then the smell hit her again and she began to retch violently. When there was nothing left inside her, she began to cry; great heaving sobs that threatened to burst her lungs.
This was an unexpected turn of events for the dog. Unsure what this new game was all about, he began to sniff cautiously around the back of Christine’s head as she sobbed and whimpered uncontrollably.
Chapter 4
“Okay. We’re on our way,” said PC Jane Jolly into the radio. She sat back in the passenger seat as her partner PC Phillipa Flight began to accelerate.
“Did you get all that, Jane?” asked Flight. “I got the bit about the hysterical girl, but did he say out by the Haunted Copse? I’m not sure where that car park is.”
“Straight up here,” said Jolly. “Left at the T-junction, second right into Copse Lane and it’s about half a mile on the left.”
“That’ll be a sign of your misspent youth, then,” said Flight. “Anyone who can pinpoint that car park so accurately must have spent a lot of time up there. One of your favourite shagging spots when you were younger, was it?”
The car park close to Haunted Copse was where dog walkers parked by day and, in the past, it was also where sexually charged teenagers, eager for a grope and possibly a whole lot more, parked after dark. Flight knew that, nowadays, it was also a place where couples came when they fancied being a bit more daring. So it was a car park for dog walkers or doggers; it just depended on the time of day.
“Huh. I should be so lucky,” Jolly said, grinning. “I know it because I used to go with my mum to walk our dog. Sweaty gropes in the back of a car weren’t on the menu when I was a kid. Not with my looks.”
Flight cast a sideways glance at her.
“What d’you mean, ‘not with my looks’? There’s nothing wrong with your looks.”
“Back then I had a flat chest, knock knees and spots,” said Jolly. “Not exactly the best look for attracting boys.”
Flight looked doubtful.
“I know it’s hard to believe now, but it’s true,” insisted Jolly. She patted her rather large chest. “I didn’t start to grow these things until I was nearly 20. Now look at me. Like a woman with three heads.”
She laughed out loud. At nearly 40, Jane Jolly wasn’t very tall, and had become somewhat dumpy, but she had accepted who she was, and the shape she was, with good grace, and she wasn’t averse to laughing at herself. Having a good home life with a loving husband and three happy kids was much more important to her than trying to look like some clotheshorse. It was this attitude that created her general good humour and almost permanent smile, and that’s what had endeared her to all who knew her. She was known universally as Jolly Jane.
She cast a glance at her partner, still feeling slightly jealous about PC Flight’s figure. She knew her friend watched what she ate, and worked out several times a week – and it really showed in her slim figure and great muscle tone. Jane was glad her colleague never commented on her own less-than-healthy lifestyle and eating habits.
PC Flight steered the patrol car carefully along the narrow road, doing a pretty good job of following Jolly’s directions. She had told her the small car park was along this road somewhere.
PC Jolly wondered what was awaiting them. All she and PC Flight had been told was a hysterical young woman had called from the car park near Haunted Copse, and as they were nearest, and the only ones free, it was their call. Backup would arrive as soon as some could be found.
Having been unable to discern the actual cause of the girl’s hysteria, it was possible Flight and Jolly could be heading into all sorts of trouble, but Jolly barely considered the possibility. She just wanted to get to the hysterical girl as soon as possible.
“Over there,” she said, pointing to the narrow car park entrance. As they swung in, she saw the girl’s car, a small red Fiat, tucked in a corner. The driver’s door was open and the girl was sat sideways on, head in her hands, elbows propped on her jean clad legs. A large dog sat in the passenger seat, watching their arrival with great interest.
Keeping a safe distance from the car, just in case there was any evidence to protect, Flight quickly parked while Jolly flew from the passenger seat and started cautiously towards the girl.
“Christine?” she called. “Are you Christine?”
The girl looked up at the sound of her name. Her eyes were red from crying, and mascara had run down her face, leaving two black smears down her cheeks. She had obviously been sick, and traces of it still dribbled down her chin. As soon as she saw Jolly, she burst into more tears; huge wracking sobs shaking her whole body. Her mouth opened and closed, but she couldn’t form any words.
“Bloody hell, Phil, take a look at this,” Jolly called to her partner. She stared with horror at the blood and gore all down the girl’s front. Had she been attacked?
PC Flight rushed to her side.
“Are you alright, Christine? Are you hurt?”
Still unable to speak coherently, the girl shook her head to indicate she wasn’t hurt, and pointed towards the Haunted Copse.
“Over there. It’s horrible,” she managed to mumble, before the heaving sobs took over again.
“You look after her,” called Flight, setting off, jogging, towards the copse. “I’ll go take a look.”
As she set off, Jolly picked up the radio. She called for an ambulance and asked them to hurry up with the back-up.
After she radioed in, she knelt down to console Christine, wondering what her colleague was going to find in the woodland. As she turned back to the sobbing girl, she felt something leap over her head. What the hell? She stared as the dog, which had been sitting in the car, tore off after PC Flight.
“Look out, Phil!” Jolly was concerned for her friend’s safety, not being overly comfortable with dogs.
“It’s alright,” Christine mumbled. “He won’t hurt her.”
Assuming Christine knew what she was talking about, Jolly decided to ignore the dog and turn her full attention where it was needed most.
“Now then,” she said to Christine. “Can you tell me about it?”
There was dreadful smell about the girl, Jolly thought. There was something vaguely familiar about it. Sort of sweet, and sickly, and, well, rotten really. She realised the smell was coming from the stuff smeared up the girl’s front. Then, with a sinking feeling, she remembered what the smell was.
Oh shite. I know what that is.
As Flight neared the Haunted Copse, she realised she didn’t really have any idea what she was looking for, or exactly where she could expect to find it. As she jogged, she became aware something was coming up fast behind. She stopped and turned, just as the dog caught her up. He began to leap up and down and his joyful barks filled the air.
Flight relaxed. At least this idiot dog was harmless, but she didn’t have time for this.
“Bugger off,” she said to the dog and turned back towards the trees.
The grass was above knee height, making it difficult to see anything that may be lying on the ground, but she could make out a slightly flattened trail through the grass. She guessed maybe this was the path Christine had made when she’d fled the scene.
Unfortunately, what training the dog had absorbed in its short life clearly hadn’t included the expression “bugger off”, nor its meaning. He began to follow her.
Flight turned to the dog.
“Look.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “You can’t follow me. You’ll have to go away.”
At least the dog stopped, but he obviously wasn’t going to back off. There was a largish stick lying on the ground and Flight bent down to gather it up. The dog lunged for it, but she was quick enough to snatch it away from him. Now she had his full attention.
“Oh, you like sticks, do you?” she said, spinning round and sending the stick flying towards the trees with a
ll her might.
“Go fetch that one, then, ya big oaf,” she muttered, as the dog tore off after the stick. As if to demonstrate just how stupid he really was, he carried on straight past where the stick had landed and on into the trees.
Happy to see him out from under her feet, she turned back to her trail and began to wade through the grass. There was something in the air. Just a hint of something sweet, and sickly, and possibly rotting.
And then, suddenly, the horrible stench was everywhere as she came across the source. At first, it just seemed to be a mass of flesh, and blood, and gore. It was difficult to say for sure, but she thought it was probably a body. Or maybe there was more than one. The reason for her doubt was because it seemed to cover a much wider area than a body should. At the same time, it seemed to be both flattened and bloated, if that was possible. Across the centre, it looked as though something had been dropped on top, causing it to burst.
Good grief, she thought, did that poor girl fall into this mess? No wonder she was in such a state.
Phillipa Flight wasn’t the squeamish sort, but even she felt a little queasy as she turned and started to make her way back to the car park. She thought it was a good job she had gone to investigate and not her partner. Jolly Jane did not have a strong stomach and would have been sure to puke all over everything.
Chapter 5
It had taken Slater weeks to ask Jelena out on a date. She was attractive enough, with her not-quite-right English and her gorgeous good looks, and she’d already told him she would like him to ask her out. But, for some reason he just couldn’t put his finger on, he’d avoided the issue up until now. He’d picked his phone up often enough, intending to call her, yet every time he’d found an excuse not to call. Until this time.
This was another part of his new positive approach to life. He still couldn’t quite believe it was actually going to happen, and, bizarrely, he still wasn’t quite sure he really wanted it to happen, but he had made the commitment to meet her, and now the night had arrived, he intended to make sure he enjoyed himself.