Rottenhouse (14 page)

‘
Been stabbed in eye.
That’s what’s probably done it.’ Lewis said.

‘
No shit.’ Pickering
replied and nudged Lewis on the back as if to push him into the
water.

‘
Piss off,
Joe.’

‘
Err, that be Mr
Pickering, to you. Don’t ferget yaplace.’ The tall one said as he
looked back at the body.

The painting he had seen in his
nightmare flashed before Simon’s eyes. The girl on the gurney.
Handcuffed to the gurney, body mutilated.

They leak. They bleed. They don’t stop
once they started.

‘
Shut it. Pair aya.’
And then Mr Rowling continued rubbing his chin, ‘Fine mess this be.
Apart from him being a total arse sometimes; young Stevie had uses.
I hoped that lasts night warning would have put this youngen back
on track. We’ll never know now. But Chairman will have to be told.
This aint right. Not without permission, ya know what I mean. Aint
right.’

‘
Aye.’ The pair of
them said.

Simon could see the
body begin to move again and he guessed that it wouldn’t be too
long before the water took Stevie further downstream, passed the
old hut and on into the village. Simon deduced from what Mr Rowling
was saying that if the murder had taken place with the Chairman’s
permission then all would be okay.
What
kind of sick place is this
Simon thought to
himself and then remembered what Stevie had gone through last
night.

‘
What are you going to
do with the body?’ Simon asked sheepishly not really wanting to
know the answer, not really wanting to be here but hey, he had had
the chance to turn tail and run back to the house like his good
woman but no, Simon decided that he wanted to stay. And now he had
to deal with it.

When none of the three men answered him
he asked again but still there was no reply. Was he even there,
Simon looked to the floor, saw his shadow, his feet smothering the
grass, and knew for certain that he existed.

‘
Drag him out. Then
put him in van.’

Simon had his answer.

‘
Where we taking him,
Mr Rowling?’ Pickering asked.

‘
Back to his mother.
Send her my regards and tell her that we will find him.’

‘
Find him?’ That was
Lewis, ‘Whatcha mean?’

Mr Rowling shook his head. ‘You really
are a prick, Lewis. Whoever did it! Just get him out before the
water takes him to God knows where.’

With a few huffs and puffs and a shriek
from Pickering that the water was too cold, both men hopped into
the water, which came up to their knees, and began to lift out the
dead weight.

Mr Rowling moved away from the water
and back toward Simon, though he made an effort to keep some
distance between them both. The redness on his cheeks was gone as
too was the heavy breathing. There was a concerned look on his face
but nothing to what the emotions of a man back in the city would
have been like if they had come across a body floating in a stream,
a great big knife sticking out of its eye socket. Simon watched as
the two men struggled to get the body out of the water. The bank
wasn’t steep but now that it was wet with their splashing and the
high water line from yesterday’s rains they slipped and could find
no purchase on the mud. Plus the lifeless body wasn’t helping much.
It was hard enough lifting a grown man when they were drunk, at
least they helped a little, but lifting a body, one full of water
too, must be nigh on impossible.

Simon thought they had cracked it;
Stevie’s body was half in and half out of the water only for Lewis
to slip and go tumbling into the cool water taking the body with
him. Pickering let out a guffaw of laughter and grabbed hold of the
body before it floated away.

‘
Lewis, ya great fat
sow, stop buggering about and get him outtawater.’

Lewis, not
Bobbie.
Simon had to know the
truth.

‘
What’s his full
name?’

‘
Who?’

Simon pointed over to
Lewis and tried not to laugh as he slipped on the bottom of the
stream and went tumbling into the water. It was like watching an
old Laurel and Hardy movie;
Sons of the
Desert, The Music Box
or
Great Guns
– Pickering
was obviously Laurel, Lewis the funnier and fatter Hardy. No matter
what they did, one of them, or both now that Pickering slipped and
almost fell in, they managed to make total arses of
themselves.

‘
Lewis. What’s his
full name?’

‘
Lewis Coleman. Same
name as his father. He’s now ten feet under behind Club. He was a
grand man, aye. Not like his brain dead son. Look at him for
heaven’s sake. Old Lewis would turn in his grave if he knew.
Surprised you didn’t go back, Simon. Normal folks woulda up chucked
and ran for hills when seeing a sight such as that. I take it yasaw
the knife. Yeah. Sticking out like a tent peg. Yasee that’s what
did the boy in, if yadidn’t know; knives do that especially when
stuck in the head and into the brain. Kills nigh on everything
straight away does that, a knife to the brain, if yaknow what I
mean?’

No way! No, really! I had no idea, Mr
Rowling, that you were such a keen Detective with knowledge of the
inner workings of the mind

The same smile that Simon was getting
used to using sprang up again, though this time it was raised up
one side as he was unable to hide what his brain was feeding to his
muscles such was the ferociousness of the sheer shock that someone
could be so…so…Simon didn’t know what, but whatever it was, Mr
Rowling was really good at it.

‘
Nothing else. No
middle name?’ Simon said trying to get some order back to this
chaotic madness.

Mr Rowling turned to him now his brow
scrunched up so much it was like watching two hairy caterpillars
scurry across a pink branch. ‘Camon Simon, what’s all this
about?’

‘
Yesterday, on the way
up, we stopped at the petrol station to get some fuel. Lewis was
there. Don’t know if he works in the garage but he served us. Only
his overalls, which I don’t think were his, had Bobbie written on
the name badge. It just seems odd to me, that’s all.’

‘
Odd to
you?’

‘
Well yeah, Mr
Rowling. The clothes weren’t his. They were’s whoever this Bobbie
girl is. I’m sure of it.’

‘
And how do you know
this
Bobbie
is a
girl? For all I know old man Coleman might’ve given him a second
name.’

There was a deep groan as the two men
lifted the body fully out of the water. Simon paid the body little
attention.

‘
Because of the
spelling. Anyway, look, it’s just odd, that’s all, don’t you think?
Wearing girl’s clothes?’

That got Mr Rowling’s
attention. Got it good. Mr Rowling’s eyes lit up and his cheeks
reddened again like two fat radishes. Simon noticed a familiar look
in Mr Rowling that he and his daughter shared. It wasn’t
My String is about to snap so I suggest you stop
what it is you are doing
look, no, this was
the egg timer behind the eyes look. Even though it was only a
handful of seconds before Mr Rowling answered it appeared to Simon
as though he had been waiting since the Big Bang to hear
it.

‘
Aye, odd, Simon. But
this Bobbie fellow I wouldn’t trouble yerself with. People come
and
gooh
Simon and
I can’t be expected to knowem all now, can I?’ He turned toward
Laurel and Hardy, ‘Good job. About bloody time though. Now drag him
up to van and let’s be done with this.’ Mr Rowling rubbed his hands
as if he had done the work himself and added to no one in
particular though Simon guessed it was directed at him, ‘Right, I’m
going home for a cuppa tea and biscuit. See you lads at Club
tonight.’

As unbelievable as
Simon had found the last few minutes they had been predictable in a
strange kind of way. Strange in the same way that a wonky door is
or someone wearing odd socks is or a car running on a flat is or a
field of grass with a bald spot is; they all have perfectly
reasonable explanations. But that doesn’t stop you from thinking
that behind the explanations, that behind the
facts
and the chaotic series of
events that led to the socks being odd, that led to the field being
bald or the tyre being flat or the door being put on wonky, that
there was something else; some hidden, more menacing reason that if
discovered would turn your hair white and make the gusset of your
pants brown.

‘
You coming,
Simon?’

‘
Err, yeah.’ Simon
said and he turned away from Pickering and Lewis and the body of
Stevie and headed back up to the house.

He and Mr Rowling
reached the wooden bridge, the scene almost picture perfect if
Simon didn’t know about the body a few meters behind him. He was
about to cross, following behind the old man, when he heard raised
laughter and cries of enjoyment. Turning around, Simon paid no
attention to the beautiful valley walls rising up, the skies
glorious azure blue with small white puffy clouds floating about it
like carefree sheep, as what he was supposed to do. No, what caught
his attention and sent his own
String
into some kind of overdrive
was Lewis, and what he was doing to the corpse.

14

Lewis had rolled the
dead body onto his belly and had taken off his own trousers. Simon
couldn’t tell from this angle, and for the love of all things Holy
he hoped that he wasn’t, if Lewis was
actually
fucking the corpse. There
was also a lot of arm waving, as if Lewis was riding a bucking
bronco in a rodeo, and next to him Pickering was bent over, hands
flat on his knees laughing like a hyena on LSD.

‘
What the hell. Jesus.
Stop them wouldya Mr Rowling, please. Are they retarded or
something?’

Mr Rowling was on the
other side of the small wooden bridge, turning, he shaded his eyes
so that he could see what all the fuss was about. Upon seeing it he
smiled. Actually smiled and said, ‘Just a bit of fun, Simon. C’mon
son, yadon’t think he’s
doing
him do ya?’

Lewis took of his cap and swung it
around his head in massive circular motions. Pickering, upon seeing
such a funny thing, rolled onto the floor and sounded as if the
laughter would be the death of him.

‘
Bit of fun. No. NO! I
can’t have this. I mean, okay, you didn’t call the cops, whatever
man,’ Simon raised his hands to the sky and then let them fall the
palms outstretched. He then pointed to the debauchery, ‘But that;
what he’s doing to a man that has been murdered aint right, it aint
right, and if you don’t do something about it then I
will.’

Mr Rowling had that annoying blank look
again but Simon saw past it. Yeah he did. He could see that Mr
Rowling was a little bit flustered, a little bit agitated, like a
woman that peeps from behind a curtain only this time she has been
caught peeping and doesn’t know what to do.

‘
Well?’ Simon blurted
forgetting that this man had had someone beaten half to death last
night and then that same man has been found stabbed to death not 18
hours later.

‘
Okay, Simon. Made ya
point.’ And then raising his voice, ‘LEWIS, PICKERING. ENOUGH OF
THAT. DON’T DESERVE IT. NOW DO AS TOLD AND FINISH UP.’

Mr Rowling looked at Simon; his
expression asking if that was satisfactory. Simon didn’t answer
straight away; he kept his eyes on Pickering and Lewis making sure
that whatever it was that they were doing was well and truly
over.

He watched Lewis get off, wave a hand
of apology in their direction, and then help Pickering to his
feet.

Pickering and Lewis appraised the body,
moving it further away from the stream and into the open space
Simon’s camera bag had been in. They positioned the body in an odd
way, not as if they were going to carry it back to the van. Simon
wondered…

‘
Camon Simon. Time fer
tea. Barbara will be waiting.’

‘
One minute, please. I
just wanna know…’

He was curious why they had made it
look as though Stevie was about to do snow angels, such was the
position of his arms and legs all splayed out to the four corners
of the globe. Then his mouth dropped open and Simon lifted his
hands so that they were upon his head as Lewis lifted his axe up
and brought it down hard, removing the right arm of Stevie with the
sound of snapping bone and ripping flesh. Pickering stood by and
laughed.

15

‘
Easier talift, Simon.
Easier talift when in smaller bits. Not so heavy yasee. Same thing
like when in quarry. Now yacant carry heavy rocks so yabreakem up
to littler bits so it’s easy to carry. That’s what Lewis is doing
there.’

Simon threw up. He tried to stop the
flow of hot sour liquid and was doing okay until the sound of
another snapping bone mixed with tearing skin and muscle filled the
serene summer’s day.

Still a Bit
Groggy

1

Simon had been led back to the house by
Mr Rowling, dry heaving all the way, stopping only once for a few
moments as the dry heave turned wet and sour, chunky liquid coming
up and splattering wildly over randomly sprouting daffodils on the
side of the road.