The Drowners (18 page)

‘Why thanks,’ said Lauren, beaming at him. ‘Is lovely to get such good service.’ She watched as Kirk served her pudding under the watchful eyes of the manager, who finally nodded his approval and moved off to micro-manage
someone
else. They all exchanged relieved smiles and Jonny lit a cigarette whilst Lauren finished off her meal. After
demolishing
her chocolate cake, custard and ‘little splash’ of cream, Lauren was ready to face the shops in Street and hurried out into the warm afternoon.

To her surprise she spotted Iris, still hovering down the High Street. Jonny was inside paying the bill and for a moment Lauren contemplated going back inside to wait for him but her hesitation was her undoing. Iris was walking towards her, a determined look on her face, and Lauren resigned herself to the encounter. Iris stopped a few feet away and hesitated before speaking.

‘Hello Lauren,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sorry to intrude but I wondered if you could spare a minute?’

She looked nervously over Lauren’s shoulder just as Jonny stepped out of the pub and started across the road towards them.

‘Hey!’ he called. ‘What do you want?’

He moved across to stand in front of his sister protectively but Lauren laid her hand on his arm to stop him.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Iris just wants a word. Why don’t you go and check the car.’ It was an order rather than a question.

Looking decidedly unhappy, Jonny walked off to the
side-street
where his new Nova was parked and Lauren nodded to Iris to come closer.

‘Is a bit delicate,’ said the woman, and now Lauren got a good look at her and realized that Iris had been crying.

‘Let’s sit down, over there, look, by the flower beds,’ said Lauren guiding her towards an empty wooden bench. ‘Now, what’s this you want to talk about then?’

Iris blew her nose, dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath before she answered.

‘I’m so worried about my Billy,’ she said. ‘He’s getting himself all wrought up about Derek and I don’t know as how he came to terms with losing his brother either.’

Lauren nodded sympathetically and waited for Iris to get to the point. She could see Jonny hovering on the corner, watching her anxiously and was mildly irritated by his overly protective attitude. Iris had done her no wrong. Her husband, Derek, was another matter and Lauren was exceedingly glad Derek was dead and gone, but Iris had turned away from her violent husband and his mad quest for revenge. She had thrown him out of the house, changed the locks and refused to see him, which made her all right in Lauren’s reckoning. She realized Iris was speaking again and decided to let Jonny stew for a bit longer.

‘Now he’s on about Derek’s funeral, though we can’t have a real one – not a proper funeral on account of there’s no body ever been recovered. I was hoping to do some sort of memorial service maybe, though I’m not sure many folks would want to come.’ She dropped her head and gazed at her clasped hand for a moment before fixing Lauren with a defiant look.

‘Still, he wasn’t always so bad. Once he was half-way decent, just a bit wild and used to getting what he wanted the whole time. If it helps Billy, I’ll stand up and say I miss Derek, that I’m sorry he’s gone, but the prison, they won’t let him out for the day. Because of that silly running away thing he did. They say he’s an escaper and he’s not entitled to any release until his sentence is up.’

Lauren digested this for a moment.

‘So when is he out then?’ she asked.

Iris sighed and shook her head. ‘Well, should have been round June but they took half his remission off him so now is probably not until end of September,’ she said.

‘Bit late, waiting nearly a year,’ said Lauren thoughtfully and Iris nodded.

‘Well there’s some,’ she said acidly, ‘some folks as think I’m not properly respectful, waiting this long with nothing to mark his passing. Mainly Derek’s cousins that is. Bunch of inbred half-wits without a brain cell to share between ’em.’

Despite herself Lauren laughed aloud.

‘Why don’t you say what you think, Iris. Don’t mind me.’

‘Ah, I know, but really – what a collection of losers they is! I been fobbing ’em off, saying maybe they might find the body and we’ll be able to give him a proper funeral and then I was trying to make ’em wait until Billy could be there, but they’s getting right pushy now. Saying I don’t care and I’m disrespectful to Derek’s memory. Seeing as how he got hisself drowned trying to kill you and all, I ’ent so sure is possible to disrespect it, mind.’

Lauren had always been told not to speak ill of the dead but she was finding it hard not to agree with Iris on just about every point.

‘So, what is it you’re wanting from me then?’ she asked.

Iris looked down at her hands before answering.

‘I was wondering if Alex Hastings might have a word on Billy’s behalf. I know it’s asking a lot, specially as Derek behaved so badly towards her …’

Privately, Lauren thought this was something of an understatement. Derek had, after all, stalked Alex for most of the last year, breaking into her house, slashing her car tyres and finally trying to kill her. Had she been in Alex’s place, Lauren would have been tempted to walk away from the whole family and leave young Billy ‘Newt’ Johns to rot in Dartmoor but she had known Alex long enough now to realize her friend was more forgiving and, on occasions, infinitely more professional.

‘I thought she did send that letter,’ said Lauren, stalling for time whilst she tried to see a way out of the problem. She might not be Alex’s official assistant any more but she still felt a strong obligation to protect her, especially from the memories and emotions generated by the Johns family.

‘She did, yes, and that was very kind of her,’ said Iris. ‘It’s just – they didn’t seem to take anything into consideration when they turned him down. I thought maybe – if she could – perhaps speak to them? Billy’s not going to try and escape. That’s just daft, and they know it. They’s punishing him for
what Derek made him do and I don’t think that’s fair – do you?’

‘Hang on, what do you mean, Derek made him do?’ Lauren asked.

Iris’s face hardened, her eyes glittering in the weak sunlight.

‘Was Derek’s idea, that stupid “escape” of Billy’s,’ she said. ‘He’d heard something around the Levels about a “grass” in Dartmoor, so he told Billy to keep his ears open an’ call him if he heard anything. Course, he said to keep it secret so Billy, he wasn’t going to risk using the phones inside the prison in case someone heard so he did that run into the village. That’s how Derek found out about poor old Frank Mallory.’

Lauren was aghast. ‘Does he know?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I suppose technically that could make him an accessory to Frank Mallory’s murder!’

‘I never told him,’ said Iris. ‘I’ll maybe talk to him when he’s out but I reckon he’s got enough problems at the moment. Though there’s times I’m so tempted, hearing him talking about Derek and thinking the man was worth looking up to!’

Iris looked about to burst in to tears again and despite everything Lauren found herself moved by the woman’s courage and the devotion she showed towards her son. Lauren had gone to school with the Johns brothers, at least on the rare occasions they deigned to attend, and the younger lad, Biff, had been one of the kids who had made her life miserable. Newt, on the other hand, had never bothered her and actually called Biff and his little gang of nasties off a couple of times. She guessed she owed Newt too.

‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll talk to her for you. I don’t know if she can do anything more, mind, and she’s still got her arm all plastered up so I don’t think she can drive very far at the moment.’

Iris gave her a glittering smile and for an instant Lauren could see the beauty and charm that had broken hearts across the Levels.

‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’

Iris gathered herself, taking a deep breath and putting her handkerchief back in her bag.

‘You know,’ she said as she stood up, ‘I just want it all over. I want to say goodbye and walk away from the whole damn lot of ’um.’

‘Except Newt,’ said Lauren.

Iris fixed her with a steady gaze and smiled very slightly. ‘Yes, except for Newt.’

It was muddy down on the banks of the River Brue and the Highpoint police officers were grateful for their waders and waterproof jackets. It began as a cold, wet morning and there was the usual round of grumbling but gradually the rain turned to drizzle, the clouds lifted and the sun fought its way through to bring sparkle and colour to the water meadows and reed beds. There were worse ways to spend a bright, spring day’s overtime, Dave Brown thought as he plodded slowly and carefully along the edge of the water, stick in hand. He examined the ground carefully before taking each step, looking for footprints or signs of recent disturbance. There were a few areas of disturbed leaves and damaged grass but these proved to be caused by the local wildlife: otters and newly arrived migratory birds searching for food and material for their nests. Undeterred, Dave worked his way along the bank, parting the reeds and tall grasses with the stick as he went.

As the sun rose it began to feel pleasantly warm and he realized he was rather enjoying himself. There was something both undemanding and satisfying about a detailed search. He wondered for a moment if he were doing the right thing, pushing for promotion and trying to fast-track his career. The majority of his colleagues were perfectly happy as ordinary PCs, their lives the perfect mix of comfortable routine and an occasional burst of wild excitement at the rare, more serious, crimes. They talked a lot about their homes, their gardens and their pensions and certainly in these uncertain economic times they were exceedingly fortunate. Then he thought of the years
ahead, long, slow years of the same thing, the same petty offences culminating perhaps in the much coveted position of desk sergeant. The day might be pleasant but such a future was not for him.

He turned his attention back to the task, moving
methodically
along his allotted patch. Suddenly there was a shout up ahead and when he rounded a clump of willows he could see Sergeant Willis leaning over, peering in to a reed bed. The men who had been close enough to hear the call began to emerge from the surrounding greenery and the sergeant stood up and waved at them angrily.

‘Get back now! We don’t need your great big feet all over the scene. Stand up there, on the top of that path and wait!’

Dave hurried forward, sticking close to the river bank as he called out.

‘Sarge, should we get on the side of the path? Maybe under those trees, on the grass?’

Sergeant Willis looked at him for a moment and then nodded.

‘Right, of course that’s what I meant. Over there, you lot, and wait whilst we check the track for footprints. Brown, you get the photographer out of the car. Time he earned his overtime, I think. I’ll keep an eye on the scene down here.’

There were a few boot marks on the path but nothing very much, except they seemed to be heavy prints. A couple of them leaned over with a scuffed edge as if the maker’s foot had slipped a little.

‘Could be carrying something,’ said Dave hopefully.

The photographer grunted and snapped away, head down and coat collar turned up against the breeze. Once he’d finished, he tramped over to the riverbank where Sergeant Willis was waiting for him. Dave Brown considered the footprints for a minute. Whoever had walked along here had come from inland, along the old track from some disused peat workings. There were no return prints, he noted. And the scuffing on one side did look like the mark of someone
struggling with a heavy load. He moved back up the track, keeping to one side and scanning the ground as he went.

‘What you looking for then?’ asked one of the waiting PCs. Dave shook his head and kept walking. He’d know it when he saw it.

Alex and Sue decided to take advantage of Garry’s absence and treated themselves to a rare day off. Although her wrist was still plastered, Alex offered to drive, leaving Sue torn between indulging in a decent glass of wine at lunchtime and putting up with Alex’s awful old car. In the end the wine won, but half-way to Street she was regretting her choice.

‘Bloody hell, can’t you take the bends a bit slower?’ she growled as she was thrown against the door and then bounced up and down over a short gravelled patch of road. Alex glanced at her in surprise.

‘Sorry, I’d not realized it was bumpy,’ she said and slowed down slightly. The aging Citroën wallowed over the irregular surface, bobbing and rolling slightly from side to side.

‘I’m getting sea-sick,’ Sue complained, grabbing for the dashboard in an attempt to steady herself.

Alex frowned, concentrating on the narrow road.

‘It’s not that bad. What a fuss.’

‘It’s all right for you,’ snapped Sue. ‘You’ve got the steering wheel to hang on to.’

Her mood improved as they pulled into the large car park behind the factory shop and the sun came out, driving away the last of the drizzle.

‘Shop first,’ said Alex firmly. ‘I’ve seen you in here after a few glasses of wine. On our budgets we need to be a bit more selective in our purchases.’

They spent a happy hour and a half browsing through the huge store, opening boxes and trying on new and unusual shoes. The factory shop was a source of constant delight, though mixed equally with disappointment. Some of the more interesting items were only available in one size – inevitably the wrong one. There were even some shoes only
offered in one pair, prototypes or ends of run priced to recover cost. Glancing at her watch, Alex realized she was hungry and it was creeping past lunchtime. Reluctant to leave such a treasure-house, Sue was eventually lured away by the promise of a pub meal and they retired to the Bull’s Arms to gloat over their purchases.

‘I don’t know how you can resist,’ said Sue, eyeing Alex’s one shoe box. ‘And they’re not exactly exotic are they?’

Alex put her desert boots on the floor, hurt by her friend’s remarks.

‘Well, at least I’ll have warm feet,’ she said sulkily. ‘How many pairs of tiny, shiny sandals do you need anyway?’