The Drowners (19 page)

‘One more than I’ve already got,’ said Sue firmly. ‘Always one more. Can we have pudding?’

They emerged from the pub’s dim interior into a perfect spring afternoon and Alex felt a sudden rush of optimism.

‘I know,’ she said, ‘Let’s go to the seaside!’

‘But there are all these other shoe shops,’ Sue objected. ‘We’ve only been in one so far.’

Loath to spend the rest of the day staring at endless (in her eyes identical) pairs of shoes, Alex decided on a compromise. One more shop, it was agreed. Sue could decide which one, and she had half an hour to browse as she wished.

‘Take it,’ said Alex. ‘It’s the only deal on the table and you know what the buses are like round here.’

Sitting outside on a metal bench, she closed her eyes, enjoying the speckles of gold and red that floated in to her vision. The sounds of the busy road faded away and she felt warm and drowsy, and really quite content.

‘You can’t sleep there,’ came a scandalized voice and she jumped, almost falling off the bench. Lauren was standing in front of her, a wicked grin on her face.

‘Bloody hell, you startled me!’ said Alex. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going out somewhere with Dave.’

A scowl flitted over Lauren’s face and she shook her head angrily.

‘He’s off again, working,’ she said. Somehow she made it sound as if poor old Dave was spending the day cavorting in a sauna with scantily clad ladies of dubious morals.

‘’Um,’ said Alex, as she tried to keep a straight face. ‘Well, he is trying for promotion.’

Lauren gave her a hard stare before turning round and looking back up the road for her brother.

‘Well, Jonny promised we could go get some new shoes,’ she said. ‘There he is,’ and she waved at the figure hurrying towards them from the car park.

‘Try in there,’ suggested Alex, pointing towards the largest shop on the street. ‘Sue’s inside, probably driving all the assistants mad.’

‘That’s Lauren’s speciality,’ said Jonny, puffing slightly as he came to a halt next to them. He flashed her a smile and, not for the first time, Alex was struck by his charm. His easy way and good looks had many of the younger staff in the office sighing over him, much to Lauren’s amusement.

‘Reckon they’s all too dumb to see they is wasting their time,’ she commented one afternoon after watching several juniors on YTS ‘work experience’ flutter around him like anxious butterflies. Now she was tapping her foot with impatience, eager to start spending Jonny’s money again.

‘You coming?’ she asked Alex, who shook her head and settled back on to the bench.

‘I’ve already got some new shoes,’ she said, tapping the box beside her.

Lauren reached out and lifted the lid, peered inside and closed it again without comment.

‘What?’ asked Alex.

Lauren shrugged. ‘Well, at least they’re not boring brown,’ she said. ‘Though I’m not sure Garry’s going to take to that shade of blue.’

‘I knew I should have got the lavender pair,’ said Alex thoughtfully, tucking the box back under her elbow.

Jonny laughed and raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You,’ he said, ‘are turning into a bad woman!’

In the end Sue had to be prised out of the shop and Alex eyed the sky anxiously. Although the clouds had gone, the light was already changing as the sun moved towards the horizon and the short early spring day began to draw to a close.

‘I really wanted to go to the sea,’ she said a little sadly.

‘Why not,’ said Lauren cheerily. ‘Let’s go to Brean – is beautiful, the sunset off the sands. Magical to see.’

She turned to Jonny, looking up at him hopefully. Jonny glanced at his watch and she said, ‘Plenty of time for you to get back. You’m not wanted anywhere else until seven. Come on.’

‘I’ll need to get you back home before I head back to Glastonbury,’ he said, looking markedly unenthusiastic.

‘Tell you what,’ said Alex. ‘I’ll run Lauren back if you need to get off. It’s only a few miles past Highpoint – easy.’

‘I don’t know as I should,’ said Jonny, eyeing Alex’s plastered wrist. ‘Are you sure you’re okay to drive with that?’

Alex glared at him and wriggled her fingers through the grey, fraying remains of the plaster.

‘I think is a great idea!’ said Lauren. Come on, you go off ahead and we’ll follow, right Jonny?’ She was off down the street towards the car before anyone could react. With a heavy sigh, Jonny set off after her wondering what he had done to deserve such a stubborn older sister.

Over the rise and down the narrow path, PC Dave Brown was walking slowly and carefully, observing every mark and sign of recent activity. One of the photographers trotted along with him, keeping to one side to avoid damaging any evidence. Occasionally, Dave stopped and indicated a boot print or some bruised grass but the path revealed very little after the overnight rain. The light was beginning to dim with the setting of the sun when they finally reached the entrance to the old peat works. The two men stopped and looked around them, hesitating before entering.

After a few moments Dave moved in to the deserted yard, keeping to the right of the main path that led to the grass
surrounding the fenced-off workings. Suddenly he spotted an area of flattened grass, off to the left and near to a clump of willows. Beckoning to the photographer he picked his way over whilst the cameraman adjusted the aperture and focus.

‘Can you get this with and without the flash?’ Dave asked, pointing to the area where the grass was clearly torn up near the railings. ‘Gives a better idea of the colours and such without, if you can manage it.’

The photographer nodded and leaned over the damaged turf, snapping and adjusting the settings as the sun dropped lower in the sky. Finally he stopped and shook his head regretfully.

‘Sorry, I’ll need to use the flash for the last few. Is too dark now.’

As the flash went off there was a sparkling in the grass, a reflection throwing the light back at them. Dave blinked to clear his sight and gestured to the photographer, then leaned forwards and parted the remaining foliage. Embedded in the mud were pieces of glass and as Dave lifted the largest
segment
with a gloved hand he realized it looked as if there was blood along one edge. He turned to the photographer and grinned in triumph.

‘Got him!’ he said softly.

Derek Johns had always kept different parts of his life separate. Only his long-time confidant, ‘Big’ Bill Boyd, had been privy to all his business secrets and Bill, sadly, had
ultimately
proved to be unreliable. With his usual ruthlessness, Derek had disposed of Bill, cutting his throat and leaving the body out on the Levels last summer. Now, back in his safe house in the old cider factory, Derek felt his loss and for the first time experienced a twinge of remorse. Bill had served him well and faithfully for thirty years – from the time they first met at school – and there was no-one Derek had trusted as much as Bill. Derek wandered around the small room that was hidden at the back of the storehouse, once a repository for cartloads of apples, fresh picked and destined for the huge presses on the main factory floor. The air was still faintly scented, even after ten years of abandonment. The ghosts of several generations of workers, those who had dedicated their lives to the perfection of the cider-maker’s art, seemed to wander, aimless, at night, driven by the wind as it whistled through the gaps in the slowly rotting timber walls.

Derek was not a superstitious man but he was beginning to regret his choice of hidey-hole. Apart from the cold, the damp, the draughts and the illusion of movement produced by moonlight shining through the branches of the surrounding trees, he was too close to the peat works for comfort now the coppers had descended in force. Expecting to be able to spy on his rivals and disrupt their operations, he found himself confined to the concealed room with a limited view out over the land behind the building. The outlook over the heath to the emerging nature reserve at Shapwick was stunningly beautiful at dawn and dusk but Derek Johns stared through the grimy slats that concealed the glass from outside, unmoved by the starlings as they swarmed and pirouetted across the golden sky.

His supplies were running low and he contemplated a quick trip out to hunt for something to eat but the cold was starting to affect him, making him lethargic and slowing his responses. He’d cut his hand on the glass from the torch and after a few days it showed no signs of healing. In fact it was still red and very painful. In the dim light he could not see clearly enough to detect the signs of infection and he was so inured to the smell of his own unwashed body he failed to detect the tell-tale scent of decay as the wound began to suppurate. Like a wounded animal, he went to ground. For all his violent temper, Derek Johns could be a patient man and now he waited, still and poised, for the fuss to die down, the coppers to clear out and Tom Monarch to come calling at the peat works down the road.

Alex and Sue rolled in to work on the Monday after their shopping trip feeling remarkably happy and relaxed. The absence of their senior was having a positive effect all round, with smiling faces on the reception desk, short but highly efficient meetings led by Gordon and a new willingness to volunteer for unpopular duties such as the Family Court.

‘All we need now,’ said Sue, standing in front of the glass door leading to the upper corridor and admiring her shoes in the reflection, ‘is for some of this to rub off on the clients.’

‘I wish,’ said Alex ruefully. ‘Still, it’s nice while it lasts. Oh, by the way, I meant to ask you about Simon.’

Sue frowned. ‘What about Simon? Shy, weird, drives that imaginary lorry everywhere – what?’

Alex glanced out of the window and spotted several of her workshop group arriving. They filed in to the hut on the far side of the car park and she was relieved to see Eddie was already there, giving instructions and ushering in the
latecomers
. She had a few minutes to spare, she decided.

‘Well, how on earth did he end up on probation in the first place?’

Sue dragged her attention away from her new shoes and sighed theatrically. ‘It is one of the most ridiculous stories I’ve ever come across,’ she said, leading the way down the corridor. ‘Honestly, it’s like some stupid farce.’

In her office she rummaged through her filing cabinet and hauled out a large, exceedingly battered manila file. Alex took it gingerly – it looked as if it might fall apart if opened.

‘Do you mind if I have a quick look through?’

‘Knock yourself out,’ said Sue as she floated across to the desk and sank gracefully in to her chair. Pulling a diary out of the top drawer, she lit a cigarette and began flipping through the pages, making a list with her free hand.

Alex sat in the ‘client’ chair opposite and began to sort through the mass of papers. Simon’s fascination with
transport
in general, and lorries in particular, had started early, she discovered. Social Services had been called in when he was only four. He’d been spotted inside a junk yard, clambering in and out of old, wrecked vehicles. Despite the best efforts of his mother, Simon kept getting out and was repeatedly returned to her care by the owner, a neighbour or,
increasingly
, the social worker. Things came to a head when he had to be rescued by the Fire Brigade from the top car in a stack of seven precariously balanced vehicles. Simon was removed from his family and placed in a care home for evaluation.

Whatever the authorities had hoped to achieve, it probably wasn’t the terrified, traumatized young man that was the result
of several years intensive therapy, foster homes and clinical intervention. Simon stopped speaking and developed a number of autistic patterns of behaviour, especially an aversion to being touched. It was this that finally landed him in court, when he was ‘driving’ his imaginary lorry around an apple orchard, supposedly helping with the harvest. Despite repeated requests to leave (that was the polite version), he continued running round the trees and demanding the pickers move the ladders so he could reverse his trailer into position. Eventually a couple of casual labourers grabbed him by the arms and tried to bundle him out of the gate. In the resulting chaos, Simon managed to break someone’s nose and left several men with black eyes. When the police arrived to arrest the screaming boy he hit one of them too. Bloody hell, thought Alex. Assault, trespass, GBH and resisting arrest. Not to mention hitting a police officer. Simon was lucky he’d not ended up in prison with that lot. Yet there was nothing wilful about any of it.

She slapped the folder down on the desk and stared at Sue.

‘Farce hardly covers it,’ she said. ‘He sounds like some hardened nut-job if you read the offences but actually he was trying to get away because he doesn’t like being touched. He panicked, right?’

Sue nodded but made no comment.

‘He doesn’t understand,’ Alex mused. ‘He’s got no real idea of private land and I think he forgets most of what he’s told almost as soon as he’s heard it. Just runs around in a world of his own, safe inside his lorry. I’ve never had any problems with him. What about you?’

Sue put down her pen and fixed Alex with a bright, hard stare.

‘Just what, exactly, are you after?’ she asked.

Reluctantly, Alex related her run-in with Brian in the day centre, repeating his accusation towards Simon. Sue snorted in disgust.

‘Brian?’ she said. ‘Brian Morris? The toe-rag of the town – that Brian Morris? Why on earth would you believe one word that little shit utters?’

‘He was really angry,’ said Alex. ‘Darren was his friend and he’d just learned he was dead. I don’t think he was lying but I suspect he was telling what he saw as the truth. Simon’s very – suggestible. He has virtually no friends and if someone’s kind to him he’ll do just about anything they want.’

‘Is that what you really think or what you’re hoping?’ Sue asked as she took the file and tried to cram it back in to the cabinet.

‘Bit of both I guess. You’ve got an awful lot of paperwork in there. How many cases are you carrying at the moment?’

Sue pulled the drawer right out and forced the folder back into place with a grunt.

‘Oh, about thirty something – thirty three I think. You’re right though – there does seem to be more in here than usual.’

She closed the top drawer and pulled open the next one down, flicking through the contents.

‘What the hell is all this?’ she said, pulling out a pile of very old, battered folders. Opening one at random, she stared for a moment and then slapped it shut again. ‘Shit.’

‘What?’ Alex asked, reaching for the file. Sue pulled it out of range and shook her head.

‘Oh no, believe me you don’t want to see.’

Alex grabbed the next folder from the pile and opened it, staring at the photograph on the top for a moment before closing it again, putting it on the desk and rubbing her hands on her legs in disgust.

‘Why are you keeping pornography in your filing cabinet?’ she asked.

Driving down unexpectedly from Bristol that week, Max dropped into the Royal Arms for a bite to eat and to see if he could pick up anything interesting from his local contacts. When he walked in through the front door, Marie, who was serving a couple of likely lads with more money than most folk seemed to have at the moment, left by the kitchen door, scooting around the back to alert her husband.

Phil emerged from the cellar where he had been changing a keg and peered over the bar before hurrying out to join her by the cooking range.

‘’Ent a meeting day is it?’ she asked.

Phil shook his head but checked on the calendar hung up by the old fashioned fridge, just in case. Mindful of the need for secrecy, Phil had avoided writing down anything in the least incriminating but Marie, with a rather macabre sense of humour, had drawn a black star next to the relevant days. According to the calendar, the next one was not for a week.

‘So what’s
he
doing here then?’

Phil stepped back to the doorway and risked another glance over to the bar.

‘Waiting for some service, I reckon,’ he said. ‘Better get out there. Is not like we can afford to turn paying customers away now, is it.’

Marie shook her head. ‘Oh no, I’m not going. You invited them in, so you go and serve him. Tom Monarch’s one thing – least he’s got some manners. That little punk though, I don’t trust’un and I don’t want nothing to do with’un.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and glared up at her husband.

Phil knew that look. He’d seen it before, very occasionally mind, and he recognized the futility of argument. Still, a man had to try, he thought.

‘Might be better if you go,’ he said casually. ‘Wouldn’t want him thinking he was someone important, having the landlord see to him.’

Marie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously before she smiled and gave a laugh.

‘Get away with yer, you old faker!’ she said, punching him playfully on the arm. ‘Seriously, though, he gives me the creeps, that one. And I reckon he’s more likely to talk to you than me. Maybe find out what he’s doin’ round these parts. Please?’

Phil sighed and shook his head, but he was smiling too. He never could resist his wife, something of which she was well
aware. It was a sign of how good their relationship was that she did not play on his affection. When she did ask a favour it was usually for a good reason.

‘Well, pub is almost empty now. You wait here, in case he wants to eat. Then you go and have a lie down. I’ll clear up, don’t worry.’

Marie watched him exit the kitchen and head for Max, who was seated at a table near the back door with the two likely lads. They stopped talking as soon as Phil appeared, she noticed. Not much chance of getting any information out of them, then. She waited until Max picked up the bar menu, glanced at his watch and then pointed to his choice, before slipping back out of sight, ready for the order to arrive.

At the pub table Max was involved in a fierce wrangle with his two companions. Initially only too happy to earn a bit of extra money for very little work, they were now trying to back out the deal. Rob and Charlie were known to the police as petty offenders, occasional shoplifters who tended to drink their ill-gotten gains and were a bit too unrestrained in their subsequent behaviour. It was an all-too familiar pattern and one many young men grew out of. They hadn’t expected any trouble – and they certainly hadn’t expected any of their customers to wind up dead on the beach.

‘’Ent what we was expecting,’ said Rob, the leader of the two. ‘Seems there was something wrong with that lot of stuff. I ’ent touching no more.’

Charlie looked up over his pint, took a gulp and fixed his eyes on the table, more than happy to let Rob speak for them both. Max fumed inside but kept the illusion of calm as he fought to keep them under control. They were a sorry pair, but both of them were already in too deep to be allowed an easy exit.

‘Now lads,’ he said easily, ‘was just an error – bit of a
mix-up
. Is a bit unfortunate but these things happen.’

Rob scowled over the table. ‘Was more than
unfortunate
for poor bloody Darren,’ he muttered.

‘No-one made him take the stuff,’ Max pointed out. ‘He wanted to and he took too much. Didn’t tell no-one, didn’t have no-one with him neither. Just daft that.’

‘You’m making out was his own fault?’ said an incredulous Charlie, shocked into speech.

Max shrugged and drank from his glass.

‘Look, is not an exact science, making the stuff. Sometimes is so weak you need a couple to get going an’ sometimes there’s a big hit straight off. Only sensible, having someone with you, just in case. Any road, I hear you’s got a right good way of getting the stuff out to them villages and places. Clever that, usin’ some half-wit runner.’ He nodded his approval and drained his glass. ‘Another round?’

Charlie waited for Rob, sitting with his shoulders hunched and his eyes fixed to a spot on the table. Rob was engaged in scratching at the flaking varnish beside his empty glass. Max waited, knowing they would crack, and once they did they would do as he wanted. Finally, Rob looked up and opened his mouth to speak, but at that exact moment Phil
materialized
at the table bearing Max’s hot-pot.

‘Here you go then,’ said the landlord as he set it down, deftly placing cutlery and producing salt and pepper from his pocket. ‘Everything okay here?’ He glanced at the less than happy group and added, ‘Anyone for another drink?’