Wednesday

Chapter Twenty-six

Dan woke up freezing. He looked at his wrist watch. 4.30 am. Oh, jeez, I must've fallen asleep while waiting for Shannon.

Suddenly he remembered. He looked at the floor. Good, there it was. The little box, which he had been in such a hurry to get after work yesterday.

He tip-toed into the bedroom. The faint light coming through the window was just enough) for him to make out the shape of Shannon lying there in bed. The soft curve where her thin waist continued to her hips. One of her small little feet was peeking out from between the sheets. At the sight of her beauty Dan could feel the blood pumping through heart and limb.

He undressed carefully and slid down to bed in under her top sheet and moved close to her naked body. He held the box in his hand as his other hand gently began to stroke her soft skin. It didn't take long for him to be rewarded as Shannon turned around. She pressed her breasts hard against his chest as she curled one of her long legs around his. Her mouth opened and she craved for him to kiss her…

'Good morning, sir.' Desk Sergeant Tim Angel met Barnaby with a smile. 'There's a message for you. It's a DC Bill Rondinelli at Foddington CID and he wants you to call him ASAP. He said it's urgent.' Angel handed over a note with the phone number.

Better get it over with as quickly as possible was Tom's thought as he sat down at his desk.

'Foddington CID, DC Rondinelli speaking.' The voice had a broad touch of the Foddington countryside accent.

'DCI Barnaby here, Causton CID. I was told to call you.'

'Aye, thank you for calling so quickly, sir. I've spoken to your traffic unit and it seems they took care of an abandoned car the day before yesterday and they've had some trouble getting in contact with the owner, a Mr Toby Gillen.'

'Alright,' said Barnaby getting a bit restless, 'but is this any of my business?'

'Shouldn't be, sir,' came the fast answer, 'it's just that Toby Gillen was reported missing yesterday by his mother, Mrs Ursula Gillen, and she last saw him Tuesday last week.'

'Tuesday last week…? Why didn't she report him missing earlier? Haven't anyone else missed him?'

'Seems not, sir. He lives at home with his mother and works at the parish office, but apparently he had told everyone that he would be gone from Wednesday and over the weekend. When he didn't turn up Sunday evening she thought he had stayed away one more night, but Monday evening she began worrying and when she was in contact with his office yesterday and learned that he hadn't been in for work, she called us.'

'And his mobile…?' asked Tom.

'Switched off. Look, could I come over right after lunch and perhaps get assistance from one of your officers to access the car and examine it?'

'Of course, just ask for DS Scott and he'll assist you. I'll brief him as soon as he gets in.'

'Thank you, sir. Bye!'

Tom put the receiver down and looked up at Dan Scott hurrying through the office. He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes late! That wouldn't do when they had three murders to solve, but he'd take care of that later. Right now it was more important to go through the material once again, hunting for leads.

Dan immediately recognised Bill Rondinelli as another copper when he saw him waiting at the gates to the depot for stolen and missing goods. After mutual greetings they entered the depot and began examining the car.

They looked for parking tickets, a map, meal and petrol receipts, anything that could give a hint about Toby Gillen's whereabouts.

They found nothing of value. The boot was locked but Dan got the manager of the depot to open it, without damaging the lock.

Inside the boot there was something big, thoroughly wrapped and taped in plastic. Dan went to get a knife. Carefully he cut the plastic open at one end…

The stench from the package made Dan throw himself backwards. He crouched over an empty oil barrel and before he could get himself together again his lunch came up.

DC Rondinelli came round from the other side of the car, just as Dan was straightening up again, feeling the awful taste of vomit in his mouth.

'Be careful,' Dan croaked, 'it smells like shit!'

Rondinelli held his nose and carefully pulled the hole in the plastic apart. Inside the hole he saw a blue-ish naked foot.

'I'd better call Peterson,' said Scott and lifted his mobile phone.

Tom's phone gave a loud signal and he woke up from studying Dr Peterson's reports of the three murder victims.

'Causton CID, Barnaby,' he answered.

'Hi, Tom, it's Tom.' The voice of his good friend and SOCO officer DI Tom McMartin came through.

'Tom, how are you?' said Barnaby.

'Never better, but right now I'm out at that cottage in Goodman's Land you wanted searched and… I think you'd better come out here…'

'Now? What is it?' Tom thought about the promise he'd made to himself to actually keep office hours today.

'I think we've found you a not so bonny lad,' McMartin's Scottish origin came through in his answer, 'but you'd better have a look for yourself.'

'On my way,' Barnaby ended the call as he nipped his jacket from his office chair and hurdled out of the CID.

Chapter Twenty-seven

In his car Tom picked up his phone and dialled Scott.

'Scott, you'd better get yourself in your car and come to Henry's cottage at once.'

'Sorry, sir. I don't think so, sir.' Scott replied and before Barnaby got to pointing out that it wasn't a question, but an order, Dan continued: 'We've found the body of Toby Gillen inside the boot of his car. Peterson's here with us now and it looks as if Gillen's been murdered.'

'Oh… right…' Barnaby tried to take in what Scott had said. 'And you know for sure it is Toby Gillen?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so. Rondinelli here was in the same class as him at school, so there's no doubt we have a positive ID.'

Barnaby had collected his thoughts and got back in the driver's seat by now: 'OK, you finish up there and then you and Rondinelli must begin to follow the tracks of Toby Gillen's last known whereabouts. I'm on my way to Henry's cottage, it seems they've found something interesting there. Make sure Peterson heads over to Goodman's Land as soon as he's finished with yours, right?'

'Will do, sir. I think he's about to get the body removed by now, so I'll tell him.'

'Good, and if it turns out late, we'll meet up at the station tomorrow. 7.45 sharp!' Barnaby's voice had a tone of steel.

'Right, sir,' answered Scott feeling the whiplash handed out for this morning's late arrival.

'Welcome, Tom.' Tom McMartin met Barnaby as he stopped his car outside Owen Henry's cottage. He held out his large hand for a greeting. Barnaby shook it while beginning to ask questions.

'One thing at a time,' McMartin laughed and held up his hands with a parrying gesture, 'do you want the good news or the bad news first?'

'Well, it's better when things can only get better, so give me the bad news first.' Barnaby smiled in reply.

'Right…there is no laptop to be found nor the book you wanted…'

'What? But that's impossible…' Barnaby frowned.

'How long between when you left the cottage and when the surveillance team was in place?'

Barnaby hissed: 'Damn! About two hours.'

'That's plenty of time to remove a laptop and a book, if you want my opinion?'

'Yes, Henry must have seen us and acted fast.'

McMartin had a peculiar look on his face: 'Naaah, I don't think so. Now on to the "sort of good" news. Follow me.' He led Barnaby around the cottage and opened the door to a wooden shed behind. They stepped in. The shed was dark and full of things. Gardening tools, two old bicycle wrecks and a large freezer.

McMartin opened the lid to the freezer and said: 'I wouldn't be surprised if you find that this is Owen Henry. He's a stiff in every sense of the word.'

Barnaby looked down into the freezer and could see the frozen body of a man. The body was fully dressed and from what Barnaby could see of his face and remember from the passport photography they had got earlier this morning, he was pretty certain it was Owen Henry. He spoke: 'Is there any chance of telling how long he's been in there?'

'No,' McMartin shook his head, 'not really. The temperature has conserved the state he was in when he was put there. Only the pathologist could give an estimate of time of death once they've defrosted and examined him.'

'Talking of pathologists, where is Peterson?' Barnaby looked around but there was still no sign of Peterson's car. He turned to McMartin again: 'What about the rest of the cottage? Have you found anything useful?'

'Too early to tell, really,' answered McMartin, 'we have lots of DNA and fingerprints, but they will only be of use if they're already on file. Once you find a suspect, we can of course run tests and perhaps get a match.'

'Any sign of anyone else living in the cottage? Bearing in mind that Mr Henry seems to have spent some time in the freezer lately.' Barnaby couldn't withhold a chuckle.

'There are at least two sets of fingerprints, but nothing else that indicates who it might have been. Sorry…'

They were interrupted by Dan Peterson's car arriving at the cottage. After a short look at the body in the freezer he shook his head: 'Well, Chief Inspector Barnaby, you and your young colleague do keep me busy.'

'Yes, I'm afraid so,' said Barnaby. He adopted a gentle approach because now they really were in the hands of Dan Peterson and they needed his results quickly. 'I know it's a lot to ask, but is there any chance you could have some preliminary results by tomorrow?'

Dan Peterson gave Barnaby a smug smile. 'Under normal circumstances – no, but since I like a late night at work once in a while I'll do my very best… and of course it helps a lot that George Bullard came back from his vacation a couple of hours ago. I've already spoken to him and we'll take on one body each tonight and hopefully we can give you something in the morning.'

'Thank you, Dan,' and Tom really meant it. This was no time for dissension within the ranks.

To beat these epidemic killings they really had to pull together with all the forces they could muster, he thought as he drove slowly homewards. The time was already after six and he felt he would need a sharp mind tomorrow.

'Oh, please Dave, why do you have to be such a wimp?' Margarita Errol cried out in frustration at her husband. 'I only want you to take me to the pub for a drink or two. Is that too much to ask?'

'Margarita, dear, you know I don't feel well. These terrible murders have really upset me…' Dave Errol's voice almost broke when mentioning the last days' dreadful events.

'I understand that, believe me I do,' said Margarita, 'and that's why it would be good for you as well. You need to get your thoughts onto something else. Lighten up for a few hours and only think of having a good time…' She looked at Dave with her most pleasing smile and adorable eyes: 'Besides, you're the vicar. You're an important part of this community and you have to be out there meeting people…'

Dave was running out of arguments. He tried: 'But not at a pub, dear, a pub is hardly God's house, is it?'

'Dave, you know very well what the bishop says, don't you? In times when less people go to church, the church needs to go and meet the people. At pubs, at local amateur dramatics and so on… It's important for this village that you show your face. So that people can feel that the church is there for them, more than in the sense of a building… Come on, Dave…'

Dave Errol knew the battle was lost, as so many times before Margarita proved she had the stronger will. 'The bishop', he murmured to himself as he began to put on his shoes, 'he's in favour of female priests as well…'

Fair enough. It was a beautiful evening and perhaps the fresh air would do him good. He'd spent the whole afternoon and evening yesterday sleeping after the shocking news of Gaynor's murder. When Margarita had got him from Mrs Olsen's house she had put him to bed and he hadn't woken up until this morning. He was feeling stronger but he could still be reduced to tears as soon as his thoughts touched the subject of these three young people's tragic deaths.

Chapter Twenty-eight

The pub was crowded and Harry Sweeney and his wife had a busy time behind the bar. At a corner table a large number of village youths were gathered. They laughed and shouted at each other and round after round was fetched from the bar. In the middle of the attention was, as so many times before, Ralph Appice. A young man of dubious moral standards. He always had plenty of money, but no one had ever seen him work. Rumour had it that he was into his fair bit of stealing and trading in stolen goods, but so far he hadn't been caught. And he was popular among the other youths, since he often paid for their drinks.

Dave and Margarita found a table at the quieter end of the pub. As Dave went for their drinks Margarita spotted something she liked. Standing at the bar was Pedro Butler, a local handyman in his late twenties, with a well-known reputation for being a ladies' man.

From her vantage point she had a perfect view of his most valuable asset. A tight bum in a pair of deliciously worn-out jeans. She didn't notice when Dave came back.

'Cheers, my dear,' Dave toasted her. When she didn't react he followed the direction of her gaze and understood what occupied her attention. 'Please… Margarita…' he sighed.

'Oh, sorry dear, I was just a little lost in my thoughts. Cheers!' she smiled at him.

'So I'd say,' Dave murmured.

A bit beyond Pedro Butler, Margarita could see Howard Leecham and his son Rick Ashmoore also standing at the bar.

Suddenly the noise of the crowd fell silent. Arthur Melts entered the pub and froze in the middle of the floor, staring at Howard and Rick. It was obvious that Arthur had had one or two drinks before he came in; he was swaying slightly where he stood.

'What are you two doing here?' Arthur said to no-one in particular, but clearly addressing the Ashmoores.

'Having a drink, Arthur, but there's plenty of people to mingle with, so you don't have to buy us one,' answered Howard in a mocking tone.

Arthur Melts snorted. 'Wouldn't dream of it. If you, you little git,' he pointed his finger unsteadily at Rick, 'had just been able to keep your little tart of a wife on a leash, none of this would've happened!'

Howard Leecham took one big step closer to Arthur Melts, with his fist raised: 'Now you listen to me, Melts…'

'Dad, dad, he's not worth it.' Rick Ashmoore gripped his father's arm and stopped him. 'Come on, dad, let's go home.'

Howard lowered his arm and shook Rick off. 'Never! I'll finish my drink first.'

Now Harry Sweeney broke in: 'And so you shall, Howard, but you'll do it in peace and quiet, right? And as for you, Arthur, I think my wife is ready to take your order over there.' He pointed at the other end of the bar. The fighting spirit ran out of Arthur Melts and he sloped over to get his drink.

'Please, dad, I'm going. Are you coming or not?' Rick's eyes begged his father to come with him.

'No, son, you run along. I'll have another one.'

As Rick left, so did several of the other customers, but soon the noise was at full pitch again.

'Margarita… I feel uncomfortable. Can't we go home?' Dave begged his wife.

'Dave…' answered Margarita, ready to cut him short, but at the same moment she saw Pedro Butler leaving the pub. 'OK, let's go, if that's what you want.'

Outside the pub Margarita kept her eyes on Pedro Butler's back slowly walking away. 'You know what, Dave, why don't you go home and have an early night, while I take an evening walk before bedtime? I'm really not tired yet.'

Dave who had had enough of quarrels for one day didn't put up a fight and as soon as he turned his back on her and steered homewards, Margarita began to follow in the footsteps of Pedro Butler's bottom.

This was going to be so easy. It wasn't an expected opportunity, but now that it had appeared it was too good to miss.

He is a responsible citizen. He never drives to the pub, he goes by bike and everyone in the village knows that. And if you go by bike and want to avoid the main road to Bendale, there's only one road to take.

A thick branch into the wheel would bring him down and while he's still dazed by the crash, it will be easy...

He was angry. He was angry with himself and he was angry at Howard. They had met again later in the queue to the Gents and he hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut. It all ended up with him and Howard pushing one another around until Harry with three helpers turned up. Harry had told them that even if they were the "lords of their manors" there were limits and it was time for them to go home.

Howard was shoved out first and they had restrained Arthur to give Howard time to get out of the way. Not that he had any intention of going after Howard. It all felt quite stupid, really. He had expressed his apologies to Harry before he got on the bike and headed for Bendale. Hopefully Howard wasn't walking. He didn't want to catch up with him. If he did, he'd just increase his speed and go past him.

Suddenly Arthur felt himself being thrown up in the air and he could see the ground coming towards his face. He threw up his hands in protection and the pain was unbearable when he hit the road.

Before he could get up, he felt something heavy on his back pressing him to the ground. Someone grasped his thin hair and forced his head up. A voice whispered in his ear: 'Goodbye, Arthur, forever…'

Something sharp stung him in the side of his neck and before he could feel anything else his throat was slit and the grip loosened. He was dead as his head fell to meet the ground.

To be continued tomorrow…