Author: R R Haywood
Date: 2013-01-26 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Crime; Mystery; Thriller
Description: Mike Humber, a down on his luck ex-detective gets a job offer he can’t refuse and when things seem too good to be true... they probably are. Huntington House: A Psychological sexy brutal twisting thriller that keeps you nailed to your seat.
Publisher: 1899 Inc Ltd

HUNTINGTON HOUSE

A MIKE HUMBER DETECTIVE NOVEL

R.R Haywood

Chapter One

Do ghosts exist?  Two years ago I would have said no, no way.  There is life and there is death and that’s it.  Game over.  That, though was the old me in my old life before I answered the advert that led me to a spooky old mansion, a twisted millionaire and a gorgeous blonde with dazzling blue eyes.  My name is Mike Humber and I was a policeman for sixteen years before I got the sack for beating up some perverted creep that was sexually violating children. Goaded beyond belief by his sickening comments about what he did to those kids I saw red and beat the shit out of him.     Unfortunately we were on CCTV, which I didn’t know but he did.  Full colour high resolution real time image but with no audio, so what it didn’t show was those comments he made.  I was lauded as a hero by the press and my colleagues stood by me, and to be fair so did the job.  But we all know the rules and I had to take it on the chin.  I was lucky to avoid prosecution and a prison sentence.  There was even a whip round, which not only went round my station and division, but the whole force and the neighbouring forces too.  I made a bundle out of it and was going on TV shows and the radio talking about what I did and how the law should change.  But as with everything the news rolled on to something else and I was finally left alone.  Those sixteen years in the force had already destroyed my marriage so I truly was alone. I  frittered the money away.  Holidays, trips, paying rent and living to the same standard I had when I was earning and it soon went.

So there I was, two years later.  A nobody with no chance of a career or decent employment.  Security work was always offered and I did a few gigs but after everything I’d been through it was too dull, too repetitive and I could never settle.  Girlfriends came and went and I guess I distanced myself from everyone I had known before.  For a while I still went out with my old shift mates which gave me a sense of normality but I could see my stories were getting old, while they had current and fresh incidents to talk about.  Towards the end I could tell I was getting in the way and the final touch was when I walked past the local pub and saw them all having a pint.  Standing outside watching them laugh and joke pretty much broke my heart and I knew then I would never fit in again.

It was time to move on, so I did.  Then, two  years later I was sitting in a café flicking through one of the security periodicals, looking for work and I saw the advert;  A winter position doing maintenance and security at some stately home, live-in and not a bad salary too.  I figured they would be inundated with applicants but having nothing else to do and needing somewhere to bed down for the cold winter months I duly downloaded an application form and emailed it off.  A week later I got a reply, asking me to attend an interview in two days time at Huntington House.  The address was supplied and I Googled it to find it was a few hours north of London.  The email asked that if I was successful would I be ready to start immediately.  I replied yes, I could start that day if they needed me.

Like I said, turning up for the interview and seeing the old house didn’t bother me.  The house was set in acres of private grounds with woods, copses and fields rolling out in all directions.  The driveway must have been a mile long, winding through the fields until it swept up to the house.  I say house, but this wasn’t a house by any normal stretch of the imagination.  It was a mansion, a behemoth of a stately home.  Grey walls, ivy growing up the front, tall dark windows on all three floors, it even had those crenelated castle type turret things on the roof.

I had walked up the driveway, having caught the early train from London and going north.  Leaving the cities and towns far behind as I went deeper into the countryside, eventually arriving at the single rail line in Huntington village station and then hoofing it through miles of lanes winding through fields and pastures until I finally found the entrance.  Mid October and the weather was cold and clear with that lovely crisp feeling in the air.  I was flat broke and couldn’t afford a taxi. I barely had enough money to get home again.  The rucksack on my back contained about all I owned or needed.

The brand new Range Rover parked up outside the house with the fat man standing next to it told me a few things.  First, that he was minted, as a car like that costs tens of thousands.  Next, that they were desperate, otherwise why would you wait outside and stare impatiently at the man coming for the job interview when he was half an hour early.  It also told me the man was an arrogant prick by the fact that he didn’t come and pick me up from the end of the mile long driveway but rather stood there in his tweed suit letting me walk to him.

‘You must be Michael Humber?’ The man says, his face red and ruddy with wiry ginger hair sticking up.  He extends a pudgy hand towards me and I clock the stomach straining against the flannel shirt and tweed jacket, ‘Lord Charles Huntington, very nice to meet you.’ Nice of you to tell me you’re a Lord.  Very subtle.

‘Yes, it’s just Mike, nice to meet you sir.’ I shake his hand which is sweaty with a weak grip.  They always say you can tell a man by the measure of his handshake.  Which is bollocks.  Anyone can fake a firm grip, or try and bely a weakness of character by giving a floppy shake.

‘Well you’re early so that’s a good sign.  Have you travelled far?’ The bloody idiot has just watched me walking a mile down his driveway.

‘From London, I got the train into Huntington village and walked in from there.  Lovely day and I knew I was early so…’ I don’t want to tell him I’m broke.

‘Walked all that way eh? You should have said we could have picked you up.’ Yeah right, after watching me stomp for the last ten minutes.

‘No it’s fine, it’s a lovely day and I love walking,’ I hate walking.

‘That’s wonderful! Right well we’ve already checked your background….’ so he knows about me beating that creep up then.

‘Yeah, so I guess you know about the thing with the man I beat up.’ Might as well get it out in the open now.

‘Yes we do, and let me just say this.  I think it was awful what they did to you, sacking you like that.  Bad show, terribly bad show.’ He shook his head, looking all serious.

‘Thank you, It means a lot to hear that,’ which must be the millionth time I have heard it.

‘Well, their loss and our gain I say,’ he smiled suddenly, looking all genuine and sincere.

‘Ah, well yes…possibly,’ not sure how to answer that.  Does that mean I have the job already then?

‘Well this is the house; it’s been in our family for generations, many generations,’ he says turning to hold one large arm up at the mansion behind him.

‘Oh this is the family home? I thought no one lived here?’

‘Ah yes well, there’s a rather heated legal battle going on you see.  Divided the family terribly.  Everyone thinks they’ve got a right to it.  The courts have ruled no one can live in it until the estate is resolved formally.  Which is where you come in.’

‘Me?’ What have I got to do with his family squabbles?

‘You see, no one has the right to live in it otherwise they might claim possession.  Been going on for a while now but finally we got the lawyers to get everyone to sign a contract promising they won’t try and get in until the court hearing.’

‘Right, I understand.’ I don’t.

‘The only way we could get everyone to agree was by employing someone to stay here and make sure no one tried to move in, or even get in.’

‘Get in?’

‘That’s why I’m standing outside old chap.  Some of the antiques and furniture in there are worth a fortune so we all agreed that none of the family would even enter it.’ Didn’t stop you from driving up the mile long driveway and picking me up did it fatty?

‘Ah, I understand, so you want someone here to stop anyone entering or trying to move in and claim squatter’s rights or possession by their virtue of residency?’

‘Yes! That’s wonderful! That’s it old chap, well done you!’ Patronising shit.

‘Thank you, very kind,’ I nod back, if I had a cap I would be doffing it.  He stares at me with a big smile, it seems he wants something but I don’t know what.

‘Well, do you want the job then or what old chap?’ He said finally.

‘Er, well yes of course but…’ This is the quickest interview I’ve done.  He didn’t ask me for references, or where I see myself in five years, or if I would say I’m a team player or not, he didn’t even tell me they’re a mad bunch here and it’s amazing they get any work done with all the madness.

‘Great, well here’s some petty cash in case you need anything and we’ll get the salary paid into your account.  You’ll find a list of emergency numbers on the telephone table in the main entrance.’

‘My account?’

‘Yes, you do have a bank account don’t you old chap?’

‘Yes of course.’

‘Well that’s wonderful; we’ll get the money paid into that.  Do you have the details?’ He takes out a pen and notepad, writes down my account number and sort code.

‘Let me get the keys,’ He hands me a jailhouse bunch of keys on a large metal loop.

‘That’s a lot of keys.’

‘It’s a big house,’ He replies, ‘I would go in and show you round but ah, sadly the courts prevent me from crossing the threshold.  Anyway, I always find the best way is to look for oneself and get the feel for things.’ I’m sure you do, I’m sure you spend lots of your aristocratic time looking and feeling for things.

‘Of course Sir, I think the same.’

‘Splendid old chap, well I hate to rush off but well, I er…have to rush off.’ He shook my hand again with a weak grip but an energetic pump, smiling away while all the time backing up to the car.  He got in, waved and drove off.  Leaving me standing there, holding the jailhouse keys and looking about expecting someone to jump out and say “Ha gotcha” or something.  No one did jump out though and after his expensive leather upholstered Range Rover disappeared out of view I was left completely alone.

Chapter Two

The door opens into a vast majestic hallway with a black and white checked tiled floor, wide and airy with a grand staircase in the middle.  Corridors run down each side flanked by huge white columns.  The staircase is wide enough for eight men to walk up side by side, no banister or handrail though; Just a sheer drop down to the hard floor.  I guess health and safety didn’t figure much in whatever century this was built.  Matching grandfather clocks stand on either side of the wide landing and gilt framed portraits of hunting scenes adorn the walls men on horseback wearing red and surrounded by small dogs.  In the middle a big man with whiskers and a red face sits astride a grey horse.    He bears a striking resemblance to Charles Huntington.  I open the envelope to find five hundred pounds in crisp twenty pound notes.  Petty cash! My word these people move in different circles than I’m used to.  Most places I’ve worked since leaving the force struggle to buy tea bags with their petty cash.

Still carrying my bag I head over to an antique looking telephone desk, with an old fashioned dial telephone on the top.  A printed sheet tells me to ring this number in case of emergency and more numbers of local tradesmen.  The advert mentioned maintenance, but there’s nothing on the note suggesting what maintaining I should do, no list of jobs or chores to be completed.  Rooting through the papers on the desk I find sheets of thick creamy paper with Huntington House embossed in gold letters across the top.  I look back at the pictures on the walls and can see why it was called Huntington House.  Very good use of creative imagination there; ‘Hey Lord Farquhar Tennyson Shithead, what shall we call our new country house that we shall use for chasing little foxes while lording it over the poor peasants, yeah I know, Huntington House, oh you’re such a card Lord Shithead.’ Switching my abusive imagination off for a while, I set the bag down and decide to follow Lord Fatty’s advice and go for a recce.  After all, it now looks like this will be my home for the next few months, or until they sort out the court issues.  My experience of civil law court proceedings tells me it could go on for years, with greedy lawyers doing their best to drag it out and keep the fee’s coming in.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the opposing lawyer teams are all members of the same golf club, meeting for funny handshakes in the sauna.

I leave the bag in the entrance and start making my way through the rooms and if I wasn’t so bitter and angry at the world, my mouth would have dropped open a little more with each room I entered.  On the ground floor I find massive rooms with chaise longue, sofa’s, armchairs, dark hardwood dining tables that could seat fifty people all with matching chairs.  The floors are mostly exposed wood, with each one finished to an exact shade of varnish to match the décor of the room.  Thick carpets and rugs precisely positioned, the walls equally matching the classic tastes of the rooms.  Lightly coloured majestic wall paper, or dark wood ornately carved panelling.  It looks amazing but old and unused.  Sterile and something nice to wonder in awe at, but not homely.   A ballroom with a grand wooden dance floor, a drawing room, a sitting room, more drawing rooms and then another sitting room.  No wonder rich people are always fat; they have far too many rooms for sitting down in.

The library is awe inspiring with floor to ceiling shelves covering every inch of wall and leather bound books crammed onto every shelf.  This is the only room I’ve found that actually looks functional; desks with lamps, comfy looking armchairs and good lighting.  The view from the French doors takes in the sweep of pasture to the wooded copse and I imagine myself in here most evenings reading through some of these old treasures. The carpet is a deep red with thick velvet curtains hanging down either side of the windows and doors.  It looks warm and inviting.

After the library, the other rooms all looked even more sterile and show-home and I knew that I wouldn’t be spending much time in them.  I could see what Lord Fatty meant about the fixtures and fittings though.  Some of these things would be worth an absolute fortune.  I hadn’t seen any sign of an alarm system, no sensors within the rooms and no wiring loops or alarm box visible on the house outside.  With the recession on and acquisitive crime on a rapid increase I was amazed this place hadn’t been emptied by now.  It was in the middle of nowhere and as far as I knew, the next nearest dwelling must be at least a couple of miles.  Thinking this prompted me to dig my mobile phone out of my pocket.  I used to be on contract and have an upgrade every twelve months, but since my financial decline I had been using a cheap pay-as-you-go phone, still it did the job.  Not now though with an empty signal bar.  In case of emergency, run three miles through the house to the old phone, push the dial round to 9 three times and wait for the local bobby to turn up on his Penny Farthing a couple of hours later.  Wonderful.  Why did they do that with old phones? Put the nine at the end of the dial? Eccentric old Britain.  Those were the days when calling the police was an event, something rarely done and only in the direst of situations.  Nowadays though, people pick the phone up for anything.  The neighbour’s dog took a crap in my garden, call the police. My boundary fence has been moved by an inch, call the police.  Someone sent me a text saying I was fat, call the police.  We even had an emergency call on Christmas day a few years ago from a woman who couldn’t change a light-bulb.

At the rear of the house I find the second nicest room of the house so far; the kitchen.  Light blue wooden panelled walls and a flag stone floor perfect for sluicing off.  A huge old Aga set into one wall.  Dressers with plates stacked on shelves and mugs hanging off hooks.  Pine units and cupboards off all different size and styles set against the walls.  A double row of shiny copper pans hanging from hooks, going from small to very large, and they look used too with battered and misshapen bowls.  The big solid table in the middle had chunky metal mincers bolted to the ends and the surface of the table looked pitted, dented, burnt, scratched and just lovely.  There was life here.  None of the stuffy overly polite pretentious tripe with Lord Shithead and his merry fox hunters, this was where the real people worked and lived.  The side units were long and low with deep ceramic butchers sinks set deep.  Old style taps and expert craftsmanship everywhere.  As with the library, I knew I could happily spend time here too.  Mild panic did set in when I realised there was no microwave and I took a longer look at the Aga.  I’d seen them before in the many visits I had conducted to people’s houses for incidents.  And I knew posh people always made sure they slipped it in if they had an Aga, but I’d never actually used one.  Time for that later.

I cross over to the back door which is held shut with a single key lock that could be popped open with a kick from an asthmatic paraplegic dosed up on sleeping tablets.  Heavy duty bolts set in the top and bottom but drawn back and not pushed home.  Some people just have no sense of security.

Shaking my head I step through into a square courtyard with a high wall running round and a thick wooden gate set into it, on one side is the back of what looks like a workshop or garage.  A patio table with chairs leaning against it are the only furniture, and a few orange coloured plant pots holding withered plants.  Looking round I see the upturned plant pot next to the door leading into the garage or workshop.  I go over and try the door; locked.  Shaking my head I use my foot to knock the plant pot over and find the key hidden underneath.  The key unlocks the door and I am in, looking at an old style blue coloured Landrover four wheel drive vehicle with a white roof.  Workbenches bolted to the walls and big double swing doors at the front that once opened would easily give enough room for the Landy to get out.  The Landy was unlocked and I climbed in expecting to see the keys in the ignition, they weren’t.  They were wedged into the driver’s sun visor instead.  Very cunning.  One of my chores is obviously to nail a big sign up saying please come and rob this house and don’t forget to steal the shitty old Landrover while you are here.

I expected the Landy to be just for private use on the grounds, but it had current tax in the window and unsurprisingly, the insurance certificate and other documents were all in the glove box.  It started first time and for the first time since I entered the house, instead of shaking my head, I nodded with satisfaction.  If someone had told me a couple of years ago that I would be pleased at finding myself looking after a stately home and being happy at finding a library, kitchen and Landrover I would have laughed at them, now though I’ll take whatever good fortune I can find.  The thought plummets my mind and not for the first time I feel the bitterness start to set in my stomach.  I could take some of these antiques in this Landrover get a few quid and disappear.  Do a runner; maybe even have time for a few trips.  Sell the loot and run overseas.  But then I’d be running for ever and never able to come back.  These people might be idiots but you don’t get rich by letting people rob you blind.  I would be hunted and anyway, I might be many things but I’m not a thief.

Not having the correct documentation with me, I was unable to take out a mortgage in the buffet car on the train and buy one of their tepid cups of coffee and I can feel the gnawing inside.  I head back into the kitchen, putting the Landy and garage keys in my pocket.  Rooting around I find the kettle and a jar of instant coffee and see two used wine glasses on the side next to the sink.  I sniff the contents and the pungent smell of red wine fills my nostrils.  No milk though, in fact the fridge is empty, completely empty.  Do I use the petty cash for food or am I expected to buy my own?  There’s not much choice really.  I can keep receipts and re-reimburse them when I get paid.  I hate black coffee and head back into the entrance to retrieve my bag.  I unload the side pockets on the table and find my stash of milk portions, pilfered from the train buffet car, justifying to myself that it’s not theft if it’s offered gratis.  Okay, so it’s gratis when you buy something but even my once high morale’s have had to slip to survive.

With strong white coffee, heavily laden with sugar I fish out my packet of rolling tobacco and papers.  Duty free of course, bought cheap from a lad on the last security gig I worked.  I wouldn’t have dreamt of buying dodgy duty free a few years ago, but like I keep saying, times are hard.  I guess it would be okay to smoke in here, Lord Fatty has told me nobody else is allowed in.  But it wouldn’t look good if someone turned up on my first day and found me puffing away in their kitchen so I head outside to the patio table and stretch my legs out.

Brooding over the coffee and chain smoking I take in my surroundings, at first feeling pleasantly satisfied that I had secured such an easy gig.  Free board, a nice big house, transport and being paid too.  Not bad, but then it didn’t take long for the dark thoughts to start penetrating.  Comparing to what I once had, to what I once was.  Feeling like a fool for being sitting here aged thirty-eight and being grateful for this shitty security job when I was something special before it all changed.

I was something.  I was flying.  Two years on the beat and I passed my probationary period with flying colours, moving onto response cars and cutting my teeth with the constant high crime of inner city London.  Riot training courses at three years’ service and I did my share of the annual anti-capitalist riots, football games and carnivals.

By five years’ service I was on the Armed Response Vehicles then moved up into the Tactical Firearms Teams.  Nine years’ in and I was taking my detective exams, passing high and moving onto divisional Criminal Investigations reactionary departments.  Then onto the pro-active units where we would go hunting, those were the best years by far.  Dressed like a slob and catching bad people doing bad things.  I was never bent or corrupt and never took a bribe.  It was violent and gritty and everyday we’d have a roll around on the floor with someone.

Then I moved onto Major Crime teams, working through the various teams for Murder, Serious Assault and then finally; Sexual Offences.  Which is where it all went horribly wrong.  Funny how small choices can fuck up the rest of your life.  ‘If’ I’d stayed on the murder squad, or stuck with the divisional work I would never have ended up like this.

But I didn’t, I wanted to work my way through all the teams.  I loved it and couldn’t get enough.  The overtime was always there and the people I worked with were dedicated.  Even when my marriage fell apart I kept working, the team supports you through things like that, like a family.  You spend more time with them than you do your real family.  You rely on them and they rely on you.  But I did end up on the sexual offences team and I did end up going after that fucking child molester.  And being the dedicated hard working idiot that I am, I bloody caught him.  Even now two years on and the images of what he did to those kids still flash through my mind.  Some people are born evil and some are made.  He was rare.  He was both.

I snap out of my darkness and realise where I am, telling myself to get a grip and accept the reality of what now is the truth.  I’m here and that’s all there is to it.  I’ve got months of peaceful living ahead of me.  I can read as much as I want, hell I can even use this time to get in shape again.  Get back to the level of fitness I had when I was on the gun crews, eat healthy and cut back on the booze and smoking.  Feeling slightly less self-pitying I head back into the house to continue my unguided tour.

Chapter Three

Pausing at the top of the stairs I look back down at the entrance hall, a balcony runs either side of the landing with white marble posts forming the bannister.  A corridor runs left and right with a multitude of doors leading to rooms.  A beautiful deep red carpet runs down the centre of the floor, leaving enough gap on either side to admire the varnished wooden floor underneath.

Going left and the first door opens into a mess.   Clothes and items strewn across the floor, the huge four poster bed unmade with the sheets all pulled back.  Jewellery scattered across the dressing unit and picture frames knocked over.  At first it looks like an average untidy search of a burglary, but it isn’t.  It’s just mess, like someone left in a hurry. I walk in carefully placing my feet to avoid stepping on anything.  The jewellery looks mostly dress stuff, with maybe a few expensive bits here and there.  The pictures are solid silver and gold frames and worth a few quid and any self-respecting burglar would have taken those and the hundreds of other antiques in the house.  Lord and Lady Fatty grace the images within the frames and Lady Fatty is everything I expected; large built with perfectly coiffured hair, the obligatory pearl necklace and big teeth.  Why do posh women always look a bit like horses? Must be something to do with the ancestry and having all those stables I guess.

The scene looks out of place.  The rest of the house is perfectly ordered.  I realise the room has more doors leading off and on checking I find these are a suit of rooms with a lounge area, bathroom and walk in wardrobes.  The wardrobes have been mostly emptied with just a few tweed suits and the odd ball-gown left.  The more I look the more it appears they just left in a hurry.  Maybe they had to leave because of the court order, but then they would have been given notice and would know about it if they were involved in the proceedings.  Either way, it’s not my concern and I lock the door behind me and move down to the next room.

This again is a suite of rooms, smaller though.  And it looks like the occupier was a teenage girl judging by the clothing also scattered on the floor and the photographs of ponies in the solid silver frames.  Lord and Lady Fatty’s offspring is pictured, looking a mix of her parents; fat, ginger with big teeth.  Young fatty clearly got ready to go in a hurry too, or maybe they are closet messy buggers with the show part of the house all immaculate but living like dirty wotsits in their private quarters.  This idea is quickly dispelled; the rooms are messy but not dirty.  The bathroom is cluttered but clean, with no residue left round the bath or stains in the toilet.  The bed sheets are also clean and not stained.  No, these people left in a hurry and whatever the reasons, well that’s their business and nothing to do with me.  I lock the door and move on again.  The rest of the rooms down this end of the corridor are guest rooms, immaculate and exquisitely decorated and furnished.  Four poster beds with designer cushions and throws, more chaise longue and sumptuous bathrooms with gold fitted taps.  Much like downstairs, they look ready for a magazine photographer, or to be used as a film set.

Back in the middle and I work my way past Lord and Lady Fatty’s room, the next one is another suite.  Also used by one of their offspring.  A boy judging by the picture on the wall, with a mass of frizzy ginger hair and toothy grin he stands proudly holding a shotgun.  He only looks about ten years old and already using firearms.  Dangerous people the rich and posh.  This is also a mess but it looks more normal messy, more like a ten year old boy’s room should look.  Toys and shoes hanging off drawer knobs and dirty underwear not quite making it to the wash bin, socks stuffed under the bed.  At least this looks normal.

Further down the corridor I find one of the big guest rooms converted into a leisure room with bar, snooker table and double doors leading out onto a balcony looking down over the back of the house.  The bar is well stocked with bottles of fine wine, champagne and every kind of spirit including several bottles of Vodka which is my weakness and I curse myself for finding it because I’ll know it’s here now.  My drinking has got bad since I left the force, no correction; since I got sacked from the force.  We always used to have a drink after work anyway, and when things got bad at home going to the pub was the preferred option.  Habit formed and when the support of the job was gone the support of the bottle stayed, and got worse.  I purposefully didn’t bring any with me  in my bag,  mainly because I couldn’t afford it , but also because I wanted to use this time to have a break from it.  But now I’ve seen it and once your eyes have seen it, you can’t take it back.  The images of those children flash across my mind again and I slam my way out of the room, locking the door and promising myself I won’t go back in.

First floor complete I find a smaller staircase and head up to the next one.  This seems sectioned into two parts, overflow guest rooms; smaller but still perfectly presented and then through a solid door to the area I guess the servants used; small rooms, simply furnished and lacking any of the luxury of the rest of the house with threadbare carpets and beige walls with the paint peeling off.  None of the beds are made up and I have no idea where the bedding is kept or if I should be using one of these or one of the guest rooms on this floor.  Checking through them, I find a guest room with a normal size double bed all made up.  Making my decision I leave the door open and lock the rest.  Surprisingly, none of the servant’s rooms have locks on the doors, and no bolts inside either.  No way of securing themselves in which seems strange but I guess servants in those days didn’t have much in the way of employment rights.

The staircase to the attic leads up from the servants quarters and I head up into the almost pitch dark.  No light switch at the bottom of the stairs and I grope around until I feel a twisted wire hanging down in front of me.  I pull it down gently in case it’s not the light switch but a live wire.  A couple of bare bulbs blink on, illuminating the massive space.  Boxes, crates and furniture stacked up and covered in dust sheets casting weird shapes.  The floor has been boarded and I walk to the far end looking left and right at the generations of junk hoarded up.  Reaching the end I make myself jump by not noticing the large mirror propped up and seeing someone moving out of the corner of my eye, spinning round to look at myself suspiciously.  Even in this light I look terrible, unshaven with deep crow’s feet wrinkles and bags under my eyes.  My hair is too long and I look scruffy, pale and drawn.  Looking at myself now I can’t believe they employed me.  I wouldn’t employ me.

‘You’re a mess Humber,’ I try to stare myself out to see who will blink first, but I fail when the man staring back blinks first.   Recce complete I go back downstairs into the kitchen and start checking for supplies.  I open the first cupboard and find it mostly empty apart from a tub of salt, pepper, vinegar and other condiments. That must be why they gave me so much petty cash, knowing they’d emptied the cupboards.  If they’re so wealthy why didn’t they just buy more food? Maybe they’re like a lot of rich people and all the money is in the property and estate with no actual cash in their banks.  But then he was driving a brand new Range Rover so that at least means he’s either got a very good credit rating or cash to spend on expensive toys.  Rich people are weird.  Strip the food out but leave their antiques and a car with a virtual stranger.

I was going to make a list of things I needed, but there’s no point now seeing as I pretty much need everything, apart from coffee.  Why did they leave the coffee and take everything else? Like I said, rich people are weird.

Chapter Four

The double doors swing open on well-maintained hinges and I pull the Landy out enough to close the doors behind me then head off down the mile long drive to the main road.  It feels nice to be driving again, even if it is a beaten up old Landrover.  We used armoured Landrover’s on the Tactical Firearms Teams so I’m used to driving them, although this one pre-dates the ones we used by about a hundred years.

The radio is set to a talk station having a live phone in and discussing some politician who was meant to have sworn at a policeman as he was cycling out of Downing Street.  The police, facing the worse cut backs since time began are desperately trying to use the incident as proof of what the wealthy incumbent government truly think of them while the said incumbent government are desperately trying to discredit the officers in order to show a fabrication of evidence.  You’d have to be a very stupid police officer to make something like that up, and I know for fact they don’t put the stupid police officers anywhere near Downing Street.  Anyway, not my problem anymore and I almost laugh at some of the comments being made by members of the public calling the radio station.  The divide in the country is extremely clear, with those in rural area’s thinking the police are still like they were twenty years ago, cycling around in tunics and trying to catch sheep rustlers, while the inner city dwellers have a profound distrust of any type of authority, especially those in uniform.  An endless generational loop of estates used to house all the poor people together, with very poor education standards leading to no chance of gainful employment.  Struggling to get by and survive while the whole time being bombarded in this age of information by marketing and adverts telling them what they should have, what they need, what they’re entitled to.  For many, crime is an attractive alternative.  So they get targeted more by the police, the more they do, the more they’re targeted and the loop goes round.  There was a time that I whole heartedly believed that what we were doing was right, that taking them out was the right thing to do.  But now, after being chewed up by the machine and spat out to rot, the grot sets in and a cynical nature develops.  Add the bitterness of regret and the sense of loss and I can now really see how those people view the authorities.

The country roads weave through the brown harvested fields, its late afternoon and I hope the village shops don’t close before 5pm.  I decide to rise early tomorrow and explore the grounds; maybe one of the shops will have an ordnance survey map of the area.  The complete lack of security is on my mind and I know that if the average villain got a whiff of the loot in Huntington House they would be there like a shot with a bag stuffed with balaclava, rope, sawn off twelve bore and driving a transit van while on the phone to their local fence.  I’m not bothered about them stealing the family jewels, this is self-preservation as I don’t want to be tied to a chair with my mouth stuffed with dirty socks and taped up, then being left for days to sit in my own piss and shit until Lord Fatty comes back round.  No sir, so a few simple precautions will go a long way; escape routes, where is the closest point for mobile phone signal, I’ve got my old job torch in my bag in case the power goes out.  Take care of those few bits then I can sit back and relax.

Twenty minutes later and I’m pulling into Huntington village.  The tiny train station, I say station but it’s really just a platform is near the main exit road so I didn’t get a chance to see the village centre earlier.  I didn’t miss much.

The main parking area is around the village square with some wartime monument in the middle.  Shops border the square on three sides and the road on the fourth.  Leaving the Landy in one of the many empty parking bays I wander over to the shops and start walking down passing an old style café, closed up now and dark inside but with white floral net curtains covering half the window and advertising all day breakfast served until midday.  How can that be an all-day breakfast then?  Equally dark windows of gift shops advertising wares and locally made produce.  Butchers, A bakers, but looking around I don’t see the candlestick makers. Everything seems closed and locked up. I notice a hardware and outdoor clothing store. Not the outdoor clothing of the city dwellers, but the functional style used by farmers; oil skins, padded checked shirts and big rubber boots. The obligatory chain owned mini-market is tucked in the corner taking the space of two buildings, big multi coloured signs plastered over the inside of the window offering discounts on kitchen towels.  It looks so out of place amongst the under-stated style of shops surrounding it.

Inside I walk through the linoleum aisles marvelling at how I could be anywhere in the country now, or even abroad as these places all look exactly the same.  The basket is quickly filled with tinned and frozen food, a bag of potatoes and meat from the chilled section, milk, bread and some basic cleaning materials; washing up liquid and sponges.  I take a can of deodorant too and some shower gel as my own supplies are dwindling to almost nothing.  I cross the end of the alcohol aisle and feel the pull to go down and buy Vodka; the cash in my pocket is almost burning a hole and I have to pointedly walk past the end and detour down the snacks aisle to get to the counter.

‘Just passing through?’ The middle aged woman behind the counter interrupts my thoughts of Vodka.

‘Eh? Sorry?’

‘You’re not from around here, are you passing through or just moved in?’ She didn’t just say that did she? I thought that phrase was copyrighted and trademarked for films only.

‘Oh my god, did I just say that! You must think I’m a right country bumpkin,’ she giggles to herself full of mirth, ‘not from around ‘ere,’ she mimics herself putting on a country farmer accent.  Her smile is infectious and I can’t help but grin back at her.

‘No I’m not from here, just staying for a little while.’

‘Ooh, anywhere nice?’ There it is the million dollar question.  Now, do I tell the truth and therefore expose the fact that Lord and Lady Fatty are not home for visitors with the full knowledge that it will be common news within a couple of hours and news like that is likely to reach the wrong ears very quickly.  Or do I lie and make something up?

‘Just house sitting for a friend,’ I make something up.

‘Oh yeah? Where’s that then?’ She can’t help but stick her nosey beak in can she.  This is why people live in cities and should avoid the countryside at all costs.

‘Er, just a few miles out. He’s got an old cottage and I said I’d look after the dogs.  You know what people are like with their pets, he won’t put them in kennels because of the kennel cough outbreak so he called me up and asked if I’d mind.  Of course I don’t mind, nice to get out of the city for a while with all that traffic and pollution, yeah some nice clean air for a few weeks will do wonders. His wife wanted them in kennels though but she isn’t into dogs as much as him let me tell you that, nice lady though.  She worked in the city too, in advertising but it ground her down too much so they moved up here.  Always going on about it too, emailing pictures of the woods and things.  Tell me, what time do the other shops close?’ Speaking fast and smiling all the time I overwhelm her with information and finish off with a question while staring at her expectantly.

‘Er, the er what?’

‘The shops, what time do they close normally?’

‘Between three and four most of them this time of year,’ she smiles again but not so confident now.  I spent years in plain clothes walking round dodgy area’s where the local population were always on the look-out for under-cover police.  Having a quick story and a confident manner was the best defence by far.

‘That’s great, well it was nice chatting with you,’ I take the bags and hold my hand out for the change, smiling and walking away with a low whistle.  The smile and the whistle cease the second the door closes behind me and I walk back to the Landy feeling even worse than before.  Using the skills I honed for many years on the streets brings back the memories and dampens my mood as I drive back to Huntington House.

Driving back down the driveway it’s getting dark and the house looks gloomy and the grounds bleak.  The headlights shine against the ground floor windows as I sweep round past the front of the house and round to the garage.  Once parked and secure I check the double doors and push home the bolts before heading into the courtyard and locking the garage door behind me.  Dumping my bags on the kitchen table I put the frozen and chilled things away and leave the rest stacked on the side; a clear signal that I’m not making myself too much at home.

Coffee made, I examine the Aga, trying to figure out where the wood goes in, or the coal or whatever fuel it burns.  It takes me about half an hour to work out that it’s connected to the mains gas supply.  The big gas pipe running round the edge of the wall gave it away, great detective skills there Humber.  Figuring that if there is a gas supply to the Aga then there must be a central heating system somewhere, I  check the rooms and discover that the radiators are all coloured the exact shade of the wall they grace, camouflaging them from being picked out when I toured earlier.  I touch several of them but find them cold and the pipes leading to them are cold too.  They must be on a timer to come on later so I head back to the kitchen and make some food.

As night drops I flick the light switch and find the electricity is at least still on.  I eat my meal in the quiet of the kitchen then wash up my things and the two used wine glasses.  Once finished I head into the library and flick the light on illuminating the room in the soft glow of yellow light.  Instantly my eyes are drawn to the French doors and my reflection presented in the glass.  Pitch black outside and anyone out there will be able to see me.  The curtains are drawn tight and I make sure there are no gaps between the drapes before starting to examine the book shelves and getting lost in the hundreds of leather bound volumes neatly stacked in well-presented order.  My fingers brush along encyclopaedias, volumes on medicine, history, genealogy, and every other subject known to man until I settle on a 1920’s edition of Medieval and Modern Times (with supplements).  Sinking into a deep armchair I flick a standing lamp on and lose myself in the old pages leafing through maps with names of countries now long gone.

By half past eleven my eyes are drooping.  The early train ride and the long walk then going into town have taken their toll on my body which is no longer used to having full days.  I head out of the room, turn the lights off and close the door before checking the front door is locked and secure.  The kitchen door is locked and the key removed.  On climbing the first stair with my bag I stop to think of the French doors all round the property that lead out into the grounds.  With a sigh I dump the bag and curse myself for not checking them properly earlier.  Taking the jail house keys I unlock all the doors and spend the next hour groping walls for light switches and checking each door is bolted and secure.  As I move through the house I think about leaving some lights on to show any possible intruder’s that someone is here, but that would mean closing more drapes otherwise it would just illuminate the rooms and the goods on display.  With more foul curses I start pulling curtains closed and leaving some main lights and lamps on.  Might cost them a few more quid in electricity but they employed me for security, so security I shall do.

By the time I start up the stairs again I can see my breath coming from my mouth and the temperature in the big place is getting lower with every passing hour.  On the third floor I find the door I left open and dump my bag on the bed.  Taking the measly contents out I stack them on the floor for now, and promise myself I will sort them out properly in the morning.  The room is the smallest of the guest rooms, but still perfectly presented and I feel guilty for using it, but the servants rooms were not set up with bedding or anything else.  I look down at my black boots, my last police boots I had before I moved from uniform to plain clothes.  Well-made and sturdy, they remind of the hundreds of times I got home from work and sat down to take them off.  A feeling of loneliness descends and I realise that no one knows I am here.  My parents are long dead, am an only child and all my friends still work in the job I lost.  I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the empty signal bar.  I flick to the contacts screen and move through the names of former colleagues and associates.  The names bring back more memories, of incidents, times at the pub, frantic work in offices and foot chases through grimy streets.

I take my toiletries bag and move across the corridor to the bathroom, these cheaper second story guest rooms not being posh enough to have their own private washroom.  In those days, it must have been almost offensive to house someone up here, away from the utter luxury of the lower quarters.  The bathroom is still sumptuous with a tiled floor and a huge bath resting on majestic clawed feet in the middle of the room.  No shower but one of those hand held things connected to the taps.  An oyster shaped sink with golden taps and a huge mirror set into the wall.  I set my bag down, brush my teeth and start running the hot water tap.  Bangs and groans sound out from pipes but no hot water comes out, only freezing cold stuff that spatters noisily into the sink.  Taking a quick body wash and shivering throughout the whole process I quickly dart back into my room and close the door.  I don’t have night clothes but it’s too cold to sleep naked so I dress in one of the two pairs of jogging bottoms and a long sleeved top before crawling into the bed.  Then I realise there is no lamp and I’ve left the main light on.  Back out and I turn the light off, crossing the completely dark room and groping for the bed.

As soon as my head hits the pillow the nagging starts.  I know it’s not physical but my mind telling my body I will not sleep without them.  I try to ignore it but before long I feel my limbs twitching and itching.  My frustration makes it worse and I toss and turn, flipping over but the urge gets worse until I can’t take it anymore.  Staggering over I flick the light back on and rummage through my bag for the small pot of pills, twist the lid off and dry swallow two of the little white oval shaped pills.  Instantly I feel a calmer and I know that they cannot work that quickly but it’s the thought of the pills being inside me that causes the calming effect.  I know it’s psychological but it makes no difference how many times I tell myself.  The actual real effects of the pills only take ten minutes and by then I’m gone dosed up on sleeping pills, like a paraplegic asthmatic.

Chapter Five

The problem with sleeping pills is that they do exactly as they say on the tin, especially when you double dose like I did, and sleep like the dead.  It must have been a cold night as I wake up freezing, dull headed and confused.  I know most of this would be the effect of the medication but the knowledge didn’t help much as I looked round the room to get my bearings and work out where I was.  Weak light penetrates the windows so I figured it must be around half past seven if the sun was just coming up, either that or it was late morning and just a gloomy day.  I check my phone but the already depleted battery did what everyone else in my life has done and gave up.

Teeth rattling in my head the cold forces me to get up and get moving, darting across the hallway to stand in front of the toilet and try to stop shivering enough to aim properly.  My piss comes out dark orange and I do the same thing as I do every morning and vow to drink more water.  Brushing my teeth and there is a haggard looking man staring back at me, I look past him to the opulence of the décor; the stand-alone bath with golden taps.  Everything white and clean with straight edges, then back to the man staring at me with toothpaste foaming out of his mouth, bloodshot eyes with bags under them and facial hair that’s gone way past the stubble phase and bordering on shaggy beard.

My gaze comes to rest on the bathroom door and I can’t remember opening it when I rushed in for the toilet, I always close doors behind me out of habit.  I had to purposefully leave the guest room door open yesterday so I knew which one I was using.  Maybe I didn’t close it last night when I was freezing and rushing to get into bed and warm up.  Got to stop with the sleeping pills.  I pool my hands under the water and rub it hard into my face.  This is meant to be invigorating but it just bloody hurts and I cease the action after a couple of half arsed attempts then run back into the bedroom to quickly dress in some warmer clothes.

Ten minutes later and I’m wearing my coat in the courtyard, drinking hot coffee and coughing from the harshness of the day’s first smoke.  I start to feel a bit better, no not better, just more like me; with increasing levels of caffeine and nicotine giving me a false sense of well-being.  Already I feel guilty for reverting to type and ruining my plans for a healthy new start.  I’ll do it later, maybe tomorrow.  Get settled in and find my way about first then I can start doing new things.  Not now though so I’ll drink this java and smoke another cigarette while I stamp my feet to warm up.  Thinking of settling in I remember I was going to tour the grounds today and find my way about, and find the closest spot for mobile phone reception.  I get the phone from my room and take the charger down to the kitchen to pump some juice in while I take a trip round the house to open the curtains and turn the lights off.  The jailhouse keys jangle noisily as I swing them round my fingers until I reach the first door and start working my way through them to find the right key.  They’re all unmarked and most of them look very similar.  This won’t do going through this twice a day, I find the right key and pull the wires apart to slip the key off and leave it in the door.  I work my way round the house doing the same with each door.  If the exterior security was competent then this wouldn’t be necessary but the way it is now then keeping these doors locked might delay any potential thief from having free reign of the house, and I have got to stop taking sleeping pills otherwise I won’t hear a thing.

The weather is overcast and cold as I head back down the driveway in the Landy, driving to the main road and turning away from the direction of the village.  I follow the lane, skirting the grounds of the estate and taking unmade roads through gates to cross over fields and follow the tracks through woods and thickets of trees.  The hundreds of shades of green and brown amaze me and I lose myself in the stark beauty of the area.  My phone is on the seat next to me so I can keep checking the signal bar.  I forgot to buy a map in the village and I doubt the mini market would have sold one anyway, so for now I use my sense of direction to keep the great house in close proximity.

The rutted lane weaves between high hedgerows until it winds into a forest, growing ever denser with each passing minute.  Round a corner and the lane ends abruptly in front of an open five bar gate giving access to a parking area in front of an old stone built cottage.  Like something out of a picture-book the cottage nestles cosily amongst the trees, long and low with a thatched roof and windows glowing with orange light behind them.  A huge pile of chopped wood rests under a lean to roof at one end of the cottage and I lean down to see a lazy column of smoke coming gently from the chimney stack.  Having the choice of reversing all the way down the lane or using the parking area I pull forward and start to turn round intending to head back out and catching a glimpse of another Landrover parked alongside the other end of the cottage.  As I sweep the Landy round in a wide arc I see a figure standing in the now open door and positioned in the actual doorway so that neither the weak daylight nor the light in the house illuminates him.  Stopping I open the door and step out, waving at the figure.

‘Hi, sorry for using your driveway, I didn’t realise the lane ended here.’ I think I catch a glimpse of his head nodding, just a small discrete movement distorting the light behind him.  The figure doesn’t move so I take a step toward him, old habits die hard and I leave the driver’s door open and the engine running, a subconscious escape route.

‘I said I’m sorry for your using your driveway,’ old tactic, repeat the question and pretend you think he didn’t hear it the first time.

‘I heard you,’ a gruff voice replies.  If in doubt keep the tactics going.

‘My mistake, my name is Mike Humber,’ keeping my tone polite and my movements open and friendly.

‘I know who you are.’

‘You do?’ My reputation clearly precedes me.

‘Security from Huntington House.’ Statement not a question and there was me thinking he actually knew who I was. His voice is deep and clipped, his tone making it obvious he does not want to speak with me, years of turning up to speak to people not happy to see the police hones the ability to pick up subtle tones.  In those few short words I’ve picked up that he doesn’t want to speak to me and is prepared to be rude but there’s no aggression or hint of violence.

‘Yes I am, just started yesterday actually.’

‘I know.’ He knows a lot.

‘How?’ I harden my tone just a little and leave the silence hanging while holding my stance in a non-threatening manner, not face on but just slightly to the side.

‘They told me…and that’s the Huntington vehicle,’ he does well, holding a long pause before answering me.  His tone doesn’t waver, not backing down but not escalating either.

‘Forgive me firing questions at you but who told you?’ Back to polite and respectful.

‘Lord Huntington.’

‘You know them well?’ Oh full on police questioning now.  I know my appearance of scruffy unkempt shaggy haired bearded weirdo must be conflicting with the tone of my voice and the manner of my speaking.

‘Well enough.’ I knew that was coming, but it tells me several things.  First, that he answers each time which gives an indication that he does not want to be seen backing down.  Further that his voice lifted ever so slightly in pitch at the end showing frustration.  This could mean that he’s trying to show that he doesn’t want to speak to me, or that he doesn’t like these particular questions.

‘Listen Sir, I do apologise for turning up in this manner.  It was not my intention to annoy you but I followed the track and it led here.’ I dip my head to show an apologetic manner and wait to see his reaction.

‘You said that,’ his tone betrays a sense of victory as my apology makes him think I’m backing down from his abrupt answers.

‘I did, you’re right but you are being rude and surly.  I am the security from Huntington House and I’m scouting the land to get an idea of where I am and any possible routes leading to the house.  Is this Huntington land?’ I harden my voice and speak a bit faster while taking a step forward and holding my position now face on.

‘It is.’ I win. You answered quickly, still gruff but without delay.

‘Thank you.  What is your position?’

‘Groundsman.’ His tone reminds me of a soldier being asked questions by an officer.  Not wanting to answer but required to due to the nature of his position.

‘And this is the groundsman’s cottage?’ If it’s a Q and A session you’re wanting…

‘It is, lived here all my life, as did my father and his before him.’

‘How big are the grounds?’

‘Big enough,’ back to surly so I stand completely still and let the oppressive silence do the work for me.

‘About ten square miles all in, used to be more but it got sold off over the years.’

‘Money problems?’ The reply comes out before I stop it, natural instinct taking over.

‘No.’ I overstepped the boundary.

‘Which way is the house from here?’

‘Back the way you came.’

‘As the crow flies, straight line?’ He’ll have to step out into the light so he can point the direction.

‘Straight behind you.’ Bollocks.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Stanley Cooper.’

‘Who lives with you Mr Cooper?’

‘Just me.’

‘No children?’

‘Just me.’

‘Thank you for your time today Mr Cooper, I guess I will be seeing you soon.’ I turn to leave.

‘No.’

‘No? What about the grounds?’

‘Not much to do this time of year, I’ll be in the woods.  You won’t see me.’

‘Maybe, maybe I will Mr Cooper.’ Getting back in the Landrover I curse myself for slipping into police mode.  I’m not a policeman anymore, I’m just a security guard and that’s it.  Still, I can’t help replay the conversation over in my head as I drive back down the lane.  He could just be a grumpy man who doesn’t like new people.  No it was more than that, he was acutely unhappy at my presence.  Maybe he thinks it should be him living there and enjoying the big house and not some paid stranger. But he would have to realise that his presence as the paid employee of Lord Huntington would make him an agent for one side of the Huntington family and would therefore frustrate the court proceedings and confuse the legal process.  But you know what? I don’t care.  It’s not my problem.  He can be as rude and surly as he likes.  I’ll do my job, get paid and that’s it.

Ten square miles he said, that’s bloody massive.  The village must be within ten miles, maybe even within the ten mile radius.  Maybe they own the village, the thought shocks me.  Owning a village must be impressive and now they can’t even live in their own house.  Must be quite humbling for them, the poor hard done by village-owning rich people.

Back at the house I sit in the courtyard putting more harsh coffee into my empty stomach.  Re-flux acid churns away and I know if I don’t eat soon it will soon start a gurgitation effect into my throat.  Years ago I developed stomach problems from working too many hours, not eating and drinking coffee all day.  The doctor gave me some pills, proton inhibitors or something, and told me to eat sensible food at regular times and to cut back on coffee, smoking and alcohol.  But they always say that about everything.  I ran out of the pills ages ago and couldn’t be bothered to go back for a repeat prescription.  I count off my ailments; sleeping problems and an addiction to the medicine, addicted to smoking and binge drinking, depression, stress and a bad stomach, no career, alone in the middle of nowhere with no phone signal and no friends.

Sitting in the same seat the hours creep by as I stare into the distance, chain smoking cheap tobacco and only moving to get more coffee.  I planned to walk the grounds, go to the village and visit the shops, make food.  Instead I sit and stare at the wall, counting the bricks going left to right, then the bricks going up and down, then the plant pots.  Inside me is dark, and despite the chill setting in I remain where I am like a depressed stubborn sloth, too stupid, lazy and undeserving to move.

It wasn’t my fault.  That bastard taunted me and he knew what he was doing.  For years I was told I was hot headed and took it too personally.  Told to treat it like a job and not get involved.  In my head what I was doing was right, that I did take it personally and I made sure the bad guy always got caught.  Following every lead and trudging from house to house, asking the same questions over and over until you got that priceless nugget.  “Yes officer, I did see a man with a red jumper run past at the time you say, he lives just down the road” BINGO! Days and days of plodding foot work and you get a result like that; call in the teams and swoop to bring the bad guy in.

But that deviant bastard, he knew he was going to get caught and he made sure it was on ground of his choosing.  Isolated and away from the public but surrounded by bloody cameras.  I close my eyes and fill my memory with those times, with the utter depravity he visited on those children, the physical injuries were bad enough but the minds of those children will never truly heal.  Sadness fills me as I think back to the families, the mothers and fathers and the confusion as they struggled to comprehend what had been done to their child.  A lump forms in my throat but slowly the sadness is replaced as the memory of me beating him floods into my mind.  I’d lost it so the recall isn’t exact.  Seeing red does that, that’s why it’s called seeing red.  Normal cognitive function is gone and primal instinct, rage and savage violence takes its place.  Every move made, every punch, strike and hit is somehow planned but at the same time lost in a blur.  The memory simply cannot recall every detail but what I’m left with is enough.  A series of images, emotions, sounds and feelings as he became a bloody mess under my fists.  People kept asking me how it felt, in the end I would answer that it felt great to have revenge on someone so evil, so depraved.  But the word ‘great’ doesn’t cut it.  It’s not great or wonderful or glorious.  It’s vicious savagery.  It’s taking a step beyond civilisation and doing something dirty that needs to be done.  A threat posed to our own and I took that threat out.  Only I didn’t, did I.  We do have society and laws that deal with people of this nature.  Whether we had enough evidence or not was then a moot point, he had been beaten and tortured by the police service and the sensational coverage of the incident meant that he’d never get a fair trial.  So he walked.

Chapter Six

Vodka is my friend.  It is my one friend that will never let me down and will always be here to fill my broken soul with a warm glow.  My second night here and I’ve already raided their bar.  I did my tour and switched lights and lamps on, drawing curtains and checking doors before I found myself standing outside the leisure room, unlocking the door and swiping a bottle of the clear stuff to take down to the library with me.

Reading my Medieval and Modern Times book I take nice big gulps from a Vodka filled wine glass, one of the two that I washed up yesterday.  After sitting outside for hours and sinking lower than I have for a long time I came inside to get food.  Staring at the measly collection of items I bought, all of it looking tasteless and unappetising.  Now I’m here, in the nice red room with the books and munching through bags of crisps I bought from the mini market.  Books don’t betray you either.  Books don’t take your soul and spit you out to live alone and unloved.  Books are truth and filled with the words that someone created.  I turn the book over and stare at the cover, marvelling at how someone actually thought they would compile a condensed overview of this time period.  They actually thought it out, researched the material then put it all together and presented it to be printed.  No matter what that person did after that, they are forever immortal as this work will always be here.  Sitting on this and maybe many more shelves, just waiting for someone to open it up and read.  Re-filling my glass I wonder in amazement at the history of the world.  Of all the people that have ever lived, are living now and will live in the future.  All those souls filled with sadness, regret and loneliness.  Every one of us, them, me striving for a meaning, to be loved, to give love.  Silly twats, it’s all bollocks.  I giggle drunkenly and curse the fools for what they are.  They’re not like me and my Vodka and my books, they don’t see the truth like we do.  They’re not in on our secret are they?  They don’t know that we’re just a bunch of organisms running about trying to pretend that we’re special just because we can think.  Emotions? They’re just the result of chemicals pumped into the system, designed to make us horny, angry, happy, sad, jealous and all just so we can procreate and make more organisms.

‘We are all empty vessels,’ I impart my wisdom to the books, raising my glass to toast them.

‘Empty vessels yearning for a higher meaning but you know what?’ The books stare back at me, I know they’re trying to look nonchalant but I can tell they’re listening.

‘You know what? It’s all bollocks,’ my insight startles them and they whisper in surprise.

‘That’s right my darlings, it’s all bollocks.  There is no higher meaning, nothing.  There’s nothing. NOTHING,’ I shout so they understand.  It’s important they understand.  They need to understand me.  They stop whispering and go sullen.

‘I’m sorry for yelling,’ I feel guilty now, ‘but you must understand this, it is very important.’ I’m on my feet, so I can present my lecture with dignity and poise.  But my glass is empty and I can’t just stand here with a dry mouth so I take the Vodka bottle by the neck and position the wine glass on the book shelf in front of me.

‘There you go little wine glass, you can listen so when you grow up you’ll know just how shit it is.  Now, listen carefully for I shall say this only once,’ I take a big swig. ‘Maybe more than once, but I shall tell it until you listen and listen you shall.’ This Vodka tastes very nice, it must be weak because I hardly feel drunk.  I stare at the side trying to see the alcohol volume but the numbers are hidden or too small.

‘Sneaky little numbers, where are you,’ I twist the bottle round but those pesky numbers keep running round the bottle.

‘I shall deal with you later, I have a lecture to give,’ waggling my finger at the Vodka label I warn the numbers that this isn’t over and I will be back to sort them out after my teachings.

‘Now, where were we, yes thank-you Geography section we know we are in the library in Cuntington House.’ The other books giggle at my witty comment so I give them a wink.

‘Anyway, so there’s no higher meaning,’ another swig, ‘and if anyone tells you there is then they’re full of shit. No, no listen to me Religious section, I know you have faith in God, Allah, Hare Krishna and Buddha and and…and the other ones but let me tell you something, let me ask you something….eh? Let me ask you…where is your god now?’ I look round so they get the point I’m trying to make.

‘He’s not here is he, he’s not here.  No, he is not.  He is not here because he does not exist.  There I said it; I denied the existence of your supreme being, of your entity. Ha! So what do you think of that?’ More Vodka pours into my mouth while I listen to their learned responses.

‘No no no, you’ve got it wrong.  Jesus did not die for our sins.  He was a man who lived a very long time ago and got nailed to some wood and the bible is a collection of stories written over a long period of time and then found in some cave or something, no wait… that was the Dead Sea scrolls wasn’t it? History section, you are needed here.  Please tell the rest of the room all about the bible and those Dead Scrolls things….while I sit down for a minute.’ I slump down then spring back up quickly.

‘Right, you lot discuss that for a minute while I go for a smoke. Thank you medicine section, we all know the dangers of smoking and we don’t need your pompous input now.’ Shaking my head at the cheek of the medicine books trying to lecture me I head outside, pulling my coat on as I go.  The urge to urinate comes on strong so I head over to the corner of the wall and start pissing on a plant pot, then realise that all the plants must be thirsty so I work my way along trying to get a bit of piss on all of them.   A job well done and I stagger back, up-ending the bottle and downing the glorious liquid.  My fingers stumble and shake as I roll a cigarette and it takes several attempts as the papers have got weak and keep ripping.  Eventually I am victorious and we are three.  Me, the Vodka and the cigarette.  I introduce them but they’re shy and don’t really speak to each other.

I take a big swig but I lean back too far and stagger, dropping the bottle to smash on the ground and then I’m feeling sad at losing such a good friend.  I salute my fallen comrade and flick my cigarette down to join him, knowing they were close friends and would want to be together.  Inside the kitchen and I realise I must be getting sick as my legs feel all wobbly and my head is spinning.  I close the door and wrestle with the bolts until they ram home.

‘Ha,’ I jump back in triumph, slamming into the table and falling to the floor. ‘You thought you bested me didn’t you, but I won the day,’ I stagger back up and give two fingers to the bolts and start working my way up the stairs.  Someone has put more steps in as it takes me a long time to get to the top and I eventually crawl onto the first floor and work my way down to the bar room.

‘Is there another Vodka here? Hello, looking for Mr Vodka,’ I walk into the room and stagger towards the bar.

‘I am terribly sorry to inform you of this tragic news, but the Vodka bottle leapt out of my hand and committed suicide on the floor….it was very sad.’  I take another bottle and commiserate the passing of a true friend.

Chapter Seven

A strange noise rouses me, a deep gargling sound of a bear drowning in treacle.   As I come to, I realise the noise is my own snoring.   I’m lying flat on my back staring up at the halo of an angel hovering above me.  I must be dead, and from the way my head feels and my body aches I guess I’ve gone straight to hell, but why would an angel be hovering over me in hell? My eyes slowly focus and the hanging circular lamp becomes less blurry until the edges are fully defined with a bright light in the middle.  Lifting my head I realise I’m lying on top of the snooker table in the leisure room.  I look down my body and see my trousers are round my ankles but I’ve still got my coat on.  My mouth feels awful, furry and metallic, my head is pounding and my stomach churning noisily.  Groaning with self-pity I roll over onto my side and shuffle towards the edge of the table, snooker balls getting stuck under my back and making me wince with sharp pains.  I twist my legs round and slowly distribute my weight until I’m mostly standing.  More pain shoots across my right leg, I look down to see a thin red mark running across my shin.  Pressing my fingers down and a sharp pain sears into my leg making me inhale quickly.  How the hell did I do that? I hobble round the table, taking short stunted steps because of my trousers still round my ankles.  A snooker cue lies on the floor next to the table, I drag it over and compare the size of the thin end to the mark on my leg; it matches perfectly.  Bloody hell, my drinking is getting worse if I’m now self-harming.

I kind of remember coming up the stairs and into this room but after that it is gone, not just patchy or sketchy, but gone.  My squinting eyes scan the room, taking in over turned tables, chairs and the balcony door propped slightly open.  A half empty bottle of Vodka on the bar top, snooker balls on the table almost framing where I passed out.  Pulling my trousers up I move over to the patio door and step outside, the bright daylight flashing a brief pain into my head.  A congealed pile of vomit on the ground next to a cigarette butt and a distinctly dark wet patch in the corner where I must have pissed make me turn away quickly in shame.  Embarrassed despite being alone and feeling sick, nauseous and dizzy.  I make my way up the stairs and into the bathroom opposite my guest room.  The sight in the mirror horrifies me, a disgusting specimen of humanity with dried puke sticking to his chin.

Coat dumped on the floor, followed by jumper then t shirt and the smell of stale body odour wafts up to slap at my already offended nose.  I need to wash, I really need to wash but the water is cold and I’m shivering.  Using a flannel soaked in the freezing water I quickly scrub at my armpits, chest and neck.  Then sitting on the edge of the bath I peel my boots and trousers off, shivering more violently with every passing minute.  I force myself to wash, not thoroughly but I use the flannel to clean my groin then my feet before darting naked across the hallway into my room, coming to a stop when I see my clothes strewn across the floor and having no recollection of having come in here during the night.  What was I looking for?  Whatever it was made me do a frantic search as my stuff is scattered everywhere.  Clean pants, socks, t shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms and a hoody and I’m dressed to thrill and feeling like a bag of shit.  I start to clean the mess up but my head spins when I bend down so I give up and take a rest on the bed for a minute until I start shivering so I climb under the blankets to get warm.

Chapter Eight

Having slept the entire morning and a fair chunk of the afternoon too, I’m now sitting outside in the courtyard with a mug of coffee and a cigarette.  The nauseous feeling has eased with the extra sleep and now I’m just left with a dull head-ache and deep sense of lethargy.  Finding the smashed vodka bottle outside was a surprise but at least I remember doing it, and pissing in the plant pots too.  It took me several hours to find cleaning materials and buckets to wash the puke from the leisure room balcony, then re-arrange the tables, chairs and put the snooker balls back.  The library wasn’t too bad, just empty crisp packets and a used wine glass on the bookshelf.  Then I had to tidy all my clothes up too.  I must have had a right bender last night and alarmingly I not only rampaged round the house but I somehow whacked myself in the leg with a snooker cue.  It must have been on purpose, how else would a snooker cue strike with enough force to leave a mark unless it was wielded.  My rounds proved no one else had entered the house as all the doors and windows were secure.

This has got to be the worse drinking binge in a long time.  We used to drink heavily after work but that was always in a group and somehow, despite being completely wrecked at the end of most sessions, we made sure everyone got home safely.  Apart from that time I woke up on the top deck of a bus parked in the depot at 6am.  Other than that we always got home safely.  But last night is worrying.  A new job and valuable time I should be using to get healthy save money and repair my life and already I’ve pissed everywhere, puked up, raided their bar and slept the night on what is probably an antique snooker table.  Disgust adds to the lethargy and makes me sink even lower within myself.  Who cares if I drink myself to death? Who would miss me? Nobody would give a shit and seeing as the owners are not even allowed in I could choke on my own vomit and lie dead with my pants round my ankles for a few weeks until they finally break in and find my rotting humiliated corpse.  The funeral would be interesting and I wonder who would give the eulogy.  Probably one of the lads from my old shift.  “Yeah Mike Humber was a great bloke, great copper, always catching bad people but then he went and fucked it up by letting a child rapist walk free so he probably deserves to have died a washed up alcoholic waster.” Of course my ex-wife would be there, but only so she could sign the papers for my pension to be released to her.  I can’t hate her for that though, she put up with me long enough so she deserves it.

Having forced myself to eat pasta, peas and chicken I wash the dinner things up and the cold water reminds me of trying to wash this morning.  There are radiators so there has to be a boiler or heating system somewhere.  These old houses are famous for being cold in the winter, in the old days they had log fires in every room but the time and expense of cleaning and maintaining them must have made for a pretty swift decision to modernise and go for central heating.  The phone in the hallway interrupts my thoughts with a shrill ringing.  Drying my hands on a towel I walk into the dark hallway and lift the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh hello, it’s er, its Charles Huntington here,’ Lord Fatty’s first name is Charles…no surprise there I guess.  He sounds almost surprised at me answering the phone. ‘Just calling to see how you are?’ How I am? He should be more worried about his house being left in the care of an alcoholic idiot.

‘Fine Sir, everything is fine.’

‘That’s marvellous, so you’re settling in okay?’

‘Yes Sir, no problems at all.  It’s a very beautiful house.’ Apart from the puke and piss I’ve left scattered about.

‘That’s wonderful, so no problems at all?’ Third time he’s asked me that.

‘No Sir, no problems.  I’ve been putting different lights on in the evening, drawing curtains and making the place looked lived in which will hopefully put anyone off trying to break in.’

‘Yes Cooper said about the lights being on at night, I see you met him then.  His family has worked for our family for generations.’ The sneaky bastard has been snooping round then.  I suppose that’s only natural and anyone in that position would do the same but still, I don’t like the thought of it.

‘Yes I did meet him, to be honest though Sir he didn’t seem all that pleased to see me.’ I listen closely for any inflections in his voice.  Speaking on the phone gives an advantage of speaking face to face in that you can focus solely on the voice and not be distracted by facial expressions and body movements.

‘Ah yes the Coopers have always been an abrupt sort, plain speaking I think they call it, his father and grandfather were the same.’ Probably the same person from what I’ve heard of these country folk.

‘Right got it, just so I know Sir, does Mr Cooper or anyone else have keys or access to the premises? I only ask as I’m not sure of the protocols or local procedures should I find anyone else here.’ I make it sound official and serious.

‘Er yes, Cooper does have keys, his family have always held them but there’s no reason he should be entering the house.  Everyone has been told the strict instructions given out by the court.’

‘Okay Sir, I understand. One more thing if I may ask?’

‘What’s that?’ He sounds worried.

‘The heating Sir, I understand it probably costs a lot to run it, but there’s no hot water.’

‘The heating? Oh right of course, yes it’s on a timer so it should be on but it may have tripped out, feel free to set it how you want.’ He sounds almost relieved.

‘Thank you Sir, I won’t waste it I promise, just enough to have a hot wash is all I need.’

‘No, no you carry on.  That house can get bitter without the heating at this time of year; feel free to use whatever you need.  There’s a bar upstairs too, not sure if you’ve seen it but help yourself to a drink if you want.’

‘Ah yes I did see it on my initial inspection,’ and I’ve raided it and slept on your snooker table too.

‘Good well that’s wonderful, so everything is okay?’ Fourth time he’s asked.

‘Yes Sir, I found the Landrover too.  I take it it’s okay for me to use it to run into the village for supplies?’

‘Gosh that old thing, yes of course, as I said Mr Humber, use what you need.’

‘Okay Sir, thank you very much,’ doffing my cap again and sucking up to the rich employer.

‘Well Mr Humber, if there is anything you need just call, bye for now.’

‘Goodbye Sir.’ Putting the handset down I replay the conversation in my head.  He sounds like a typical genial aristocrat, not quite with it, all jolly and brash.  But he asked me at least four times if I was okay.  Of course it’s his house and understandably he must be concerned about it being cared for by some stranger.  But then he didn’t seem all that bothered when he met me outside either.  I got the impression the job was already mine before we even spoke.  So why would he be showing so much concern now.  I’d met people before who had the ability to appear very interested in the person they were speaking to at that moment but then not give them a second thought the moment they were gone.  No, that wasn’t it…Something else.  Cooper has been checking the house out and reporting back to Lord Fatty, so Cooper must have seen me getting drunk in the leisure room, puking and pissing on the balcony.  If he was down in the grounds and I was up high with light behind me I would be easy to see.  That must be it, Cooper has told him about my behaviour so he’s calling to check.  And he mentioned the bar too, which is funny because he said feel free to have a drink.  Maybe that was his soft way of trying to be sarcastic or get a message across.  Too polite to come out and tell me.  Right, that’s noted.  Cooper is keeping a close eye on me is he, well forewarned is forearmed.

Forgetting to ask where the central heating system is, I guess it must be in the basement.  I find the cellar door is concealed in the wall at the back of the entrance hallway, cleverly constructed so that only the outline of the door is visible, even the keyhole has a small metal plate hanging over it, matched perfectly in colour to the rest of the décor.  Retrieving the jailhouse keys I work through them until I find the right one and detach it from the loop to leave it in the keyhole.  There are several more keys on the metal loop so there must be more doors somewhere, probably storage cupboards or more outbuildings.

I push against the cellar door but it stays stuck, it must open outwards but there’s no handle.  I try twisting the key and pulling the door that way but it remains shut.  Finally I figure it out, a spring loaded lock.  Push the door firmly once and it pops open to be pulled.  Very clever but why go to all that hassle when you can just have an inward opening door? Again I ponder the mind-set of the rich and wealthy.  With the door open I look down a flight of stone steps, disappearing from view into the gloom.  A row of old fashioned light switches and I flick them all over, the stairs light up so I descend down into the depths of the basement.

The cellar has clearly been modernised along with the rest of the house, with decent lighting and a handrail for me to grasp as I go down.  The stairs are longer than I expected which makes the basement deeper underground.  The stairs lead to a large square room with a massive modern looking boiler situated on one side with a mass of copper pipes running out of it.  More machines, pumps and things I have no knowledge of are connected to it, pipes and leads running between them.  Lord Fatty said it was on a timer but could have tripped out; a modern system like this shouldn’t trip out should it? But then I’m no plumber and I guess any system can get gremlins in it, especially one as large as this.

On inspection I find dials, pressure valves, switches and signs in red letters saying do not touch, for qualified engineers only, and to please contact your service department.  I work my way along, scratching my head and watching my breath mist in front of me, it’s colder down here than in the main house.

‘Nothing is simple is it,’ muttering to myself I wish I was more like some of my old work mates who took an interest in DIY and domestic engineering matters.  There is a red button marked “press and hold to reset” which seems like a nice harmless suggestion to me.  There’s no danger of death signs or anything, so I press my finger into the button and hold it down.  Nothing happens for a couple of seconds then a loud clunk followed by the machine spurring noisily to life.  Gurgling sounds, and a hiss followed by a whooshing sound as though a flame has ignited, the copper pipes then bang and rattle a few times until it settles down to a steady purr.

There’s an electrical display on the wall next to the system, with a row of buttons marked with numbers and letters.  It looks like the heating system can be isolated to certain parts of the house and the numbers or letters refer to those rooms or parts of the house.  Without the number key I won’t know which section is what.  On the side there’s a sliding switch marked off, constant and timer.  I flick it from timer to constant and hear the boiler fire up and more noises from the pipes.  I decide to leave it on constant for now and switch it back to timer once the place has warmed up a little.

Stepping back I look round to take in the rest of the room.  This area is much bigger than the entrance hallway with cupboards, shelving units and an industrial size washing machine stacked against the side opposite the boiler.  The room is clean and painted white, functional and practical.  A workbench, some household tools and the shelves filled with spare light bulbs, cleaning materials, cloths and such like.  Opening the cupboards I find them filled with pristine white sheets, pillow cases, blankets and bedding materials, one of the cupboards houses a large pull down ironing board with a big steam iron wired into the mains.  Some of the sections marked and matched to the décor of their corresponding rooms.  One cupboard houses several vacuum cleaners and an industrial carpet cleaner, mops and buckets and brushes of all sizes.  This house is well ordered and organised and I find a clipboard hanging from a hook, sheets of paper with a cleaning rota marked out, women’s names and the days of work.  They clearly employ a small army of people to keep the house running.  Where are they now? Laid off or given paid leave while the court proceedings are sorted? Surely the families could have agreed on one of these members of staff to take care of the house for them, but then any connection from a staff member to any strand of the family would make then liable for corrupting.  It does make sense for a totally independent person to be brought in, but then it’s only Lord Fatty that met me, and he called me.  So why just use him as the point of contact? What’s to stop him trying to offer me a bribe or financial incentive to assist them in some manner? What could I do though? He obviously speaks to Cooper the Groundsman regularly and it’s his immediate family living here.

More doors lead off from this area, all of them locked.  Working my way through the jailhouse keys I open the first door which leads into a huge wine cellar with a huge wine rack running the length of one wall.  Bottle tops poke out of every hole, I pull a few out to read the labels but all wine tastes like vinegar to me and the names don’t mean a thing.  A few of the dates do though, and several of the bottles are over a hundred years old.  I don’t know much about wine and spirits but I know the older they are the more expensive they are, and this lot must be worth a fortune.  It’s not just wines either but boxes of spirits, Whiskey, Vodka, Brandy’s, Rum’s and crates of imported bottles of beer.  The sight of the Vodka boxes makes me feel somewhat less guilty for drinking the ones from the bar.  I lock the door and find the next room filled with spare furniture carefully covered with thick dust sheets.  As I go to leave something at the far end of the long room catches my eye, I walk forward until I see another door set into the end of the far wall.  Three solid metal clasps at the top, middle and bottom and each one fitted with a thick combination padlock.  The door is solid metal and hardly moves when I thump it.  Curiosity is aroused and I try to open the padlocks, hoping the combination would have been left in. No such luck, then I berate myself for trying to snoop in the first place.  It could be family heirlooms, shotguns or anything in there.  Everyone in the country likes shooting things so it stands to reason they would have a collection of firearms.  I walk away but secretly wish I could have gained access, the nosey policeman is still strong within me.

Evening time and I’m back in the library, leafing through some of the volumes of Who’s who, peerage and persons of note from the last century.  People who left a mark on the world, a dynasty, a legacy.  Real people who contributed and mattered, not like the rest of us wasting the air and eating valuable food.  We should all be shot or turned into slaves so the real people can live lives of luxury, devoted to their calling without having to worry about the small things.  We should be doing it all for them, washing, cleaning, cooking but instead we end up moving about feeling sorry for ourselves.  I can feel my mood plummeting at the thoughts of how wasted I am now.  How little I contribute.  All these skills I gained over sixteen years of hard policing now going to waste.  That’s the thing with the police, we’re specialists in a very particular field of expertise and the majority of those skills are not transferable.  Some get lucky and find lucrative jobs with insurance investigaters, or branch off into private work.  The rest of us end up wearing a security uniform at Tesco, or working as runners for solicitors firms.  I avoid the Vodka tonight and stick with coffee, making it milky to try and dilute the caffeine hoping I can avoid using the sleeping pills tonight.  Within a couple of hours I feel exhausted with heavy eyes and a mind struggling to take the words from the page in.

Trudging up the stairs I remember I left the heating on constant, I pause, shrug then carry on.  They can clearly afford the heating bill and the house needs warming through.  I shuffle into the bathroom and sit on the edge of the bath.  Turning the hot tap on I hold my hand under the running water until it gets scalding.  Nodding with satisfaction I push the plug in and fill the bath, strip off and rummage through the small built in cupboards until I find an opened bottle of luxurious foam bath.  I drop a few dollops in and watch as thick creamy bubbles start forming and swirling round the giant tub.  Standing naked I look down at myself.  At the pasty, pale skin and now un-toned physique.  I used to be honed years ago.  Defined and muscular, running every day and training with weights.  My thighs still look solid and my stomach looks flat but that’s from lack of eating and it’s not a healthy look.  My shoulders, chest and arms have suffered the most, and I guess I must have lost inches of size over the last few years.

Staring at my flaccid member I try to remember the last time I had sex but it’s too long ago, and because of the drinking I can’t even remember who it was with; some awful one night stand probably with some poor woman suffering from a sobbing wasted slob on top of her.  I can’t even remember the last time I felt horny or even masturbated and the thought of it repulses me and images of those children immediately flash through my mind, of the suffering and degradation they faced.  I don’t deserve pleasure.  I would kill myself but I’m too weak and scared, clinging onto a life in the vain hope it will get better.  Seeking redemption by drinking myself stupid and slowly removing myself from the human race.

The hot water feels nice, and despite my fresh surge of self-pity I try to relax and breathe deeply.  Letting the gently fragranced foam fill my nose, the bath is long enough to lie flat out and I sink down until my head is submerged; instantly cut off from the physical world and thinking how easy it would be to open my mouth and take a deep breath, take the water into my lungs and quietly drown.  I hold myself there for as long as possible, until I feel my smoker’s withered lungs will implode, willing myself to just take the water in and end it.  No more pain, no more regret, no more anything.  Just peace.

I fail at that too and burst back out of the water taking huge gulps of air, hating myself even more for not even being able to die easily.  Weak and clinging onto a life that doesn’t want me anymore.

I sit on the edge of the bed, I was bone tired when I got in and hoped sleep would take me away.  But as soon as my head hit the pillow it sent a chain reaction through my brain and thoughts poured in, racing, whirling and surging.  Refusing me any peace.  In desperation I sit up and take the bottle of sleeping pills.  I could end it now, swallow the lot and lie back to gently drift off and never wake up.  Die quietly in this beautiful room of this beautiful house.  I shake several pills out and stare at the little white oval tablets but again my nerves fail and I just take two; dry swallowing them down and instantly feeling the relief.  Again I curse myself for this psychological addiction but within a short time the little gems do their job and I’m out of it.

Chapter Nine

Waking up with a foggy head I feel warm for the first time since I got here, the blankets are snuggled up with only the top of my head poking out.  It takes ages to wake up these days, I used to spring out of bed full of energy but now it takes minutes for my head just to grasp where it is in time and space, where I am, who I am.  My eyes blink open and keep blinking until the room comes into focus.  My mouth stretches wide with a yawn then snaps off mid-way as I look at the bedroom door.  The open bedroom door and the view I have out into the hallway.  The sleeping pills are strong and I’ve never knowingly woken up when I’ve been dosed on them.  I say knowingly but I don’t know.  I clamber out of bed too quickly and my head rushes with the harsh chemicals still strong in my system leaning against the wall until the swirling vision settles back to normal and I can stand unaided.  Stepping into the hallway I see the bathroom door is closed, so is every other door that I can see.  Just my door is open and in my sleep filled head I stand staring for a long time, trying to process the thought.  I hate sleeping with an open bedroom door, something about the ability of someone else being able to glance in.  The room should be like the womb, closed, protected and safe.  I’ve obviously got up in the night and gone to the toilet but closed the bathroom door and left mine open.  But the sleeping pills are strong, and taking two means I’m double dosing which knocks me out completely.

Checking the bathroom I find the toilet seat down and the water in the bowl is clear with no signs of urine and no splashing on the sides or floor.  So I got up, came in here and had a piss without spraying anywhere other than the bowl, then flushed the toilet, closed the lid, closed the bathroom door and went back to bed but left my door open.  These pills are too much and the bruising on my leg is still livid from self-harming with the snooker cue.  I’ve got to change my lifestyle but that’s an easy decision to make in the daylight when the day is new.  But at night, when the demons start running through my mind it’s hard to break the habit and I cannot physically remember the last time I slept without either being smashed on Vodka or dosed up on sleeping pills.

This has got to change and today is the day to do it.  I will keep busy and make myself tired and avoid caffeine in the evening, no Vodka either.  Brushing my teeth I wonder that such a small thing as a door being opened can unnerve me so much, it must be the thought of being up and about and having no recollection that’s worrying me.  I rinse my face and dress quickly before heading downstairs to brew a coffee.  With the kettle boiling I move over to the table and pick my pouch of duty free tobacco up, I roll it open and reach in to pull out the cigarette papers but they’re not in the pouch.  I glance down at the table, then at the floor while I check the pockets of my jeans.  No sign of them so I check the kitchen worktops, then the drawers and cupboards and into the library.  Still no sign of them and I head into the courtyard and check the patio table, the chairs, the ground then work my way back into the kitchen and check all the same places over again.  By this time the kettle has clicked off and I quickly fill the mug before resuming my search.  Emptying the contents of my pockets on the table I root through them, shaking my head and muttering with the curses of a desperate man being unable to smoke first thing in the morning.  With no success I charge up to my room on the third floor and pull my bag onto my bed, rummaging through the side pockets, top pocket, bottom pocket and all the other bloody places where a tiny pack of cigarette papers could be hiding.

Back in the kitchen I pull the lid off the litter bin before thrusting my arms in up to the elbows and searching for the elusive pack.  With temper threatening to flare and swearing loudly I pull my boots on and stomp out to the garage, slamming and locking the doors behind me.  The reliable old Landy starts first time but then I realise I’ve not opened the double doors which sets me off even more.

Ten minutes later and I’m heading down the driveway, glancing at the front of Huntington House filling the view of my wing mirror.  I didn’t even get to drink my coffee so I’m double stressed and missing my usual tobacco and caffeine fix.  The weather is cold but beautifully crisp and still with sunlight glowing on the browns and oranges of the autumnal scene I pass through on my way to the village.  The radio is on another phone in session, the last time I drove in it was on a phone in session too, it must be one of those stations dedicated to talking with no music.  This morning they’re discussing the latest phone hacking scandal, with the tabloid press being accused of hacking into the voicemails of the rich and famous.  The same eclectic characters are on the phone, giving naïve but extreme views.  I know one of them will say the famous phrase “if you’ve got nothing to hide…” and I wait eagerly for the first idiot to say it, almost cheering when some grumpy old man finally does it.  I bet the show’s producers had a pot running on that one.  I find it amazing that the press can do things like that with apparent ease but we weren’t allowed to even attempt it, despite trying to catch murderers, drug dealers and rapists.

The village square is a lot busier than last time, but then it’s only just gone ten in the morning and I guess this is late in the day for the early rising farming community round here.  I slot the Landy in a row of other four wheel drive vehicles and climb out, noting the mud streaked sides and rugged tyres of the other utility vehicles.  Not the black shiny status vehicles used by mothers on the school run in the suburbs of London, or business men sitting in leather bound luxury behind their tinted armoured windows.  First stop is the mini-market and I’m glad the nosey woman I met last time isn’t working behind the counter.  I grab a newspaper and stand behind a farmer dressed in rubber boots, green trousers and checked shirt, he has huge shoulders and muscular forearms and his face looks ruddy and healthy.

Outside I roll a smoke and go to light it, stopping when I notice a few chairs and tables outside the now open café.  The weather is cold but it’s dry and stilland I’m sorely missing that first caffeine hit of the day.

Old habits die hard and without realising what I’m doing I stand outside the café pretending to read the menu while I’m peering in to see who is inside.  Once my slow brain catches up to what my instincts are trying to do they have a heated argument with my brain yelling that we’re not a policeman anymore and the place could be full with sex offenders on a day release program and we wouldn’t know who they were.  I enter the café and take in the view with a quick sweeping glance.  Farmers or farming types sitting across two tables ploughing through huge plates filled with cooked breakfasts.  Big men dressed in checked shirts and rubber boots, the same ruddy complexion of the bloke in the mini-market.   An old couple sitting in silence, eating toast and sharing a pot of tea, another old man sitting alone eating a bacon sandwich a small white dog at his feet staring up hopefully.  The farm hands glance over, hardly breaking stride with their eating and conversation.  The old man stares but the old couple stare off into the distance.  Two members of staff, one a middle aged woman stare at me as I walk to the counter and another one walks out of view into the kitchen.

‘Good morning, do you have cappuccino?’  I have a weakness for strong coffee and I love the mix of hot milk and espresso.

‘Morning love, you must be the Londoner then,’ she gives a big friendly smile at the pause in my stride as I reach the counter, ‘Ha don’t worry love, it’s a small place and my sister-in-law works in the shop, she said there was a Londoner in the other night, cappuccino is it?’

‘Er, yes please. Wow it is a small place.’ I pick up the sudden drop in conversation behind me and can almost feel the farm workers boring into the back of my head.

‘You looking after some dogs or something she said, mind you she likes to gossip does our Wendy. That’s her husband there, my brother John,’ the woman points to the tables of farmers behind me and I know I have to turn and follow her still outstretched hand; if I don’t turn and look it would be weird.  It would be okay if she dropped her hand straight away and I would be able to shrug it off but she’s kept her hand up in the air.  I turn and stare at the table of farmers, all staring back at me with their ruddy faces and straight cut hair.  I nod politely and turn back to the counter.

‘Eh John, this is the London man Wendy was saying about,’ the woman calls over and I bareley stop myself from wincing.  Bloody country folk sticking their beaky noses in to other people’s business.  I’ve already told one lie to the woman in the shop, now I’ll have to see it through.  That’s the problem with lying, you tell one and you have to tell another to keep it up, then another and it never ends.

‘Ah right is it,’ a deep voice sounds out from the tables behind me, he sounds genial enough, no hint of aggression, ‘where you staying then mate?’ I knew it.  I should have gone straight back to the house.

‘Just a few miles out of town,’ I keep my tone light but the reply short, trying to convey in manner that I do not want a conversation.

‘Ah is it, which way’s that then?’ the deep voice asks, still genial and friendly.  The counter woman is banging the coffee scoop against the side of the machine and busying herself while listening closely.  I turn round to see the men still eating but watching me with interest.

‘It’s just that the Huntington’s ain’t got dogs and that’s their Landrover you got there and Cooper said they got someone staying there.’ His tone remains genial but he looks at me closely, full of confidence.  A few of the other men carry on eating while looking at me, a couple stop and stare.  With my caffeine and nicotine starved brain I try to run through the choices in front of me, I could stick with my story from the shop the other night but there’s no point since they’ve clocked the Landy and the bloody Groundsman has obviously told them who I am.  I can come clean and admit who I am and why I’m here but that option, despite being the obvious one, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, especially after the way Cooper spoke to me the other night.  The people in the area clearly know who I am and what I’m here for, and that in itself is dangerous given the amount of high value property contained within Huntington House.

In the end I revert to type and hold a long pause for a few seconds, keeping my face devoid of expression.

‘Did he now?’ I keep my tone flat and wait to see what the reaction will be.  The atmosphere charges within a split second and the men all stop eating to glance at John, who surprisingly has gone very red in the face.

‘Ere mate, I didn’t mean anything by it,’ John said, starting to stand up.

‘Bloody hell John, the poor man’s come in for coffee and gets interrogated by you,’ one of the other farmer’s interrupts.

‘Probably thinks we’re just bloody yokels with you sounding like that you daft idiot,’ another one joins in, ‘pay no attention to him mate, enjoy your coffee in peace,’ he adds, smiling at me.

‘Ere, I am sorry mate,’ John steps towards me, holding his hand out and I shake it feeling the strength in his grip and taking in his brawny shoulders.

‘That’s okay; it was just a bit confrontational.  You asked me a question in a very genial friendly manner then followed it up with a statement thereby proving me to be a liar before I had even answered and taking into account you are a big man and sitting down in a place you are familiar with and you have several other big men with you while I am a stranger here and don’t know anyone…’

‘He’s got you there Johnny boy, you were right out of order, good for you mate! You put him right,’ the others are laughing now, but at John not at me.  This is also equally worrying as he could start to feel humiliated in the presence of his peers.

‘But, you were right to ask the question though John.  I am new here and I did say something else to the lady in the shop so fair enough but I’m doing a private job and it’s standard operating procedure in my business to try and avoid questions,’ I nod at him, all manly and firm and he not so much takes the olive branch as grasps it with both hands.

‘Alright then, but I am sorry though mate and that Cooper can be a miserable bastard too so don’t mind him none either.’

‘Yeah, he didn’t seem the overly friendly type that’s for sure.’ The tension is eased instantly and the men continue tucking into their food and talking about the price of rubber boots or whatever it is that farm people talk about.  I head back to the counter and the big steaming mug waiting for me.

‘On the house love,’ the woman says with a smile as I start pulling money out of my pocket.

‘Are you sure? Thank you very much, that’s very kind of you,’ I smile back and take a couple of sachets of sugar before heading to the door, exchanging a friendly nod with John as I go by.  Once outside I seat myself with my back to the window and pour the sugar onto the top of the creamy coffee, watching it sink slowly down.  Seconds later I am enjoying my first smoke of the day, sipping a strong coffee and letting my synapses jerk awake with the double hit.

So Cooper has broadcast my arrival and most likely the reason for it too.  And being the bloody idiot that I am I had to go and draw attention to myself by coming up with that stupid story in the shop the other night.  I didn’t take into account the fact that the locals would recognise the Huntington vehicle, I suppose these days it’s the equivalent of using someone else’s horse.  It didn’t feel like that lad John was trying to catch me out, more that he didn’t think through what he was saying and the way he was saying it.  There was no feeling or hint of aggression or suspicion from any of the men eating with him; in fact they looked embarrassed at the way he spoke to me.  But it’s still worrying that all the locals know the house is being looked after by a stranger.  It’s one thing to try and rob off the local aristocrat who most likely employs your family either directly or indirectly and would recognise you and your voice instantly, but another to rob a complete stranger and a cocky arrogant one from London at that.  I’ll have to be vigilant from now on, apart from the times when I’m smashed out my face on Vodka and sleeping pills that is.

Which reminds me of the bedroom door being open and losing my cigarette papers, any dedicated smoker always knows how much tobacco and papers they have left, and most will be able to tell you roughly how much gas is left in their lighters too.  I know I was on my last packet, but it was only about halfway through so I wouldn’t have chucked it out.  Sipping my coffee and smoking I confront the possibility that I moved them myself during the night, but what, when or how is beyond me and I lose myself in deep thoughts of security, drinking, sleeping disorders, getting fit and the million other things on my mind.

‘Penny for them?’ a soft voice breaks my concentration and I lose the ability to speak as I look up into the beautiful face of a woman staring down at me.

‘Sorry?’ She is stunning, blond hair framing an oval face and soft blue eyes.

‘Penny for them?’ She smiles revealing white teeth and I’m still speechless. Rendered incapable by her smooth skin, a small brown beauty spot on her neck, small lines at the corner of her eyes speak of sadness, or they could be laughter lines.

‘Penny for what?’ My words come out too fast and I wince at the sound of my own voice.

‘Your thoughts, you looked a million miles away,’ her voice is so soft and calm and she speaks without a local accent.

‘Ha, yeah sorry I was zoned out completely.  This coffee is lovely.’

‘Would you like another one?’ She must be the other waitress I saw going into the kitchen.

‘Yes please, thank you,’ I take a note out of my pocket and hand it over.  She looks puzzled for a second before smiling.

‘It’s okay, on me.’

‘Two in one day, wow that’s hospitality,’ she looks back with that same puzzled expression and a wry smile before heading inside the café.  I settle back down and roll another cigarette with all thoughts of my worries gone at the sight of the beautiful woman.  She didn’t sound local; she had a southern accent, not London but Home Counties maybe.  She returns within a couple of minutes, pulling the door open while holding two mugs in one hand.  She closes the door behind her as I get to my feet and take one of the mugs, noticing they’re both cappuccino.  She smiles and sits down at my table.

‘On a break?’ I ask her figuring she must be needing a smoke to be coming outside to join me.

‘I saw you drinking cappuccino and it reminded me of my addiction so I had to have one,’ she smiles back.

‘Oh, I see.  Well my name is Michael Humber and I am a fellow coffee addict,’ I lift my cup and smile and don’t mention my other addictions to binge drinking, night time medication and self-loathing.

‘Nice to meet you Michael Humber, I’m Tessa.’ If she keeps smiling I won’t be able to speak properly.

‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ I lift my ready-made cigarette up.

‘Carry on.’

‘Would you like one?’ and all my money and everything else I own just for sitting with me.

‘No I don’t smoke,’ why sit out here in the cold if you don’t smoke? I don’t ask that though for fear of scaring her away.

‘It doesn’t put you off being surrounded by it all day then?’

‘Surrounded by what?’ She replies with that wry smile.

‘Coffee.  Working here and being round it all day.  Now that is a hardened addict.’

‘Oh I don’t work here,’ she smiles at me.  I want the ground to open up and swallow me.

‘I am so sorry, I thought you worked here…’

‘I know you did,’ she laughs and I feel even more of a fool.

‘Oh and I let you get the coffee’s too, I thought you looked puzzled,’ I rest my forehead on my hands and groan audibly.

‘Yes you did,’ she laughs again, and despite my discomfort the sound is lovely.

‘I feel like such an idiot.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s funny and I stopped to speak with you first,’ she looks straight at me, the pleasure of my mild discomfort evident by her grin, ‘and to be fair you were deep in thought.’

‘Yes I was, anyway thank you for the coffee.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘So you work near here?’

‘From home actually, I rent a cottage nearby.  You’re clearly not from round here.’

‘London, been here a couple of days.’

‘Working?’

‘Yeah, just looking after some rich blokes house while he’s away for a while,’ I play it down, no point in telling outright lies anymore within this close knit community.

‘Sounds interesting,’ my word she is beautiful, and those blue eyes are captivating.

‘Not very, so what do you do from home?’

‘Research mainly.’ She holds her gaze steady, blinking slowly.

‘Oh? That sounds more interesting than house sitting, what’s the field?’

‘It’s er, private research for a book I’m working on.  Forgive me for asking but you look familiar.’ Here it is, after two years you’d think people would have forgotten.  I nod back, avoiding eye contact while I stir my coffee.

‘I can’t place it, definitely seen you somewhere though.  You look familiar but I know we’ve never met so I can only assume I’ve seen you but never spoken to you.  That wouldn’t be from round here so that must mean you’ve been in the papers or on television.  Now you don’t look much like a celebrity so…maybe a wanted criminal?’ She laughs, more at herself but the sound is pleasing and I’m impressed at the way she voices her thought process.

‘Something like that,’ right now I don’t want her to make the connection and then have to discuss it but then I want to keep talking to her.

‘Something like that? No, you don’t look like a criminal and I doubt any rich bloke is going to trust a criminal to look after his house,’ she gives a mock gasp and puts her hand to her mouth, ‘unless he’s a criminal too, maybe a top gangster hiding out in the countryside.’

‘Maybe…’

‘Hmmm, I will have to peruse this dilemma,’ she looks comically serious with a gentle frown.

‘Well you peruse away while I drink this coffee you bought for me.’

‘Yes I did buy that coffee so you are indebted to me.’ She holds her gaze on me and all the dark thoughts melt away, the ever present worries now quickly retreating to the back of my mind.  I could sit her all day with her lovely eyes looking at me.

‘Oh I’m indebted to you now am I?’

‘Yes! So you have to tell me, you know don’t you?’ She leans forward and rests her chin on her hand, the minute shift of her position brings her just a few inches closer but it feels electrifying.

‘I know what?’

‘How I recognise you, you know but you won’t say,’ her voice is gentle and playful.

‘Me? I’m just sitting here innocently drinking my coffee and confusing the locals with being café waitresses.’ Halfway through the second coffee and my head is buzzing from the espresso and my limbs feel almost jittery. ‘So tell me about your book?’ She stares back at me with that serious expression.

‘Hmmm very interesting,’ she nods as she speaks.

‘What?’ I shrug.

‘Tell me about your book,’ she repeats my words, ‘interesting way of asking.’

‘Is it? So you’ve picked up on the use of an open question instead of using a closed question?’

‘I did Mr Humber, most people would say what’s your book about, or what’s it called thereby inviting a single answer with no requirement to elaborate.  You however asked me to tell you about my book.’

‘I did and in doing so you have drawn conclusions but by you picking up on the use of an open question I have also drawn conclusions.’

‘Which are?’

‘That you have received training or have knowledge of open and closed questions which although many people are aware of it, they do not monitor their use of the style.  You did, which shows me you have worked in a field where the use of open questions is important.  You’re researching for a book which is an interesting way of saying it.  Most people would say they are writing a book, you said researching which suggests the book is a thing of a factual nature rather than a work of fiction.  More-over with the use of the question style and the ability to pick up on it I would say you had experience in journalism.  Your accent is from the south, so you probably worked as a journalist in the city and have now reached a point where you want to work alone.  So you have quit the alleged rat race to find peace and solitude in the countryside, or…the subject material for your book is here.’ She raises a single exquisitely shaped eyebrow and nods towards me.

‘Very good Mr Humber,’ she laughs again with childish delight, ‘very good indeed.’

‘So am I right?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Oh touché, well then I shall have to peruse this dilemma,’ she laughs again and I smile at the sound.

‘Well you peruse away while I drink this coffee that I bought for myself.’

‘Fair point, can I get you another one?’ Anymore strong coffee for me and I’ll be chewing the table but this is the first time in a long time that I have enjoyed a conversation with a beautiful intelligent woman.

‘I would love another one,’ she smiles and this tiny interaction makes me soar inside.  I stand up and catch the sight of my reflection in the window behind me.  The wild hair and shabby beard, face haggard and drawn and I look down at my creased and dirty clothes.  Instantly I feel ashamed and embarrassed at sitting here trying to sound clever and interesting with this beautiful woman.  Insecurity grips me with a cold hand.

‘Are you okay?’ she asks with genuine concern.

‘Er, yeah I just remembered I’m due back at the house.  I’ll have to go.’ I start picking up my tobacco pouch and lighter.

‘Oh, right of course, are you sure you’re okay?’ Her face looks worried.

‘No I’m fine honestly, I, er, just didn’t realise the time that’s all.  Sorry I’ll have to go, maybe see you again?’

‘Okay,’ she watches me go, I can feel her eyes at my back as I walk quickly to the Landrover, climb in and start the engine.  I back out and drive out onto the main road, she’s still at the café watching me so I lift my hand, and she waves back but without smiling.

Driving back I feel like an utter fool and I beat my hands on the steering wheel in anger at myself.  Daring to sit there and act like a normal person, playing flirty guessing games with an intelligent beautiful woman like that while I look like a fucking axe murderer.  I disgust myself, utterly and without hesitation I am the most deplorable person that ever walked this earth.  Why would a woman like that stop and talk to someone like me, pity that’s why.  She must have thought I looked like a homeless beggar, down on his luck and in need of some Christian charity.  As my mind settles a little I then feel guilty for jumping up and running off like that, leaving her sitting alone and wondering what kind of freak I am.

These thoughts whirl and race through my mind as I drive back to the house and park the Landy in the garage.  Back in the house and I move quickly through the rooms turning lights off and opening curtains.  Expecting to see Cooper standing outside one of them and staring in at me while holding a pitchfork.  The thought of him snooping and spying just adds to the anger I feel at myself so I unlock the front door and pace round the outside of the house looking for any trace of someone moving about.  Having not examined the ground before-hand I can’t tell if anything looks disturbed and I again curse myself for not having done this already.

At various points I leave subtle traps; small piles of wet leaves outside certain windows, a branch on the path and I look closely at the ground.  There is a concrete path going round the house with grass stretching out on all sides apart from the driveway.  The only way to get onto the path would be either coming down the driveway or crossing the grass.  I switch my scene examination to the grass and see a faint set of tracks left in the damp surface and leading across the lawn into the meadow.  Thinking back to when I spoke with Cooper he said the house was that way and indicated behind me.  But where was the house in relation to where I was. I stare out across the carefully manicured lawns to the meadows then to the line of trees in the distance.  Making my mind up I quickly move back to the house and lock the front door before going back to the rear of the house and walking across the lawn.  As I reach the end I look back and see a faint outline of my footsteps in the trodden down short grass, my track pretty much matches the one already there.  Then I keep going, working my way through the gently rolling meadows until I reach the treeline.  A solid looking barbed wire fence separates the meadows from the wood and I walk along looking for any sign of someone climbing over or through it.

After a few minutes of walking I find a wooden style built into the fence and I switch my examination to the wooden steps either side.  Finding nothing of interest I climb over and follow a narrow path through the woods.  Noticeably darker in here from the dense trees and the ground is mulch and covered in dried leaves.  Stomping across the lawns and meadows has only added to my mood and got the blood pumping in my system.  I keep thinking of Tessa and how rude I was to walk off like that, she didn’t show any sign of being uncomfortable and it was my own insecurity and paranoia that made me react like that.  And then confronting John the farmer wasn’t too clever either, still acting the big policeman aren’t you Mike, still trying to pretend to yourself that you are someone that matters when you’re just a security guard in a posh house.  Bloody idiot.

I follow the path and it feels good to be walking, my legs already feel tired after such a long time of inactivity and my breathing is hard from the exertion.  I realise I haven’t smoked since the café but I keep walking and increase the pace to stop myself from being tempted.  The path twists, turns and meanders through thickets of closely clustered trees then into an open area with logs stacked up in piles, ready to be sawn or cut or whatever country people do to them.  The repetitive sound of my boots crunching the dried leaves slowly soothes my raging mind until it’s finally left in some semblance of order.  I remember going out for long runs when I was training for the firearms teams, the constant action of step after step and controlling my breathing would clear my mind of the stress and worry.  At the time it felt like the hardest job in the world, being a firearms officer in a country that doesn’t arm their forces.  We were the ones always called to any incident with an armed assailant, be it knives, axes or firearms.  And in a city like London there are many armed incidents every day.  Local units would often track the offender to a building and a siege would develop.  I worked both sides, first as the Armed Response Vehicle going to the initial call and setting up a containment and waiting for the Tactical Firearms Team to attend, and watching with envy as the officers climbed out from armoured vehicles wearing black jumpsuits and black NATO helmets.  I became one of those officers later and I remember the first time I deployed to a live incident and how the local units looked at us with a mixture of awe and annoyed eye rolling.  I should have stayed working those teams; it was clean, healthy and safe.  Far safer than charging around in plain clothes and trying to fight hardened gangsters with my bare hands and then being a cocky arrogant twat and trying to take out a child rapist on my own.

A dull thud fills my ears, followed by another and another.  I follow the sound through the twisting path until it feeds into a larger path with vehicle ruts either side.  This in turn leads me towards a dwelling and I see snatches of brick work between the trees.  The treeline ends abruptly and I’m facing the back of Coopers cottage watching him lift a large handled axe and slam it down into a piece of wood resting on the flattened stump of a tree.  His movements are fluid and he lifts the axe with ease before forcing it down in one easy motion.  The wood splinters into two smaller parts and he kicks them over to a small pile before selecting another one and placing it on the stump.  With his back turned to me I can’t see his face but I can see the strong muscular form, thick legs planted apart and wide shoulders with a thick neck and short dark hair.

‘What do you want?’ Very sly, keeping up with your log cutting while I stand still thinking you haven’t seen me.

‘I was following a track, it led here.’ I keep my words minimal and my tone flat.

‘Well follow it back then,’ he slams the axe down, maybe a little harder than he needs to as it sticks into the tree stump.  He leaves it there and rests his hand on the wooden hilt.

‘I hear you’ve been telling the locals about me.’

‘Is that right?’ He doesn’t move, just stands easy with one hand resting on the axe handle.

‘Met them today in the café in the village, they seem a nice bunch.  We had a good chat.’ I egg the truth, hoping it will annoy him, which is perhaps not the best thing to do with a big man holding an axe.

‘Did you now?’ His voice is surly and dismissive.

‘What’s your problem Cooper?’ Can’t hide in the shadows now.

‘Who said I had one,’ a drop in tone, a hint of aggression.

‘Look I’m just doing a job and if I’m treading on your toes then that’s your problem.’

‘Aye, I guess it is,’ he jerks the axe out with a violent tug and bends to stack another log on the tree stump.

‘I don’t get it, I don’t get why you’re pissed off.  I’m here for a few weeks or however long the court thing takes.  In the meantime I take it you’re still employed so what’s the problem.’ He ignores the question and slams the axe down into the log with such force that the two parts fly off either side.  He bends down to place another one and I walk towards him unimpeded with no fence or boundary between his garden and the track.

‘I asked you a question.’ The walk has energised me and I still feel anger at the morning’s events so my words come out with more force than perhaps I intended.  He reacts quickly, spinning round to face me.  He looks anywhere from mid-thirties to mid-forties and his face is flushed.

‘Go back,’ he snarls at me, his voice low and menacing.  I lock eyes on him and keep walking into his garden; he paces towards me gripping the axe with both hands. ‘You’ll fuck off back to London if you know what’s good for you.’

‘Why? Not happy in the cottage? You want the big comfy house all to yourself?’ He keeps coming and I take stock of the stupid situation I’ve got myself into.  A big well-built man used to hard labour and hard living and I’m desperately out of shape, and he’s got a very big axe, and he’s angry, and we’re in the middle of the woods.  He stops a few feet in front of me and I can see barely concealed rage mixed with hatred behind his eyes.

‘Leave,’ he growls at me.

‘Make me,’ I keep eye contact and growl back at him.  I’ve already seen his hands are shaking a little which tells me his adrenalin is already pumping.  Adrenalin is an amazing thing, a truly underrated and extremely powerful chemical.  It all comes down to the flight or fight syndrome.  When faced with a physical threat the body automatically releases adrenalin into the system.  This makes the body faster, stronger and quicker.  If you need to run you will have a burst of energy to make distance, if you need to fight you will be stronger and quicker.  But with any strong chemical being put through the human body it has an after-effect.  If unused it makes the limbs shake and the body twitch.  I’ve seen it many times with young lads who’ve grown up in a safe environment having their first punch up and then trying to stand still afterwards and give an account to the police officer while their legs are shaking.  They’ll take out their phones to give them something to focus on but the hands are the same.  It could be a hot mid-summer evening and they’ll be shaking like a leaf and unable to work out why.  Confusing the signs with fear and trying to shrug it off so they don’t appear weak.  I remember being taught a long time ago that you are at the strongest and quickest the very instant you feel that rush of adrenalin.  If you have to fight, do it right then at that very point.  Cooper might be a big lad but he’s shaking now, his legs tremor and he grips the axe harder to try and mask the slight tremble.  That doesn’t make him any less dangerous though, it just tells me that he’s not used to physical confrontation, or maybe not used to people confronting him.

‘What you gonna do Cooper, chop my head off?’ I say this on purpose, to bring his focus onto the fact that he’s holding a weapon.  Men like these normally have a sense of honour in not using weapons in a fight, but then being bloody great big strong blokes they don’t generally need them.  Luckily I get it right and he throws the axe off to one side, I watch the axe sail away and note where it lands then switch my gaze back to Cooper, looking at how he holds his hands now he’s got nothing to grip. He holds them inert down at his sides.  Not puffed up or trying to carry invisible rolled up carpets, which is another thing that a lot of men do; puffing themselves up like some wild animal of the savannah trying to make themselves look bigger, most men who fight on a regular basis will keep their hands towards the front; ready to deflect or lash out.  Cooper does neither but keeps his down at his sides.

‘Now fuck off,’ he growls again.  Wild animals do this too, they growl and warn and snarl and do anything to avoid the actual fight; fighting hurts and there’s never any guarantees of victory and a wound in the wild or anywhere for that matter, can be fatal.  Holding his gaze I lean forward ever so slightly and slide my right foot back.  A man standing face forward with his feet next to each other is relatively easy to push over whereas a man standing with his feet staggered is not so easy, plus it means you can use the power of the back foot if you need to drive forward.

‘No,’ I say the word simply, taunting him, goading him.  Poking a bear with a stick; I’ve walked into his territory and now I’m refusing to back down or leave.  He has two choices; walk away and look like a fool and then forever be perceived to be weaker than me, or fight.  I know he won’t take the first option, a big bloke like this in his own back yard, no way.  I’m right and he lashes out with his right fist aimed at my head.  One of the very few good things about being an unarmed uniformed copper in inner city London is that unfortunately, this happens a lot; people taking swings at your head and you learn very quickly to get out of the way.  The other thing is that by doing the Public Order training, the Armed Response Units and then the Tactical Firearms Teams is that you get a lot of extra training in this type of scenario, and this is the actual point when I feel the actual adrenalin start coursing through my actual system.  I revert to type, step out of the way and let his momentum carry him forward I then smash my fist into the back of his head at the same time as I kick into the back of his knee and make him drop down.   This isn’t martial arts, you have to be very highly trained and very highly skilled to use any form of martial arts in a street fight.  That means hours of training every day, not just a two hour a week session at the local Kung-Fu club.  A street fight is dirty and nasty and should be over within seconds.  An absolute explosion of violence and aggression and you press the attack home until the threat is negated.  Which I do by launching a flurry of blows to the back of his head as he drops down, this isn’t about power or causing massive injury; this is about overwhelming his senses with constant sharp blows and blotting out his ability to think straight.  He drops down onto the ground, face down and I back off, rubbing my knuckles and instinctively checking round me to make sure someone else isn’t coming to play.

‘No, don’t get up Cooper,’ the bloody fool is lifting himself up, getting to his feet and turning to face me.

‘I don’t know what you want, or why you want me to leave but I don’t have any place else to go, but what I do have are a very particular set of skills. Skills that I have acquired over a long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you…’

‘Fuck off you bloody idiot, that’s from that movie with Liam Neeson,’ bollocks and I thought country people didn’t watch television.

‘Yeah fair one, now pack it in,’ he’s coming at me with a determined look on his face, he’s learnt from the first action and he’s coming in slower this time.  If he gets a grip on me I’m done for; his strength will tear me apart.

‘Cooper stop it, don’t be a bloody idiot,’ too late and he charges in quickly trying to grab me round the waist.  I twist round and jump on his back and loop my forearm under his chin; I slam my other hand into the small of his back causing him to stand upright.  I then twist round hard and send him flying off back down to the ground.

‘Enough!’ I shout loudly but the stubborn bugger starts getting back to his feet.  I rush forward and sweep his legs out so he plummets back down. He reacts quicker and tries jumping up so I launch into him, driving my knee into the side of his stomach at the same time as ramming my fist into his nose.  The bone snaps and blood bursts out from his nostrils forcing him to react in the normal manner and curl up into a ball with his hands clasped to his face.  Christ, kneeing his stomach was like knee striking a tree and I can feel pain in my leg from the impact.

‘Finished?’ He doesn’t reply but lies still, groaning and moaning with blood pumping out between his fingers.

‘Cooper, I’m sorry it came to this but stay the fuck away from the house at night and stop telling everyone the owner is away.  The world is full of bad people mate, bad people who do bad things.’ Rubbing my sore knuckles I head back onto the track and make my way back to the house.

Chapter Ten

Back at the house I make more coffee to combat the caffeine crash from the two cappuccino’s I had at the café.  I also eat an apple, a proper real apple full of vitamins and it feels crunchy and nice.  The bag of apples I got from the mini market had been left untouched but I’m determined to start making some changes to my life.  The only problem is that apples are very acidic and coupled with the coffee already in my stomach and the new coffee I’m about to chuck down my throat means I could be in for some re-flux acid later.  With this in mind I also make toast and head outside into the courtyard to do what normal people do and have breakfast.  Yeah, so it’s already late and the day has been weird to say the least having been a bloody idiot in the café and trying to confront a table full of farmers then meeting a beautiful woman and running off like a frightened school boy and then stomping through the woods and getting into a fight with a madman wielding an axe.  How does anyone get into a fight in the woods in the middle of nowhere?  Me. I do.  I am a walking disaster of epic proportions and I should be sectioned or locked up somewhere so I can’t cause any more problems.

The initial sense of victory from the fight wore off within a couple of minutes of walking away; my sore knuckles and painful leg soon reminded me that fighting hurts.  What was I trying to achieve? Teach Cooper a lesson? Put him in his place? Or just taking out my frustration and anger on something? Maybe self-consciously I headed that direction on purpose knowing I would see him and be able to have it out.  Have it out? Have what out? There was nothing to have out.  The poor bloke was just doing his job, he’d already told me his family have worked for Huntington House for generations so the sense of ownership or loyalty would run deep.  And he’s probably been told by Lord Fatty to keep an eye on me and now not only does he not get to live in the house but he gets beaten up for it too.  So he might be a surly grumpy bastard, but those men in the café said he was like that, so his reaction to me and the way he spoke to me was probably quite normal for him.  Spending all that time in the woods I guess his communication skills have never really developed that well.

Guilt and remorse start gnawing away at my insides and I try to convince myself that at least I’ve sent a message to the locals, showing them that I’m not to be messed with.  Who the hell do I think I am? Not to be messed with? Ridiculous! all I’ve done is upped the ante and told any prospective robber to make sure he’s tooled up and ready for a fight.  I should have stayed quiet and kept a low profile.  This is the best gig I’ve had since leaving the job and within a few days I’ve pissed, puked and got into a fight.  You’re an idiot Humber, a world class idiot.  But then, just for a few minutes this morning I felt like a real person.  Sitting at the café with Tessa made everything okay just for that tiny period of time.  More guilt floods in at the way I fled and left her sitting there.

I can feel my mood plummeting and the depression threatening to take over, if I don’t take action now I will sit here all day feeling sorry for myself and counting bricks or watching clouds while I think of more inventive ways to kill myself.  Pity there’s not a gym here, I could exhaust myself with hard exercise but by the looks of Lord Fatty and his family they wouldn’t even know what a gym is, or it’s something for the poor people to do so they can keep fit and healthy to give more servitude to the upper classes.  Who needs a gym? Remembering back to my firearms days we were always told by the physical instructors that we don’t need to pay out for expensive designer gyms with freshly laundered towels.  Body weight exercise will always do the trick to stay fit and healthy.  In my room I change into jogging bottoms, running shoes and sweatshirt then scoop all my dirty laundry up, which is pretty much everything apart from the clothes I’m wearing now.  In the basement I stand back from the washing machine and think how pitiful my worldly belongings look in the giant drum.  There are dials and settings galore on this thing, it could probably be re-programmed to work for NASA.  I select a standard express wash and push the on button, the machine responds instantly and I remember I haven’t put any detergent in.  I find a bottle of liquid with a picture of a washing line filled with shirts and flowers all over it.  The pull out draw has more than the normal two sections and throws me off completely.  There are always two, one for the detergent and one for the softener.  No, hang on I have seen a washing machine with three sections before but I never knew what the third one was for.  This one has loads, shrugging my shoulders I pour a bit of the liquid into all of them and slam the drawer closed.  Halfway up the stairs I remember I’ve left the heating on constant so I drop back down and switch it to timer, listening to the sound of the boiler powering down before heading back up the stairs.  Towards the top I look up and see the door is closed which is very puzzling as I definitely left it open.  I push the door, guessing it has swung to but it remains firmly shut.  I push harder for a few seconds before remembering the door has to be pushed in from the outside.  I look for a hand grip, something to tug on but the inside of the door is smooth with nothing to grab.  There must be something I’m missing, the basement looks like the heart of the working household and the staff would be coming and going all day, they wouldn’t risk letting them get locked in like this.  But no matter how closely I examine the door I find there is nothing to grip, I try pushing the door, hard at first and then with single quick pushes but nothing happens.  I step in close and run my hands all over the surface and down the edges where the door meets the frame, nothing, not even a slightly bevelled edge.  At the bottom I notice a slight gap between the floor and the door and a thin strip of light showing through.  Back downstairs I search through the cupboards and drawers looking for anything I can jam through.  A wire coat hanger gets unwound and I manipulate it to make a right angle at one end.  I stick it through the gap, twist and pull back but when I pull to try and push the door against the spring lock the wire bends back, too weak to create enough force.  The wire is bent double and I try again, this time it catches but it takes several attempts until I can generate enough of a quick pull to release the mechanism.  It works and the door swings open.  I charge out looking for any reason why the door would close behind me.  Everything looks the same, the front door is locked and secure and all the hallway doors are still locked from my side.  The only open doors are the library and kitchen, but the back door is closed and locked.

Back in the hallway I look closely at the cellar door, positioning it at various angles to see if it will swing closed on its own.  From a tiny gap through to full open it remains as I leave it and neither closes nor opens any further.  I leave the door roughly where it would have been when I went down the stairs and watch for several minutes, nothing happens so I gently push the door to see if will swing closed.  Each time I nudge it the door moves a couple of inches but doesn’t swing shut.  Ghosts don’t exist, they are a made up entity created by the vanity of man forever wishful that there is something after death, but for the first time in as long as I can remember; the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

No, it must be something physical; it is an old house with high ceilings and wide spaces.  A draft or breeze from outside could set off a chain reaction.  Either that or someone is in here with me.  The thought spurs me into action and I charge through each room of the entire house, unlocking every door as I go and checking behind anything big enough to hide a person.  The problem is the size of the house and there’s no way of ensuring that I don’t miss somewhere and therefore give someone the opportunity to slip out behind me.  To try and combat this I stop at irregular intervals and listen intently, mouth hanging open to widen the ear canal and increase my hearing ability.  Everything is as it should be, every door is locked and secure and none of the rooms look different to when I first checked them.  The attic space is checked and I move in and around the large items of covered furniture, pulling dust sheets back to make sure someone isn’t hiding under them.

Eventually I’m in the courtyard having a cigarette after closing and locking each door.  The only solution is that it must have been a freak breeze or gust of wind.  Like I said, these houses are old and big and the windows are not double glazed.  It could have been me messing around with the washing machine, maybe when I turned it on it caused a vibration in the water pipes running through the wall, some little quirk that’s unique to that door only when the pipes rattle.  I’m satisfied that no one else was in the house, well not that I could see anyway.  Maybe it was my habit of always closing doors behind me.  I’m stressed and very tense and I know from the last few days that I’m not thinking straight so it’s possible that I closed the door behind me as I went down the stairs.

At the front of the house, door locked and key zipped safely into the pocket of my jogging pants I set off at a light run down the driveway.  I’d already worked out that the drive must be a mile long so a nice two mile run will be a good place to start my new fitness regime.  Within a couple of minutes my legs feel weak and jelly like and I guess the stomp through the woods has exhausted my already low energy levels.  Another couple of minutes and I’m gasping for breath.  I used to be able to get the breathing rhythm of running quite easily but, thanks to a few years of hard living, I find my lungs are bursting and my chest heaving, causing my diaphragm to get out of whack.  I slow to a steady walk until my breathing recovers then I try again and that’s all I manage to do for the two miles.  Run, or barely run and then walk.  It takes ages to complete the route and on the last few hundred metres I force myself to keep running, desperate to prove that I’m not an entirely washed up alcoholic junkie.  At the front I collapse on the ground, staring up at the sky as I really struggle to draw air into my body.  I knew I was unfit but not this bad and for the thousandth time just for today, I berate and detest myself for what I’ve become and with the depression threatening to plunge me down I force myself to my feet and through the house to the kitchen.  I drink nice cold water and head out into the courtyard.

Setting myself an imaginary circuit, ten press ups followed by ten sit ups, then ten squats followed by ten star jumps, before I start I lift one of the patio chairs; it’s heavy wrought iron so I add a few sets of arm and shoulder exercise in to the mix.  Telling myself I can do at least three rounds I drop down and commence the press ups.  I reach eight before my arms start shaking and the tenth is only just achieved.  The sit ups are messy, the squats are relatively easy and I know I should have set a higher number for these, star jumps could have been done better by a one legged blind man and by the time I reach the wrought iron chair I’m again gasping for breath and feeling weak and dizzy.  Being the stubborn idiot that I am, I drive myself on and finally finish the last set before slumping down onto the chair I was just pressing overhead.  I feel like shit, awful.  Not the buzz you get from exercise but my leg hurts from my knee striking that rock hard groundsman and my legs feel like jelly.  Head spinning and I can’t believe how bad my breathing has got.  If I’d known just what bad shape I was in, there is no-way I would have picked a fight with Cooper.

Something spurs me on though and after a few minutes rest I do the circuit again, struggling more than I did with the first one.  Then I do it again and keep going until I can barely move and I’m almost crying with the pain signals being sent out by my muscles.  Sweat is pouring off me, stinging my eyes so I stagger into the kitchen and stick my head under the cold water tap, feeling the sharp bite as the freezing water hits my neck.  I’m going to suffer for this tomorrow, probably the day after too, and quite likely for the next few weeks but at least I’ve done something positive for a change and I cling onto the nugget of hope in my otherwise ruined life.

By the time I reach the third floor and head into my bathroom, my bathroom? I’ve been here a couple of days and already I’m thinking of this space as my own.  By the time I reach the bathroom I’ve stopped sweating but my face is red and patchy and I look even worse than I did before.  I head over to run a bath and find my toothbrush lying in the middle of the tub.  Slightly confused I bend down to pick it up and hear a door slam shut.  I rush out into the corridor to see my bedroom door is now closed, with my heart hammering in my chest I rush the door and burst into the perfectly normal room that isn’t full of bad guys waiting to jump me.  I replay the loop in my head, I didn’t hear footsteps or any other noises, just the door slamming.

I stand in the corridor for a few minutes listening and then check a few of the other rooms but find nothing untoward.  Then feeling just slightly creeped out I head back into the bathroom and run the bath, adding a dollop of that fragrant foam bath.  With the taps thundering behind me I take a good long stare at myself in the mirror before heading to my room and coming back with a pair of scissors, a razor and a very old can of shaving gel.  With only one razor left and a thick beard I hack away with the scissors until I get it short enough for the sharp blade to finish the job.  Soaking my face in hot water I scrub the gel into a lather and get to work.

With the beard gone I see my chin for the first time in months and stand amazed at how pale and drawn I look.  My cheeks are sunken and I have bags under my eyes, at least the beard covered some of my face and disguised just how rough I look.  With the beard gone my hair looks wild and untamed so I stand for ages with the scissors trying to work out how to cut it and wishing I had some clippers with me to sheer the lot off.  Leaning in I examine my thick hair and notice there are a lot more grey hairs then there ever used to be.  Not knowing where to start I keep hovering the scissors over my head but my arms are still aching from the exercise so I give up and decide to wait until I can get some clippers, or maybe even find a hair dresser.  Oh look at you Humber, sinking into a bubble bath, going for a run and doing press ups, shaving your beard off and thinking of going to the salon, wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain woman you met today would it? I tell myself to piss off and leave me alone, but I don’t and I keep goading until a full blown argument develops.  Eventually it stops after some nasty things are said and we sink not only into the warm water but into a sulky silence.

Later that evening I’m in the library after limping round the kitchen on sore legs and cooking mince beef in Bolognese sauce with some pasta, and the peas of course.  Cooking was the last thing I wanted to do after all that exercise but I was starving so it was more out of necessity than anything else.  While the food was cooking I limped down into the cellar to check my clothes but not before I took one of the kitchen chairs and pushed it firmly against the cellar door, and also made sure my wire hangar was still on the top step.  The wash had finished some time ago as the clothes were cold and wet.  Scooping them out I went to head towards the stairs intending to spread them on the radiators to dry but an idea made me go back and look at the washing machine again.  With all this bedding and materials they couldn’t rely on dry air and radiators to dry everything.  Sure enough the washing machine had a setting for drying so the clothes were reloaded and left on dry while I went to finish my meal.

Reflecting over the day while laying back on what is probably an antique chaise longue I try to work out if today has been a good day or a bad day.  The bad points are that I woke up to find my bedroom door open and cigarette papers missing which means I am sleep walking, or sleep smoking, or doing something in my sleep.  I got into a fight and also got locked in the cellar, the other bad thing was the shame I felt at myself when I caught my reflection.  The good points; well I had a nice walk, discounting the fight in the middle, went for a run or at least tried going for a run and I did some exercise, shaved my beard and washed my clothes and of course I met Tessa.  Thinking through it all now and being completely honest with myself, I would have gladly got into a fight with a drunk bear and set myself on fire in the locked cellar for the feeling I had talking to Tessa in the café.  Just for those few short minutes I felt like a normal man, and she didn’t recognise me.  Well, no she did recognise me but she didn’t place me, which meant I didn’t have to go through the whole subject again and how it felt and then the obligatory judgement that follows, and then of course “so what have you been doing since you left the police?” Well, I’ve been drinking a lot, chain smoking oh and I got this addiction to sleeping pills too and I’m also pretty much homeless after spending the last few months sleeping on sofa’s so yeah things have been great, never looked back if I’m honest, wish I’d got out a lot sooner.  By the way, how’s the child rapist doing that I let go?  That single thought plummets me down and the slight step I had taken today, by doing something positive means the ride down into the manic depressive state is even harder than usual.  The self-loathing hits me hard and staring into my soul I see nothing worthwhile.

Ten minutes later and I’m sitting at the bar in the leisure room drinking neat Vodka, my resolve gone the instant the dark thoughts hit me.  The clear liquid in the glass looks at me without judgement, come on my friend everything will be okay.  I wonder what that animal is doing now. If he spent all the money he got from the police already.  The press vilified him, so much that he was catapulted to the top of the most infamous people in the country.  The footage was everywhere, he made sure of that.  Websites, papers and even shown on late night topical shows.  By doing that the media made sure he could never have a fair trial, so he was now one of the most infamous people in the country and everyone knew what he’d done but none of the papers could ever give an actual account from one of the child victims.  None of the evidence was ever released so it was always my word against his.  I know some of the lads in the office made discreet calls to reporters they knew, and made sure they understood how bad this guy was but the bastard still walked away with a big pay-out.  He already owned several properties around the country, houses that he rented out and he had part ownership of some rancid dive of a nightclub somewhere, but he was in debt up to his eyes.  But he had the last laugh, taking out his sick and twisted fantasies then walking away without fear of trial and with money in the bank.  The last I heard was that he left the country.  For a long time I kept thinking I would go after him, finish the job properly then do myself in.  A policeman cannot go to prison, especially one as well-known as I was at that time.  I’d be dead within a week.  But time rolled on and I had no idea where he went so it sort of slipped away.

Half a bottle later and I remember I haven’t turned any lights on or drawn the curtains so I head back downstairs with the bottle in my hand and work my way slowly through all the rooms, trying to remember which ones I did yesterday so I can do different ones today.  Who cares? who gives a shit?  It doesn’t matter what I do, if someone wants to rob this house they can fill their boots because I won’t be able to stop them.  I can barely walk after trying to run about like an idiot but the Vodka takes the edge off the pain so I drink more, telling myself I deserve the reward after all my hard efforts while secretly admitting I just want to forget everything.  The last room is done and I stagger out to make my way back to the library.

‘Unsteady on your feet, speech slurred, eyes red and glazed and smelling of intoxicating liquor, you sir are drunk.’ Remembering the old statement favourite makes me giggle.

‘I was proceeding in a northerly direction when I came upon the villain your honour, he was dressed in black and white striped long sleeved top with a black mask and carrying a bag clearly marked with the word swag,’ that set’s me off and I’m chortling away to myself, remembering the good old days when arresting a petty shop-lifter seemed the most important thing of the week.  I lapse into silence and keep glugging away at the Vodka until I pass out.

Chapter Twelve

Pain in my head wakes me up and I almost cry out when I stretch my legs, feeling the pull in my aching thigh muscles.  My bed is warm and comfortable and I don’t want to move.  I don’t want to face the hangover I know will be waiting for me so I try to drift back off but the urgent messages being sent from my bladder tell me otherwise.  Knowing that to stand up now will be agony I try to stretch out in a cross; arms spread out to the side and legs straight down.  The tortured muscles slowly give way until I’m fully flexed.  Only then do I open my eyes, which also hurt from the morning light.  My head is pounding again and I slowly ease myself out of the bed until I’m sitting on the edge cradling my head in my hands.  I’m naked but at least I’m in my own room this time, I can’t see my clothes anywhere though.  Standing up slowly I realise the bedroom door is open again, but then the last thing I remember is being on the chaise longue in the library drinking Vodka straight from the bottle.  I must have staggered up completely pissed and I groan at the thought of the carnage I’ve probably left behind me.  The need to urinate takes over and I stumble through the door, across the hallway and into the bathroom, jogging the last few steps in case the wee starts coming out.  Relieving myself I realise that although I’m trembling from the effects of the alcohol at least I’m not freezing which means the heating has come on.

At the sink I make myself jump, forgetting that I had shaved the day before and not quite recognising the man looking back at me.  As I brush my teeth and try to clear what tastes like goat shit from my mouth I once more look at the reflection of the bathroom door.  It was open again when I came in, I’m sure of it.  Toothbrush in mouth I step out into the hallway and look down the corridor.  Every door I can see is open, wide open.  Left and right to the ends of the corridors the doors are wide open.  Walking down the red carpet I peer into the first room, nothing seems to have been touched or moved but the door is definitely open.  The next is the same, and the next.  Each door has the key in the lock but each door is fully wide open.  After disposing of the toothbrush I head into my room but all my clothes are gone

Naked, hung over and very confused I head downstairs to the next floor down and find all the doors are open too.  Each one fully extended to the same open position where yesterday they were locked.  The hairs on the back of my neck creep up again and a shiver passes through me.  It’s got to be me, drunk and doing stupid things.  I don’t hang around but keep going down to the entrance hall and find the same thing.  Each door fully wide open, spinning round in a circle it’s like the doors are taunting me, calling my name and each one is a hungry mouth, a gateway to some evil place.  Breathing hard I go into the library, no sign of my clothes in there or the kitchen but the front and back door are both fully locked.  Checking the downstairs room I can see the lights are on and the curtains drawn exactly as I left them last night but no sign of my clothes.  I’m feeling the chill now and not just from being naked and hung over but something else, a creeping sensation that unnerves me.

‘WHO DID THIS?’ I yell out in a hoarse voice and my voice sounds ominous in the otherwise silent house.  I did this, you know it Humber.  You’re losing your mind and doing things in your either drunken or medicated sleep.  I need clothes, being naked makes me feel vulnerable.  I move round to the cellar door and find that wide open too, the kitchen chair is still there so I wedge it against the door and head down the stairs.

On the bottom step I stand stock still and look down at the cellar floor and my clothes laid out.  Not just laid out but laid out in human form.  My jeans are facing up with the legs straight out, a shirt in position above the jeans waist band, matching socks poking out the end of each trouser leg and resting on the tops of my boots.  My boots were in my room, I didn’t bring them down here yesterday.  But there they are, boots stood up properly with the right one being on the right leg and the left on the left leg.  Socks draped over them and a t shirt actually tucked into the waistband of the jeans, through the button fly of the jeans I recognise a pair of my boxer shorts.  Next to them is another pair of jeans, again with matching socks but this time resting over my running shoes, another top is laid out in the right position above the jeans, the left arm stretched out and the right one folded across the chest.  Next is my one pair of black work trousers with a black jumper above them and black socks poking out the legs.  Three figures laid out in clothing on the basement floor, the rest of my clothes are staged around them, socks, pants and t shirts all laid out, almost framing the figures.  Eyes wide open and heart hammering in my chest I stand there for long minutes trying to take it in, trying to process what my eyes are seeing, trying to understand what it is I’m doing when I’m drunk, how I can do things like this and have no memory.  Why walk round a house and open every door?  Why lay these clothes out?

Walking forward I approach the clothes like a crime scene, trying to see if any clues have been left as to why I did this.  Then something hits me, taking in the clothes and the way they’ve been laid out, the neat lines and the almost perfect way the tops have been tucked into the legwear.  One pair of the jeans has a button fly and they’re done up perfectly which I know from experience is mostly beyond my capability when I’m drunk.  Assess the facts Humber, assess the facts and make an informed decision.  Look at what’s in front of you, clothing laid out neatly with barely a crease in them.  No tread marks that a stumbling drunken idiot would undoubtedly leave.  This is not the work of a man drunk out of his mind on Vodka.  Which begs the question if it’s not me then who did it? How did they get in? Well that’s not impossible, I’ve been here just a few days and already established that Cooper has keys.  Cooper! But why would he come in here and do this? What’s the point? And if someone did this then why go to all the trouble of opening all the doors up.  No wait, it’s not beyond the realm of reality that I opened the doors myself with some drunken idea of looking for something.  With too many questions running through my frazzled and tender head I scoop a pile of clothing up and give a sarcastic thanks to whoever laid them out in the way I would dress.  I bundle the rest into my arms and head back upstairs to dump them on the kitchen table. I have fresh coffee and a smoke outside in the courtyard. My head is still pounding against the insides of my skull and my limbs are in agony, especially my thighs.  It stands to reason it would be Cooper doing this.  He has access, motive, cause and reason.  He is the primary suspect.  I battered his face in yesterday so no wonder he wants to get back at me.  He could have seen me through the windows, watched me getting drunk and stumbling about.  Once I was passed out he could have easily got in, but then why strip me off? And if he didn’t strip me then where are the clothes I was wearing yesterday; the jogging pants and sweatshirt? My running shoes were in the basement and I’m sure I still had them on when I started drinking.  Too many variables and I have to admit that with the unpredictable nature of a drunk man; anything is possible.  I could have stripped myself off, but I’m confident I wouldn’t have been able to arrange the clothing like that.  Someone was definitely in here.  If I had been beaten up by some cocky southerner and then found him passed out in a drunken stupor I’d do more than arrange his clothes for him.  Mind games, Cooper is playing mind games with me.  Trying to freak me out so I’ll leave and he can have the house.  Or maybe he’s planning on robbing the place and wants me out the way.  Bloody hell, the state I’ve been in since I got here anyone could have robbed it by now.

Like I said too many questions and not enough answers and my brain is too unwilling to even try and make proper sense of it all.  Well, I’m up with nothing to do so I should go to the village and get some painkillers.  Yep, that’s what I need, some painkillers.  But they might have some here, have you checked? Nope, they probably don’t and it would be wrong to keep using their stuff anyway so I should go and get some and maybe a cappuccino while I’m there.  Ah, I see what you’re doing, subtle as a house brick Humber.

Pulling into the square and parking the Landrover I head first to the shop for some much needed pain relief, not before glancing at the café and feeling a sense of disappointment at not seeing Tessa there.  Bloody idiot, what did I expect after running off yesterday?  Painkillers purchased, swallowed and pocketed I head over to the café and walk straight in, not bothering to check inside first.  Which was a mistake as I see a few of the same farm lads from yesterday eating breakfast and Cooper sitting with them.  His face looks a mess with two black eyes and a bruised and swollen nose.  He’s facing the door and clocks me as soon as I enter.  The others notice him staring and follow his gaze until the whole place has gone quiet.

‘Morning,’ I nod cheerfully and start walking towards the counter, ‘Mr Cooper,’ I say civilly as I pass him, expecting to feel a chair get wrapped around the back of my head.  I scour the counter for anything reflective and use the stainless steel side of the coffee machine to see he stays still.  After a few seconds the conversations re-start, but quieter than when I entered.

‘Morning love you back again are you? Cappuccino is it?’ the same woman from yesterday greets me with a big smile which I wasn’t expecting.  Maybe Cooper hasn’t said anything about what happened, or maybe they just don’t like him.

‘Yes please,’ I smile back at her.

‘How are you settling in then?’ She chatters while banging metal things against other metal things, the painkillers haven’t taken effect yet and the noise makes me want to cry.

‘Oh very well thank you, lovely house, funniest thing happened this morning though.  I woke up and couldn’t find my shoes, looked everywhere and finally found them in the basement.  I must have left them there last night.’ She looks at me with a half smiling half puzzled look while I witter away happily making sure my voice is nice and loud.  A few of the farmers stop talking again and I can see them tuning in to listen.

‘Right…well there you go love,’ she slides the steaming mug of milky goodness towards me.  I pay the money and head back towards the door, stopping and turning to Cooper with my hand on the door handle.

‘Mr Cooper, I don’t suppose you saw anyone round the house last night? I swear I heard some noises outside.’

‘No Mr Humber I watched a movie and went to bed.’

‘Oh, anything good?’

‘”Taken” with Liam Neeson,’ he stares at me flatly through blackened eyes and I am obliged to give him a nod of respect as I turn and walk out.

After half the coffee has surged into my system and started the uphill battle to make me feel human again I start trying to ponder the night’s activities again but my mind keeps straying every time I see a car go past.  Willing one to pull in but none do.  In fact I reach the bottom of my mug without any more cars pulling in.  The only thing that happens is the farmers all pile out and pass my table, nodding at me as they go.  They separate and head off into a variety of utility vehicles and pick-up trucks.  Cooper is the last one out and I call him back, he turns without saying a word and stares straight at me.

‘What happened last night Cooper?’ I keep my voice low but I watch him intently.

‘What? Like I said I watched a movie and had an early night.’ He replies quickly and the bruising makes it hard to read his facial expressions.

‘Cooper, I told you to stay away from the house at night.  I made that clear to you.’ He stares at me blankly before replying. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Okay Cooper, have it your way.  I tried to warn you yesterday but it seems it didn’t sink in well enough, did it?’ He remains resolute but despite his marked face I swear I see a dark shadow pass over it.

‘Go back to London Mr Humber, like you said; the world is full of bad people who do bad things.’ Without another word he turns and walks off, climbing into his Landrover and pulling away.  I watch him closely but he doesn’t even glance towards me.  Weird people these country folk, can’t bloody read them as well as city dwellers.  At least you know where you are with city criminals, they’ll run or try and stab you but I’ve never heard of one breaking into a house and re-arranging a man’s wardrobe before.

‘Penny for them?’ Blimey, she did it again.  She is standing right there smiling at me as I watch Cooper pull away.

‘Good morning,’ I smile back and watch her examining my chin closely.

‘Good morning Mr Humber, you look better I must say, less like a caveman,’ the compliment makes me grin like a shy schoolboy, she sits down in the same seat as yesterday, slightly opposite me and then looks at me expectantly.

‘Well I believe it’s your round isn’t it?’

‘Of course, yes.  Cappuccino?’ She nods back at me, still staring at my chin, ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘I’ll be right here, unless I have to suddenly run off and do something urgent at my house,’ she smiles as she speaks and the point is sweetly made.  I return with two mugs and place them down on the table, positioning one in front of her.

‘Thank you Mr Humber.’

‘It’s Mike, and listen about yesterday.  I’m sorry I shot off like that.’ She looks beautiful and I can see she’s applied some discrete make-up.

‘No it’s my fault.  I was prying too much and made you feel uncomfortable.  It’s the journalist in me, always sticking my nose in.’

‘No, please it wasn’t that.  Look I might as well get this out now, about where you recognise me from…’ What am I saying? I’m just blurting things out to a beautiful woman.

‘I know Mike, I remembered yesterday.  About the child molester.’ Her voice takes on a serious tone, still soft but subtly serious and without the undercurrent of humour.

‘You remembered? Or you went home and googled my name?’ I smile to show there’s no malice in my question.

‘Ha, yeah I did google you but I did remember before I did it,’ she laughs and the humour is back again.

‘I should have said yesterday.’

‘If you had been clean shaven yesterday I would have got it straight away, the beard threw me off.  I was on the papers when the story broke, I didn’t cover it but I knew a lot of the journalists who did.’

‘Yeah,’ I sigh and look down at my coffee, feeling a slight sense of shame.

‘Do you want to talk about it? Or we can quickly change the subject and talk about our love of strong coffee instead and pretend we never mentioned it,’ her light-hearted tone makes me look up and smile, she smiles back and I swear something inside of me melted.

‘We can talk about anything you want.’

‘Oh anything eh? Well that’s a big responsibility, let me get my tape recorder out so I can send a copy in later,’ the smile vanishes from my face at the serious way she lifts her bag up.  She catches me looking at her and bursts out laughing.

‘I’m sorry, poor taste I know but you should have seen your face.  I don’t have a Dictaphone I promise,’ I smile back, feeling somewhat stupid for falling for it.

‘I’m wearing a wire instead…’ she leans forward thrusting her chest at me, ‘So Mike Humber tell me everything.’

‘Do you mind! I don’t know where to put my eyes,’ I avert my gaze from her chest area and she laughs again.

‘Sorry, I didn’t think that one through did I, second date and I’m already thrusting my boobs at you.’

‘Journalists,’ I tut, ‘anything to get a story.  Did you just say date?’

‘Oops I think I might have.’

‘I’m just here for the coffee love,’ I smile at her quickly, unsure if my humour will offend her.

‘I don’t know Mike,’ she leans in again, cupping her cheek with one hand and making sad eyes at me, ‘it’s just not the same as it was yesterday.  You’ve changed and become someone new to me, I just don’t know where this is going anymore.’

‘Bloody hell! That was fantastic.’

‘Why thank you Mr Humber, I studied amateur dramatics at college.’

‘And Journalism?’

‘Well the two go hand in hand really.’

‘Really? How so?’

‘For my type of journalism anyway.  I did investigations, serious stuff and I hated the sensational scoops they were always after.  And I loathe the celebrity stuff.  So being able to turn a phrase often got me a lot more information than rooting around in someone’s bin.’

‘Or tapping their phone…’

‘Oh that hurt.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it.’

‘I never tapped anyone’s phone.  Believe it or not they would only do that kind of thing for the celebrities, never for the serious investigations.’

‘That surprises me.’

‘Way of the world, celebrities sell.’ She really is pretty with big blue eyes and lovely arched eyebrows, she carries on talking then suddenly stops and catches me staring at her.

‘You were saying?’ I quickly lift my coffee and pretend to remove something from the edge.  Glancing back I can see her looking at me coyly.

‘So anyway, I was doing quite well but after ten years I still wasn’t being given the freedom to cover the stories I wanted to do, my editor could see I had good investigation skills so he wanted to me to use them on the rich and famous.  I did a few thinking he would then let me go after the proper stuff but the jobs kept going to the men.  It’s funny in this day and age that in some industries men are still given priority over women.  It really was an old boys club with lots of funny handshakes going on if you know what I mean.’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen enough of that.’

‘There you go, so what chance did I have.  I would have got there eventually but I asked myself at what cost? So I lived frugally and saved my money and covered all the dirty seedy stories they threw at me but they left a bad taste in my mouth and trust me, there was never any glory for me in exposing some sordid love triangle or ruining someone’s professional credibility just because they had an affair a few years ago.  Saved my money and now I’ve gone freelance.’ She ends abruptly as if becoming aware she’s talking too much.  I could listen to her all day long.

‘That must have been hard,’ I prompt her to continue.

‘It was and you should have seen the reaction from my editor, oh he went apoplectic.’

‘He went what?’

‘Apoplectic, it means…’

‘I know what it means, just haven’t heard anyone use it for a long time.’

‘Ah well I love words Mr Humber.’

‘And coffee.’

‘No I love words and I’m addicted to coffee.’

‘Fair one, so you were saying.’

‘Right well the editor really wasn’t happy but in the end he saw my reasons.  I wanted to tell him to stuff his sordid front page stories up his arse but I had to be careful or the old boys club would close ranks and I’d never get anything printed again.’

‘And now you’re here, what made you choose this location?’

‘Er, well I had some friends who said it was quiet and peaceful and being a southern girl I wanted something different so I decided to go north.’ She paused slightly at the beginning, something not said, held back.

‘So what are you working on now?’ I try to watch her casually, flicking my eyes between the coffee mug and her face.

‘Researching for my book, but hey enough of me dominating this conversation, It’s your turn.’ Skilfully done, changing the subject and inviting me to indulge my life story.  That’s twice she’s mentioned the book without elaborating on it.

‘Well I think you know my story,’ I sit back and shrug, ‘I think everyone knows my story.’

‘I remember it, plus I googled it last night and refreshed my memory.’

‘Refreshed your memory! I like it,’ I can’t help but laugh at the way she says it.

‘But that’s only what the press reported.  It must be one of the worst things I’ve ever heard off.’

‘In what way?’

‘Catching a monster like that, having him in your hands and knowing what he did.  I think anyone would have reacted the way you did.  He was goading you right?’

‘He was.’

‘Your tone has dropped, if this is too intrusive just say.’

‘Wow, a sensitive journalist, I’m impressed,’ it is intrusive and I hate it, it’s in my mind every minute of the day and I now hate talking about it.  Normally I’d clam up and change the subject abruptly or even just tell the person to drop it.  But now, with Tessa it doesn’t feel so bad. ‘No it’s okay, he was goading me.  He told me to my face exactly what he did to those children and worse how it made him feel and then how he was going to do it again. He kept telling me I should try it.  I told him to stop, to shut up but he saw the reaction he was getting so he kept on.  I should have stayed quiet and showed no reaction but I did and he jumped on it.  It wasn’t just the words he was using, it was his tone of voice and the way he was sneering and smiling.  No remorse, in fact the complete opposite.  Then he got graphic, really graphic.  I told him to stop, I begged him to stop but he got worse.  Then I threatened him but he just kept going “you want to try it don’t you detective Humber, you want to, I can see it in your eyes, you’re getting turned on aren’t you.”

‘Oh my god,’ she covers her mouth with her hand, staring at me in horror.

‘I lost it.  Completely lost it.  Saw red and well, you know the rest.  It might not have been so bad if I just hit him once or even just a couple of times.  I could have taken him to the floor and twisted his arms up.  That would have hurt him and looked like normal restraint on the cameras.  I could have said he threatened me or something to justify the action; no one would have raised an eyebrow at that.  But I didn’t.  I went for him.’

‘And you didn’t know the cameras were there?’

‘No, well to be honest in this day and age any copper knows there are cameras everywhere and most phones have got video cameras built into them.  It didn’t cross my mind, there could probably have been a film crew there and I would have done it.  But he knew the cameras were there and he took a beating with the full knowledge he would walk away from it.’

‘Christ Mike, I heard it all before but not to that detail and coming from you it’s awful, truly awful.’

‘It was my fault.  I went after him on my own when I should have waited for an arrest team.  But I had dealt with a lot of the victims so it was personal and I wanted to take him out.  Vanity led me there and pure stupidity did the rest.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she leans forward, speaking earnestly.

‘It was Tessa, it’s brutal and nasty but it’s the truth.’

‘He was quite badly injured from what I remember.’

‘I beat him unconscious.  Broke his jaw, fractured his skull and one of his arms, a few ribs and a lot of bruising that looked great in full colour high definition pictures.’ I can see the question burning away behind her eyes.

‘You can ask me.’

‘Ask you?’

‘How it felt.’

‘Was it that obvious? You must have been asked it a thousand times already.  I read your response in the some if the interviews online.’

‘I didn’t know what else to say, it was kind of expected of me to say that it felt great.  Most of the shows had a legal advisor telling me what I could and could not say before I went on air.  I was never allowed to say how I knew he was the offender, what the evidence was; only that he was a suspected offender.’

‘So?’

‘What?’ By now I’d normally be creeping in my seat, desperate to get away or change the subject.  Anything to avoid going through this again.  But Tessa is a trained interviewer and whether or not she’s using work skills now, or she’s genuinely interested I can’t tell but I know it feels different for some reason, it feels nice to be talking.

‘Mr Humber you know exactly what I’m referring to.’ She smiles again.

‘Well, first understand that I’ve been in many fights.  Inner city policing is hard and nasty and there are some bad buggers out there who would get big shiny badges of merit from the local gangster for taking out a copper.  But this was different; I didn’t do it to achieve an aim or objective.  I wasn’t in danger and he wasn’t trying to get away.  He was already in detention and not struggling or resisting.  He was over-weight and out of shape so running away wasn’t a fear.  So my entire reaction towards him was based on anger.  Anger at knowing what he’d done to those children, anger at how many lives he’d devastated.  As clichéd as it sounds those children not only suffered incredible pain and injuries but they lost their innocence and would be affected for the rest of their lives.  Did you know that one of the fathers later committed suicide?’ Shaking her head she looks horrified.

‘Couldn’t handle the fact that he failed as a father, wasn’t there to protect his child.  Couldn’t handle the aftermath and the way it changed the behaviour of his child and his wife of course, hung himself.’

‘You can’t blame yourself for that; you didn’t make him do those things.’

‘No, but there was no closure was there.  Yeah he got a beating but he also knew he’d never face a trial, would never be incarcerated, and would never go to prison.  Try telling that to the families.’

‘Did they give you a hard time?’

‘The job protected me at first, kept me isolated and away from everyone.  But as time went on a few got in touch.  Most of them said they understood and wish they could have done it themselves and said how sorry they were I’d lost my job.  Some of them even wrote to the bosses saying I should be re-instated.  A couple went on television too.’

‘Yeah I remember, so they don’t hold you to blame.’

‘No, some of them don’t hold me to blame but not all of them were that forgiving.  Some wanted me prosecuted and thrown in jail for what I’d done, nailed to a cross and left to rot.’

‘The feeling in our office was that you were a hero, and the funny thing is, it was the only time I can remember that everyone was in agreement.  Not one person thought you’d crossed the line.’

‘But I did, and here I am…with an empty coffee mug.’

‘Hint hint, my shout.  Another Cappuccino?’  A large cappuccino has a double espresso in it.  That means two shots of very strong coffee per mug, I’d already had two mugs so four espresso’s.  Another one would see me wired and bouncing off the walls.  But then I was still very hung over.

‘Let me get them,’ I start to rise.

‘No,’ firmly said, ‘thank you for being a gentleman but it’s my shout.’ She disappears inside and I realise I haven’t smoked since she arrived.  I roll one now, light the end and sit back feeling slightly chilled but otherwise strangely calm and content.  I’m not a fool and I know that it can’t just be Tessa that makes me feel okay to talk, but more of the time gap between the event and now, the decline in my life and facing a serious dose of mortality.  Being down on my luck and having all that weird stuff freak me out too.  Losing my mind, opening doors and doing god knows what else in the night has freaked me out a lot more than I thought.  But that clothing laid out in the cellar and Cooper didn’t show any reaction that he was guilty or knew anything about it.  It was hard to read his face because of the bruising and he made that stupid cryptic comment at the end.  Tessa arrives back with two more mugs and settles down, making a subtle change in her seating position to face me more directly.

‘You okay?’ She asks with what appears to be genuine concern.

‘Yeah fine,’ I nod back and I mean it too.  I can’t help but smile and my heart warms when she returns the gesture.

‘So Miss….Tessa,’ she laughs, ‘you have twice now successfully evaded the topic of your book but ve have vays of making you talk.’ She laughs at the crap joke.

‘Evaded have I? You’re too good for me copper; I’ll cough the lot…where do I sign?’

‘Come on before I start cautioning you.’

‘Can you remember it?’

‘Bloody hell, I could write it with my eyes closed.’

‘Go on then.’

‘What with my eyes closed?’

‘No! Well if you really want to you can,’ she laughs.

‘You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court, anything you do say may be given in evidence, do you understand?’ It rattles off my tongue with long practised ease.

‘Do I understand?’

‘Sorry, that bit always came at the end.  Force of habit.’

‘Very good, I’m impressed.’

‘Now you’ve been cautioned so you have to tell me about this book.’

‘But what about my free legal advice, surely I’m entitled to that?’

‘Nope, this questioning is being done under the Terrorism Act so therefore you are not entitled to legal advice.’

‘I’m a terrorist now?’

‘This is very serious,’ I try to show my most serious policeman face but she just laughs.

‘Hmmm, okay but not here.’

‘Wow sounds secret or are you just trying to lure me back to your house?’ I narrow my eyes and look at her suspiciously causing her to laugh again.  I like the sound of it.

‘Oh you’ve seen through my dastardly plan, and I was going to hold you captive too.’

‘Really? Hold me captive and force feed me home made cakes with coffee…sounds awful.’

‘You’ve not tried my cooking,’ she quips back.

‘Okay, so not here?’ Intriguing.  There’s no one about or nearby and I wonder what her reluctance is.

‘We could meet up later?’ Her eyebrows rise as she asks the question making me think she’s a bit nervous.

‘I’d love to, sounds great.  Where do you want to meet? I don’t know anywhere round here.’

‘You could come to mine, where are you staying? You said you’re looking after someone’s house?’

‘Yeah Huntington House.’ She looks at me quickly.

‘Huntington House? Oh right.’

‘What?’ She seems alarmed.

‘Oh nothing, it’s just the most famous building round here that’s all.  I didn’t realise that was the house.’

‘Well I’ve only been there a few days.’

‘Where are the Huntington’s then?’

‘Some court proceedings going on.  A dispute between the family or something and no one can live there until the court ruling.’

‘So they got a security guard staying there?’

‘Yeah,’ I nod, unsure as to why she seems confused. ‘If any of the family gains access they could claim possession then the other members would face a lengthy court battle just to get them evicted.  I think they’ve all agreed to stay away until it’s resolved.’

‘How did you get the job?’ She seems overly casual now, trying hard to act normal.

‘Answered an advert in a security magazine.  They invited me up for interview and asked if I could start that day if I was successful.’

‘So you don’t know them?’

‘The Huntington’s? No, never heard of them until I got here.  It’s just a job.’

‘It’s meant to be a beautiful house,’ she says and the intent is clear, she wants me to invite her round.

‘It’s very beautiful.  The rooms are amazing.  You should come round and see. Then you can tell me about your book.’

‘Is it okay to come round? Would the owners mind?’ She smiles sweetly.

‘They never specified about visitors or anything.  They can’t expect someone to stay there for that length of time and not have a visitor.’

‘But you said you’d only been there a few days.’

‘True but from I understand of civil disputes they can run on for a long time, so I could be here a while.’ Unless I burn the house down in a drunken stupor first.

‘Okay, well if you’re sure then I’d love to see it.’

‘Sure, what time? I’ll make sure I hoover first.  I was joking about hoovering, it’s too big.’ She smiles back at me and bites her bottom lip as she thinks and I have to look away from the alluring pose.

‘Well I’m free all day, so…’ she looks up and shrugs lightly.

‘How about now then? Do you want to follow me back?’ Please say yes, oh please say yes.

‘Sounds great, one thing though…do you have coffee?’ She said yes!  This is the best day ever.

‘I do, where are you parked?  I’m in the blue Landrover there.  I pull out and wait for you.’ We get up to leave.

‘Im over there,’ she points to a new looking red mini.

‘Nice car.’

‘Thanks, are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘No, it’s fine.  It’ll be nice to have some company.’ Did I really just say that?

‘Okay,’ she gives me another smile and walks towards her car.  Climbing into the Landrover I pull out and wait while she reverses then pulls up behind me waving her arm out the window.  I pull out and watch as she follows me.  There’s something she’s not saying, the look that crossed her face when I said Huntington House.  She covered it quickly and I guess that if she was in work mode she would never had let her face betray the surprise.  But then she tried to act casual and left it open for me to invite her now.  Could be a million reasons and I’ve got too many other things on my mind to be questioning every little thing that happens.  She’s a beautiful intelligent woman and I’m glad she’s coming back, even if she just wants to see the rooms or look at the soft furnishings.  And she did come back this morning despite what I did yesterday, so it can’t be all that bad.  Too quick to find hidden motive Humber, always the same; looking for the conspiracy or the secrets.  Take what you can mate, take it and be happy because your life is shit right now.  Plus you’ve either got some creepy bastard sneaking round the house at night or a ghost or you really are losing the plot big style.

To take my mind off it I turn up the volume on the radio and lose myself in the absurdity of the talk radio phone in show.  That must be all they do, just have one big phone in session.  What about music and adverts?  My mind however, has other ideas and keeps flitting back to Tessa, the way she looks and the expressions that cross her face.  She seems a very expressive person, most people who do amateur dramatics normally are very expressive and although she said the two went hand in hand with being an investigative journalist, she must also find it hard to mask her true reactions.  Still I’ve done enough undercover work to know that it’s about mind-set and mental preparation.

I can’t help myself from continually glancing in the mirror, thinking she will change her mind and turn off.  Waiting at a junction to pull out she must know I’m looking as she gives me another big smile and waves.  My arm’s out the window and I try to casually lift my hand as though I’m so cool truck driver.  Idiot.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Wow, this is amazing,’ she says, standing next to her open car door and staring up at the front of the ivy covered house, ‘and that driveway, can you imagine owning a house with a driveway like that.’

‘Try running up it,’ I ache like a bitch and the coffee is making me almost tremble.  I need food to soak up the cappuccino and Vodka from last night before my stomach makes an attempt at open revolt.

‘Are you okay?’ She asks as I limp stiff legged to the front door.

‘Yeah fine, over did the training yesterday,’ in fact I think I may have destroyed every muscle in my body and I am now in intense pain.

We enter the front door and step into the entrance, having been here a few days the stunning sight had worn off a little.  But now with someone else to share it with it reminds me just how majestic it is.  I watch her closely, at the way her eyes sweep over the room taking in the details of the fixtures and fittings, her eyes resting on the intricate detail of the huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the black and white checked floor and the dark wood furniture.

‘Yeah,’ I stretch the word out, ‘I worked very hard to get it to the current standard but you know how it is trying to find expert craftsman these days.’

‘Oh of course, I have exactly the same trouble with my stately home.’

‘Really?’

‘Can never get the chaise longue cleaned the way I want them, and the golden bath taps are never buffed up properly.’

‘You joke but this house has lots of both of them.’

‘Yeah I’ve seen the pictures.’

‘Pictures?’

‘Online, they’re on some sites for stately homes and décor of the rich and stupidly wealthy or something like that.  I had a look when I first moved up here.’

‘Oh right, how long have you been here?’

‘Few months, so are you giving me the guided tour then? And I want running commentary giving a detailed history and description of each room,’ she fixes me with a mock serious gaze, eyebrows arched and mouth pursed.  I would tremble at the knee’s if I wasn’t already.

‘Follow me please,’ thankfully the doors are still closed and locked from when I charged about this morning, convinced someone else was here.  We enter the first room; a long room with comfy armchairs and sofa’s arranged round small tables. ‘This room dates back to the er, pre-Raphaelite era and was used for er…sitting in. Yes they used to sit in here all the time.  It was all the rage back then, sitting.’

‘My god this is beautiful, look at the detail on the armchairs and the table legs.’ She moves forward with grace and purpose, closely examining the intricate carvings and designs on the wooden furniture.

We enter the next room, the one with the huge dining table that could seat fifty people.  ‘Moving on and we will find the dining room where they would also sit, but this sitting would be accompanied by food.’

‘That table is huge.’

‘Yes, it was the law back then.  You weren’t allowed dinner unless there was at least fifty people, fear of wolves and bears you see. ‘

‘Lions and tigers and wolves,’ she replies.

‘Er, I don’t think England ever had much of a problem with Lions and Tigers, but then rich people are weird and you never can tell.’

We move from room to room, and it’s somewhat reassuring to see that she has the same reaction I did.  Jaw dropping at first but then it gets repetitive.  I notice she looks closely at the walls in each room, running her hand along certain parts as if feeling for something.  Eventually we’re back in the entrance hall facing the wide staircase.

‘Fancy going upstairs love?’ I wink suggestively and am very relieved that she laughs.

‘Thought you’d never ask, do you want a hand old man?’ She says as I wince at raising my leg on the first step.

‘No thank you I will manage with a firm grip on this bannister,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘Do they call them bannisters,’ she asks as we slowly climb the stairs, feeling somewhat embarrassed I take the pain and make myself speed up.

‘What else would they call them?’

‘I don’t know but bannister seems too common so there must be another word.’

‘Er, Le Bannister,’ putting on a French accent.

‘I like it.’

Reaching the first floor landing she takes in the red carpet and the exquisite colouring of the walls.  Every shade blended perfectly to compliment the next.

‘These are Lord and Lady Fatty’s rooms; they left them in a right bloody mess though.’ She snorts with laughter when I say the word fatty, I look at her smiling and she covers her mouth shyly.

‘Sorry, Lord and Lady Fatty?’

‘Have you seen them?’

‘Only pictures.’

‘I’ve only met him very briefly but he’s fat, and there’s a picture of his wife in here and she’s fat too,’ pushing the door open I step back so she can enter first.

‘I thought you said it was a mess.’

‘It is…’ My words cut off as I take in the perfectly made up rooms.  The bed sheets all pristine and tucked in.  The jewellery back in the boxes, picture frames upright.  Striding forward I check the suite and find them all the same; clean and tidy.

‘Mike what’s wrong?’ She looks at me concerned as I walk back into the room.

‘These were a pigsty this morning, there was stuff everywhere.’

‘Someone must have cleaned up.’ She shrugs, puzzled at why I’m making a big deal out of it.

‘Yeah, but he said no one is allowed in.  None of the staff and none of the family.  That’s why I’m here.’ My voice trails off.

‘Maybe one of them forgot or they remembered how messy the rooms were and sneaked back in to tidy them.’

‘Yeah, yeah you’re probably right. Sorry it just threw me off for a minute.’

‘Okay,’ she holds her gaze on me with that slightly puzzled expression again.  Locking the door we move down and I unlock the teenage girl’s room to step in.

‘This has been tidied up too,’ she steps in beside me and scans the room, her eyes coming to rest on the girl’s picture.  She steps forward to examine it closely before turning back to smile at me.

‘It’s all tidy now.’

We move on through the house and I unlock each room in turn, first so Tessa can see them but more so I can see what else has been moved or touched.

‘Stunning house,’ she says softly as we reach the door to the leisure room.  I unlock the door and step in, scanning the room quickly I see the snooker table is laid out ready for play, with all the coloured balls positioned where they should be.  I haven’t touched this table since I woke up on it and half the balls were either in the pockets or spread out haphazard.  Tessa pauses and looks at me staring at the snooker table.

‘Something else different?’ She says it quietly, as though a loud voice would be wrong in this quiet house.

‘Yeah,’ I answer without taking my eyes off the table.  Someone is playing games that’s for sure.  Cooper knew I was at the café.

‘Nice room though, and look at that view,’ Tessa says, I join her at the doors and push them open.  Stepping in we take in the vista, well Tessa does while I stare down at the rear lawn and the fresh tracks leading across it.

She laughs again as I wince my way up the next flight of stairs onto the second floor.  We start the guided tour going from room to room and admiring the smaller guest rooms.

‘This is my room, they didn’t specify what room I should use and none of the servants rooms were made up with bedding.’ Entering the room I’m relieved to see it’s the same as I left it earlier and at least there’s no dirty pants lying on the floor.

‘So Mr Humber you’ve lured me into your room already eh?’ She winks and I can feel myself going red in the face, which she picks up on immediately and starts laughing again.  She laughs easily and each time it makes me feel happy.

‘Hasty exit needed here,’ I step quickly to the door, wincing at the pain.

‘Oi, am I that bad?’ She follows me out into the corridor.

‘No you’re very beautiful but I’m just in too much pain for any hanky panky.’

‘Hanky panky! How dare you, is there a toilet I can use, too much coffee.’

‘Yeah sure, just in there,’ I point to my bathroom opposite, she smiles and walks in while I step back into the bedroom to avoid standing in the corridor and listen to her pee.

‘Er Mike,’ her voice sounds worried and I rush forward to see her standing in the open doorway staring at the bath.  I ease round her but see nothing untoward.

‘You were right about the gold taps,’ she laughs again and I roll my eyes before moving back to my bedroom.  My nerves are frayed to the hilt.  Those rooms being tidied and the snooker table laid out.  Is it someone messing with my mind or simply as Tessa said that someone has popped in to clean up?  I’ll have to call Lord Fatty later and ask him.

‘You there Mike?’ Tessa calls out, closing the bathroom door behind her.  We move into the servants rooms and Tessa picks up on the basic décor throughout this area and the much smaller sized rooms.

‘No locks on any of the doors,’ I motion towards the door of the servant’s room we’re stood in.

‘No human rights back then,’ she replies.

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Different time’s different rules,’ she sighs.

‘Sad but true.’

‘I suppose back then nothing else matters.’ She quips back quickly looking at me with a keen eye.

‘Well, for whom the bell tolls then they shall have no locks.’

‘No locks makes it easy to for the sandman to enter,’ she challenges me with one eyebrow raised.

‘Must be dark up here at night, I guess it fades to black quickly.’

‘Poor servants, they must have thought they were unforgiven.’

‘Yeah the Lord must have treated them badly, like a master of puppets,’ grinning at each other like children.

‘It’s hardly paradise city,’ she retorts.

‘That’s Guns n Roses.’

‘No it was Metallica,’ she replies.

‘No way, definitely Guns n Roses it was their best song.’ She thinks hard for a second.

‘Yeah you’re right,’ she concedes with a smile.

We finish the tour and head downstairs to the kitchen where I clatter about making coffee, leaving her to examine the Aga.  Like me she thought the house was gorgeous but sterile, not the sort of homely place to be lived in or for children to run around and make mess.  It was also very pleasing when she remarked how much she liked the library and spent a few minutes pouring over the books.  With her back to me I couldn’t help but get lost in looking at her slim figure, especially when she bent down to look at the lower shelves.

‘Are you looking at my bum?’ She asked without turning, making me cough and turn away guiltily.

‘Er, no…I was looking at this book,’ I quickly flipped open Medieval and Modern Times to peruse a random page.

‘You were checking my bum out,’ she said firmly, still not turning round.

‘Yep, I was.  Sorry,’ I admit it, caught in the act.  Take it on the chin and man up.

‘S’alright, I was checking yours out earlier,’ she said matter of fact.

‘Oh right,’ my voice comes out too high pitched and I cough to repeat it in a normal voice, she turned and smiled at me wickedly, shaking her head before going back to looking at the books.

Now in the kitchen I brew coffee and slot some bread down into the toaster with my stomach rumbling noisily.  I make four slices then slot another four in, buttering the first lot while the second lot cook, stirring in the milk and busying myself otherwise I would just stand still with my mouth open looking at her bum.  With a plate loaded with toast I carry them over to the table where she joins me, drinking coffee and munching through the toast.

‘So, about this book,’ prompting her again before she can start on a new subject.

‘You are relentless Mr Humber,’ she says with a mouthful of toast.  I stay silent watching her with an expectant gaze.

‘Okay, but first…’

‘No more but firsts.’ She laughs and covers her mouth to hide the food she’s eating.

‘Seriously, I need to be sure of a couple of things first,’ her expression changes and she looks round the kitchen, turning round to look at the door leading out to the entrance hall.

‘Tessa?’ She looks worried.

‘This toast is lovely,’ she winks at me strangely.

‘Help yourself, have some more,’ I stare at her puzzled.  She seems desperate to avoid the subject.

‘The grounds look amazing, have you walked round them much?’ Her tone is natural but forced, like she’s trying to convey a message without saying it.

‘Not much really,’ she stares at me unblinking then nods very slightly, ‘Er, would you like to see them?’

‘That would be lovely, it’s a beautiful day for a walk,’ she keeps staring straight at me.

‘So what do you think of the house?’ Changing the subject I see a look of relief and she smiles gratefully.

‘Lovely house, the décor is amazing.’ We make idle small talk about the house and how quiet the area is compared to London.  She talks naturally now and easily fills the silence with observations of the countryside, the nice walks and how much easier it is to breathe the clean air.  I play along adding comments here and there but wondering how much weirder this all wants to get.  This was meant to be so easy, stay in a house and get paid for it.  That’s it and nothing more, a chance to repair my body and mind but instead I find the whole thing getting stranger with each passing hour.  Either I’m going mad and doing things in the night that I have no recollection off or someone is getting into the house, or is already in the house.  No, it can’t be me, I was out today when the rooms were tidied and the snooker table laid out.  Maybe it’s part me and part someone else.  Today could be entirely innocent with someone popping in and seeing the mess they would naturally clear up.  Now I’ve got a beautiful investigative journalist eating toast while sending me cryptic messages, very cloak and dagger.  It’s too much for my frail mind, it really is.  I want to just lie down in a dark room and forget everything.  But then I glance over and see her chatting away and everything just seems to slide into the background and I ease myself back to sit relaxed and listen to her soft voice.

Chapter Fourteen

‘So what’s all the secrecy about?’ Outside and we’ve walked round to the back of the house and now gently strolling across the back lawns towards the meadows.  This gives us space to talk freely, because she wants that, but also it means I can take a closer look at the fresh tracks I saw from the leisure room.  However, I’d forgotten how observant she was and she’s noticed the tracks already and I watch her eyes follow them right across the lawn until this disappear from view into the longer growth of the meadows.

‘Sorry about all this Mike, maybe I’m being too overly cautious or just plain paranoid. Where do these tracks go?’

‘Into the woods, I followed them yesterday.’

‘Oh they’re old?’

‘No these are fresh from today, or last night maybe.’

‘So there were more yesterday?’ Nodding at her I’m unsure what to say or how I explain it.

‘I was just concerned someone was snooping round seeing as the house is now empty but they just lead to the groundsman’s cottage.’

‘Stanley Cooper?’ I stop out of surprise and look at her, ‘keep walking Mike,’ she urges.  I do as told.  She gently slides in closer so she can speak quieter.

‘Tessa, what’s all this about, how do you know who the Groundsman is?’ Glancing over I can she’s in some turmoil.  Whatever it is it’s on the tip of her tongue but something is holding her back.

‘Listen Tessa, I don’t know anyone here.  I arrived a few days ago to start this job and I really don’t know anyone.’ Trying to re-assure her, ‘I’m not connected to anyone and I’ve had one call from Lord Fatty since I started.  That’s it.’ She smiles at the use of the word fatty again.

‘Have you spoken to anyone else? Anyone at all?’ Whatever is on her mind seems serious.

‘Right, I spoke to the woman in the mini-market and cocked up by spinning her a yarn and failing to realise that everyone round is married or related somehow.  Then the woman in the café who I think is related to the woman in the shop.  Her husband or brother, maybe both? Anyway he was one of the farmers in the café and they kind of asked where I was staying but it turns out they knew anyway.  That’s it, oh and the Groundsman Cooper.’

‘What’s Cooper like?’

‘Er, strange bloke if I’m honest.  I think he’s got an issue with me staying in the house and maybe thinks it should be him or something like that.’

‘So you’ve spoken to him about it?’

‘In a manner of speaking yes.’ Her turn to stop and look at me, ‘I thought we had to keep walking.’ She starts again but keeps her eyes locked on me.

‘Was that the man you were talking to when I arrived at the café this morning?’

‘Cooper? Yeah that was him.’ I know what’s coming now.

‘The man with the bruised face?’ Damn it.

‘Er, yes.’

‘How did he get those bruises?’ Shit, I didn’t expect her to ask outright.

‘I caused them Tessa, but he went for me first.’ Now she’s going to think I’m some violent bully. I’m not. Really I’m not.

‘Okay,’ finality to her voice, like she’s made a decision. ‘Mike I want to tell you something and it may sound weird but hear me out, okay?’

‘Of course,’ Years of listening to other people’s accounts, stories, backgrounds and it’s screamingly obvious that she’s very worried.  She doesn’t speak for a few minutes and I can’t tell if she just doesn’t know where to start, or if she’s still concerned about telling me.  I want to tell her about the weird things going on in the house, but I don’t know this woman and my instincts tell me to hold off.  She’s exceptionally good looking and I’m still perplexed as to why someone this pretty is taking the effort to spend time with someone like me.  But then she’s knows who I am, from my story in the press.  From that alone she can gauge that I was a good guy, a dedicated police officer.  But I don’t know her and I’ve no way of checking if she is who she says she is.

‘Right.  People are going missing in Huntington.’ She blurts it out, cutting across my thoughts like a razor sharp knife.  I show no reaction and listen intently, nodding at her to keep going.

‘I answered a call in the office one day a few months ago; the caller was a man and said exactly that that people are going missing up here.  They didn’t leave their name, the number was withheld but we’ve got systems in place to trace incoming calls for those very reasons.  Anyway, I took it to the editor who told me to report it to the police and crack on with what I was already working on.  Believe it or not, most main news rooms get calls like that several times a day.  But there was something different about this, the way he spoke.  Whispered and pleading, and he said “please do something” before hanging up.’ She pauses to draw breath, finding it hard to speak levelly while we walk over the uneven ground.’

‘Did you call the police?’

‘Yes, we have to when something like that comes in.  If we get found out later to be withholding evidence or not reporting a crime we could be in a lot of trouble.’

‘I thought journalists have special privilege in law or something?’

‘Kind off, but it’s a fine line and our editor was a very cautious man.’

‘So what did they say?’

‘Nothing, I called the Met Police and they took some details and said they would get in contact with the local force here.’

‘I can see where that went,’ I interject.

‘What?’

‘You got an anonymous call with no specific facts, just a general message.  It would be treated as information so an intelligence report would be created.  That would be graded according to the reliability, if the source is known, how the source knows the information.  In your case it would be the lowest grade.  Which means the local force here would have got a low grade information intelligence report from an anonymous source.’

‘So they wouldn’t have acted on it?’

‘The intel report would have gone through to the control room, then the enquiry centre who would have passed it to the crime desk for allocation.  In the end it would get entered into the database.  The duty sergeant coming on duty should, not always, but should check their database at the start of each shift for any new intelligence.  Yours would have been one of many that day.  Taking into account the shift rotation of days lates and nights, so that’s three shifts coming on duty that day alone, three Sergeants checking the system and each one of them not giving it the least bit of attention.

‘Oh,’ she sounds disappointed.

‘Unless it formed part of some ongoing investigation or operation; in which case the SIO would have been in contact with you within a day or so of getting the report.’

‘Wouldn’t they have at least looked into it?’ She asks, showing that despite being a hardened journalist from London, she hasn’t handled criminal matters and doesn’t have an in depth knowledge of day to day policing.

‘Probably not,’ I shrug apologetically.

‘Why? They can’t be that busy in a place like this.’

‘Ah, now that’s a common myth.  Every force works to a kind of formula.  Take Huntington for example; a vast rural area but it will be policed from a rural station with a few coppers that have responsibility for this area and many more.  And where’s there are people there are domestics, drugs, thefts, public order and car accidents, so they would be as busy as the average city police officer.’

‘Really?’ She looks at me in disbelief.

‘Absolutely.  I always assumed we must be the busiest force because we we’re the biggest.  But when I started on long term investigations we ended up all over the country and I realised nearly every copper in the country has pretty much the same workload.  Some are pro-active and will take more on, and lazy ones will avoid work like the plague but that’s no different to any job.  There’s only so much any policeman can do in one day.  The bigger forces have more people but they have more crime, the smaller forces work to a similar ratio.  The only way your report would have been acted on was if it was part of something bigger they were working on, and like I said, you would have been contacted, or some eagle eyed copper wanted to make a name for himself.’

‘Is that possible?’ I can see she looks disheartened already.

‘Probably not Tess,’ I slip into abbreviating her name without even thinking about it, ‘there’s a recession on and the government have put a pay freeze on police salary.  They’ve extended the pension scheme which means anyone with less than fifteen years’ service now has to work longer and for less, also they’ve got rid of double time and a load of other stuff too, so the average copper, even two years ago when I was in, is full of hate and apathy.’

‘Shit,’ she says with a big sigh, ‘and I figured they would be working on it.’

‘Did you ask them? When you got up here?’

‘I went into the station in the main town but the desk sergeant told me they wouldn’t comment on any current or active investigations.’

‘Did you make an application under the Freedom of Information Act? Mind you it wouldn’t apply to intelligence reports so that wouldn’t make any difference.’

‘Damn it, I wish I met you before,’ she says bitterly.

‘Well thank you very much,’ I say light-heartedly, she smiles realising what she said, ‘But having said that, if there were multiple misper reports, sorry I mean missing person reports…’

‘I know what misper means,’ she says.

‘Okay, well if there were lots of misper reports from this area then they would have acted on it.  But no, like I said before that would part of an investigation so there can’t be, or it could be that people are going missing but they’re not being reported.  Tell me more about it, what else do you know? Who went missing? When? Where from? And where did the call originate from?’ She looks at me with concern.

‘The call? The one you traced, where did it come from?’ I prompt her, thinking she’s forgotten about that bit.  She stops and stares hard at me trying to read my face then she looks back at the route we’ve taken, back towards the house.

‘It came from there,’ she nods as the house then looks straight back at me, ‘Huntington House.’ My turn to be shocked and I stare back into her blue eyes and for the first time since I met her I’m not admiring the beauty of them but reeling from what she just said.

‘Huntington House?’ I drop my head and raise my eyebrows. She stays silent but nods, waiting for my reaction.

‘I can see why you had that reaction now in the café, when I mentioned this place.  Why you wanted to come here, and why you were wary of telling me anything…and why you didn’t want to talk in the house…’she nods all the way through, she looks almost scared as if she just realised she’s stood in the middle of nowhere with a man known for violence who is staying at the house she is currently investigating.  I look back at the house, we’re on a slight slope so I can see the lawns but we’re too far away to see the track across the grass.  My mind races with what she’s told me, just one snippet of information.  Vague and dramatic, people are going missing. This is like something out of some crappy movie.  Switch on Humber, assess the facts and make an informed decision.

‘Tell me what else you know.’ We start walking again but she keeps glancing at me with furtive looks.

‘That’s it,’ she gives a little shrug and looks ahead, that’s not it.  She’s been up here for a few months working on this.

‘Tess, there must be more than that, what have you found out so far?’

‘Er, not much.  No real leads, nothing really.’ I’m right, she’s holding back, scared that she’s said too much.  Reality has hit home and she’s frightened.

‘Okay,’ I look at her, she turns to watch me and despite the neutral look there is real fear in her eyes.  It almost hurts to see it. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere; in a field with no houses in sight other than the one we came from which we both know is empty.  There won’t be phone signal here; I know that because I already checked.  You’ve just told a strange man something and now you’re scared of what might happen.  There’s more to your story, more information but you won’t say because you’re suddenly fearful.’ Her eyes go wide and I notice her mouth lips part a little, ‘Tess, I’m not involved in anything here.  I promise you.  I give you my word.  I know nothing of what you’ve just told me.’ I want to ask her if she has told anyone else, but that question at this point will scare the shit out of her.  Tread carefully Humber, for once in your life show some tact.

‘Um, can I ask you a question?’ She nods slightly. ‘Please don’t think I’m an idiot or something, but I guess you’ve been researching the house, er, have you come across anything about it being haunted? I mean I don’t actually believe in ghosts or anything like that, that’s just ridiculous,’ I’m gabbling now, I can’t believe I just asked that question. ‘It’s just you know, wondering if you saw or read anything about…that kind of thing?’

‘Why do you ask?’ She’s interested now, subtly moving in closer again.

‘Well it’s just some weird things have been happening since I got here.  Er, to be honest Tess since I left the job I’ve been struggling and I thought it was all in my mind.  It might still be in my mind, things have been happening overnight and I can’t tell if it’s me doing it or someone else, or something else.  But it won’t be something else because things like that don’t exist.’ Shut up Humber, you sound crazy.

‘What kind of things?’ I feel myself shrinking under her gaze, but it actually feels good to be sharing this.  She trusted me, so maybe I can do the same.

‘I drink at night, not every night. But sometimes I drink Vodka but I don’t just have a couple I get completely smashed to the point of oblivion, binge drinking they call it.  Well I either do that or I take sleeping pills which knock me out…’

‘After what you’ve been though I don’t blame you.’

‘Thank, that means a lot, but the point is that every night I’m either out of it on medication or completely comatose on Vodka and when I wake up things are moved, different.  Doors open that I’m sure I left closed, clothes moved and well, my fag papers went missing…’

‘And? Go on.’ She prompts me.

‘Ah in for a penny in for a pound…this morning I woke up and every door in the house was wide open.  I locked them all last night Tess, I made sure they were all locked because that house is full of very valuable antiques and I’m convinced it’s going to knocked off.  So I made sure all the interior doors were locked.  This morning they were all open, and yesterday I washed my clothes in the washing machine in the cellar, when I went down to get them I found them laid out in human form.  You know, jeans, socks, boots, t-shirts, tops, even my pants.’ She gasps and stares at me in horror.

‘The other night I got pissed and must have passed out in that leisure room upstairs, I woke up with this,’ I pull my trouser leg up to show the still livid bruise on my shin.

‘Oh my god Mike.’

‘But I don’t know if I’m doing it to myself when I’m drunk.  I was convinced I was sleep walking or something.  This was done by a snooker cue, but I could have done it myself when I was drunk.  I don’t remember any of it. And the clothes being laid out, they were so neat and tidy and I was steaming drunk.  I could have done it, but how would I make it so neat.’ I rub my head in anxiety, speaking about it makes me realise just how worried I am about my mental state.

‘Slow down Mike, it’s okay,’ she reaches out to touch place a hand on my arm.  The touch is re-assuring.  ‘Tell me from the beginning,’ she speaks softly with genuine care in her eyes.  I could cry right now.  I never cried once during any of the things I went through with the job, too full of rage, anger, righteous indignation, pride and vanity.  But now, admitting to another person that I could be losing my marbles after such a long period of isolation the tears burn the back of my eyes and I blink them away furiously.

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ she rubs my arm and I fight hard to compose myself.  I will not do this now.  I will not crumble in front of this woman.

‘Mike?’ She lifts my head up from staring firmly at the ground. I stare back and try to keep my face devoid of expression.

‘I’m sorry, there you are telling me something important and I’m blurting out my deepest darkest secrets to you, I’m ashamed.’

‘Don’t be, please!’ Looking at me in earnest, ‘There is a ghost, a famous one in fact.  A poltergeist, you know one that moves things about.’

‘Ghosts don’t exist and they certainly don’t lay clothes out like that.’

‘How do you know? Done many paranormal investigations have you detective Humber?’ She says it with humour, half smiling.

‘Well no of course not but…well there’s always an explanation.’

‘There are loads of accounts on the internet to the extent that it frustrates my research; it’s all that comes up.  The family have even done interviews about it, how things are moved around and bangs in the night.’

‘Okay, I get that there might be something spooky, closing the odd door but not opening all the doors at the same time, and I’ve never heard of a ghost causing physical injury.  I have to accept that some of it might be me.’

‘Right so fair enough.  You’ve spent the last two years going slowly downhill to the point where you are now concerned for your mental health.  And if it was you doing it to yourself, or doing the other things then you know what you have to do, right?’

‘Stop drinking and ease up on the sleeping pills.’

‘Good, now are we walking or what? And tell me from the beginning exactly what happened.’

‘You were going to tell me what you found in your research,’ we start walking slowly, our bodies only inches apart.  A feeling of closeness, something shared.  Starting from the beginning I relay how I answered the advert in the magazine all the way to this morning and seeing Cooper at the café.  Leaving nothing out I tell her the lot, including pissing on the plant pots which makes her laugh.

‘Wow, that’s some account there Mike,’ She says after I’ve blurted the lot out.  We’ve reached the wooden sty and we clamber over.  I go first and hold my hand out to help her down the other side.  She grips my hand, dropping down to face me.  Holding her hand feels nice, it’s warm and soft and she standing close from the drop off the wooden ledge.  Neither of us move for a second until we both become aware of our close proximity and I reluctantly let go off her hand, instantly regretting it.

‘Your turn,’ nodding at her with a big smile, she smiles back, shrugs and starts walking.  Falling into step next to her she loops her arm through mine and despite everything going on I suddenly feel very self-conscious, like her arm is a precious object not to be squeezed or dropped.  My god, this is the weirdest week since I beat that child rapist up got sacked and went on television.

‘Cooper could be in these woods watching us so keep your voice nice and low,’ muttering quietly with head bowed.

‘Why don’t we head back then,’ she whispers.

‘Not yet, I want to give him a chance to see us and see what he does.’

‘Mike this is serious, you’re putting both of us in danger.  I haven’t told you the rest of it yet,’ whispering fiercely now.

‘Is it that bad?’

‘Yes!’

‘Listen my legs are tired from running yesterday, do you mind if we head back,’ I speak normally, letting my voice carry in the still clear air.

‘Of course old man,’ she quips back quickly, smiling sweetly. We turn round and start heading back the down the track still arm in arm.

‘I’ve got an idea, play along,’ she bows her head as if plucking something from the front of her coat, speaking quietly from the side of her mouth.  I squeeze her arm to show I understand.

‘I still can’t believe we bumped into each other like this! Of all the places I never would have thought of seeing you here,’ she speaks clearly, head held high and projecting her voice but not shouting and making it too obvious.

‘Yeah I know, I was shocked seeing you at the café, still can’t get my head round it,’ Well done, clever thinking.  If Cooper is listening it’ll make him think we’re connected somehow.  This gives us both some protection from whatever she hasn’t told me yet.

‘All those millions of people in London and we bump into each other like that, and all the way up here in Huntington too.’

‘I must say though Tess, this clean air has done wonders for your skin.  All the acne has gone,’ I feel her grip tighten on my arm but it just draws us closer together.

‘Yes the clean air and healthy living has certainly helped, and you’ve lost weight too.  You were really chubby the last time I saw you.’

‘Ah well yes, I’ve been training and you know, eating healthier.  You’ve lost quite a few pounds too by the looks of it.  Did the Weight Watchers help much with the eating disorder?’ Her hand finds mine and I feel hot fingers squeezing.

‘Yes, they really helped.  I meant to ask you, did that STD clear up in the end?’

‘The one you gave me? Yeah the doctors were great.  They said it’s quite common among promiscuous women,’ shit, maybe I’ve gone too far.

‘I am sorry about that Mike but after finding you in bed with that other man, well I just sort of went off the rails for a bit.’ Bitch.

‘Well if you’d given me more sex then it would never have happened, and I honestly thought he was a woman.’

‘He had a beard.’

‘I was drunk.’

‘I forgive you.’

‘Thank you, mind you he wasn’t as good as you.’

‘No?’

‘Oh god no? That thing you did with the elastic band? I still think about it now.’

‘Do you?’ She purrs suggestively, my god this is getting so weird.

‘Every night and twice on Sundays.’

‘Oh you’ve kept to our schedule then?’

‘Religiously. How about you?’

‘Oh you know, here and there but no one could satisfy me like you did.  Do you still take the Viagra?’

‘Not since losing all that weight.’

‘Oh good for you,’ she slips away to jump lightly over the sty.  I follow wincing in pain from the agony in my thighs.

‘You need a massage,’ she comments, smiling at me.

‘You offering?’

‘Have you still got the oils?

‘We can use vegetable oil,’ I land heavily and stumble into her, almost knocking her over.

‘Easy tiger, right here?’ She laughs.

‘I’m too bloody old,’ I grumble as we start walking back to the house, she loops her arm through mine again.

‘STD?’ I say once we’re well into the meadow and out of earshot from the woods.

‘You said I was fat and spotty,’ she says laughing.

‘You said I need Viagra!’

‘Do you?’ She answers quickly with a glint in her eye.

‘Oh god this day is so weird.’

‘Do you think he was listening?’

‘He told me his family have worked for the Huntington’s for generations so he’ll know these woods like the back of his hands.  We’d never know, he could have been a few feet away and we’d not notice him.’ She shivers and steps in closer taking my hand and entwining her fingers through mine.

‘We’ve got a few minutes until we reach the house.  Tell me what you’ve found out.’

‘It started with that phone call; the editor didn’t want to know so I started doing some digging.  I’d already handed in my notice and was ready to go freelance.  This goes back a long time which makes it hard to find records.  I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t know how much to tell you but the man who called gave me two names.’

‘He gave you names? The police can act on that,’ I cut across her.

‘I didn’t tell the police Mike, I said I did because I got scared and thought maybe if you thought they knew…but then I forgot you were one.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the police?’

‘Like you said, journalists have special privilege in some areas.  No let me explain,’ she squeezes my hand as I start to interrupt.

‘The man gave me two names, Joanne Hartwell and Gail Jones.  That’s all he said, nothing more, other than what I said earlier.  I started digging and found out they both related to Huntington House in the 1970’s and 1980’s.  So figuring they were old cases I sat on it for a bit until I could find more out, then I could go to the police with more information.  I did make a Freedom of Information Act application for all female missing persons from this area.  They were never reported.  So I went further afield and checked the neighbouring forces, none from them either.  I tried the national missing person’s charity but they never had any records.  Which means they’ve never been reported as missing nationally as the charity has a regular feed from all the UK police forces.  Once I was away from the paper I started digging.  I pretended I was writing a factual book about the life and times of working in a privately owned stately home.  I managed to find some names of people who had worked here in the past and I contacted them, gave them my cover story and just let them talk.  It took hours and hours of phone calls and listening to boring stories of dinner parties with famous people from years ago.  But each one I spoke to I asked them to give me the names of the staff they worked with, on the premise that I wanted to build a full picture of all the staff throughout the ages.’

‘My god, that must have taken ages.’

‘Trust me it has and I was careful to do everything by phone too.  I didn’t want to meet any of them in person and I had to make sure I did a few other privately owned stately homes too, just to make it look completely convincing.’

‘Good skills,’ I compliment her methods.

‘Thanks, you should see the notes I have at home, folders and folders of them. Anyway, I built a picture of the house, how it was run, who lived there and the ghost kept coming up again and again.  It’s said to be a Lord Huntington who died back in the 1850’s.  Randy old bugger that liked getting fruity with the serving girls.’

‘That explains why no locks on the doors then.’

‘Exactly, but it did beg the question why none were ever fitted later.  There has always been live in staff at the house so those rooms would have always been used.’

‘They’re all cleared out now, looks like they have been for a while.’

‘Only about a year or so ago, then they arranged accommodation for the staff locally, they said it was because of the court proceedings you mentioned.’

‘So that bit’s true then?’

‘I’ll come onto that.  Anyway, by letting hundreds of old ladies chatter away I found out Joanne Hartwell was at the house for about three months in August 1972 and Gail Jones was about the same length of time in August 1980.  The staff who worked here at the time remember them as everyone else was long service and came from local families.  Where-as these two were not local.  City girls as they were called.  Down and outs that didn’t belong.  Young girls aged in their early twenties.  Everyone I spoke to referred to them as either lazy, or thieves or undeserving, or all three and many more.  They both arrived unexpectedly; nobody knew where they came from or anything about them.  They stayed for about three months and disappeared.  The story was that they stole money and fled overnight.  The family didn’t report them to the police as they said they didn’t want the scandal and they were just poor girls that didn’t know any better.

‘Bloody hell, but still, they’d leave a trace somewhere.’

‘Would they detective? Tell me how many prostitutes and homeless people are currently on the streets of London that have formal identities, records and families who know where they are, or where they should be?’

‘Yeah fair point,’ the answer would be thousands.

‘So I had a starting point.  Two women who disappeared eight years apart, but you know yourself that it could be entirely innocent.  They could have stolen, or run away, or just walked out in the middle of the night.’

‘True, but then why would the Huntington family employ people like that if they could resource locally?’

‘Exactly, but it’s not unheard off.  The Huntington family estate takes in everything round here.  They own every house, shop, pub and farm for miles.  Every shop in that village is owned by the estate.  Everyone in Huntington is either directly or indirectly employed by the estate.’

‘Shit, they’ve got to be minted.’

‘They are, seriously minted.’

‘You are joking? But the security at the house is appalling.  I’ve seen semi-detached houses with better security than that. No alarm, no lights outside, nothing.’

‘They’re very well connected and very powerful.’

‘Trust me Tess, that wouldn’t stop some of the criminals I know in London, in fact they’d see it as a challenge, especially some of the Eastern European gangs, they couldn’t give a shit who they were robbing.’

‘Maybe so, but I guess the assumption would be they are well secure.’

‘Not really, with that many staff coming and going and talking about the house, someone would connect the dots and do it over.’

‘This isn’t the city Mike, not everyone thinks like that.’

‘They do, anyway keep going.’

‘During all those calls I pieced together an almost complete working history of the house from those in living memory and some more from before that but that’s not so complete.  Nearly everyone is long service and, as you said, resourced locally.  Apart from Joanne Hartwell, Gail Jones, Michael Simpkins, Gloria Knight and Julie Crimmins.  All of them were short serving staff who came from cities, nobody knew them and nobody could tell me anything about them personally, and they all disappeared overnight.

‘Tess, there’s no way that many people could go missing without it being noticed or picked up on. Five people who robbed the Huntington’s and then disappeared overnight? The same story for each one? It’s just not plausible and not possible.  Maybe last century when the working families would have been almost owned by the Huntington’s and kept their mouths shut for fear of losing their jobs and houses. But this day and age? No way.  I just don’t buy it.’

‘It wasn’t the same story for each of them.  Hartwell and Jones were the only two said to have taken money and remember they were almost a decade apart.  Knight left a note saying she was pregnant and was going back to the city to find the father.’

‘What about the other two?’

‘They are very interesting.  They worked together in 1995; they both came from cities with the same background as the others.  Nobody knew them and they didn’t know each other, but according to the staff I spoke to they fell in love and eloped.’

‘That’s not unreasonable, it happens all the time.’

‘They were seen spending more and more time together, she was working in the house and Simpkins was working the grounds.  The staff I spoke to said it was quite sweet and they were both hard workers.’

‘So? Like I said, it sounds quite reasonable.  They met each other and decided to head back to the city.’

‘The staff I interviewed said they were happy, they worked hard and settled in very well.  They got on with everyone else and made sure their relationship didn’t interfere with their work.’

‘So you’re thinking that if they were happy and settled working hard and enjoying their new roles then why would they give it up and leave?’

‘Yes, it doesn’t sound right, and the staff said the Huntington’s didn’t object to the romance, in fact they went out of their way to make sure they had the same time off together.’

‘Hmmm, okay so you’ve got Hartwell coming in the early seventies, stealing money and doing one overnight, then Jones in the early eighties doing the same thing.  Knight got pregnant and ran off, when was she here?’

‘Late eighties, but even then an unplanned pregnancy wasn’t the great taboo it once was.’

‘Maybe not in the cities but up here in the countryside I can imagine they had old fashioned values and it could still be a scandal for the family.  Maybe Lord Fatty took after his rampant Great Grandfather or whatever he was and got Knight pregnant, they could have paid her off to avoid the outrage.  And as for Simpkins and Crimmins, well it just doesn’t sound beyond the realms of normality.  Young people run off together all the time.’

‘So where are they now?’

‘I don’t know they could’ve gone back to one of the cities they came from.’

‘Facebook, Friends Re-united, Twitter, not one of them are on any of those or any other sites I looked at.’

‘Tess, there are a lot of people from that generation that don’t use social sites, I don’t use social sites.  The women could have got married and now use different surnames.  Moved abroad, changed their names, gone back to families.  You’d have to find out where they came from and then check that area’s Births Deaths and Marriages register.  Once you’ve got a registered birth you can start trawling, find the family home and speak to neighbours.  If they sold the house or moved on then speak to the local estate agents and see if they have details of forwarding addresses.  Work out what year they would’ve attended the local schools and then check the social sites for classmates of that year.  Someone will remember them.  Have you got any background information about any of them? Where they came from?’

‘At home in the files,’ she sounds downbeat and almost disappointed.

‘I’m sorry I’m not dismissing it, just at this stage of the investigation there isn’t a lot to go on.  Is there anything else? Any suggestion of foul play? I take it you’re thinking they were murdered?’

‘Well I was, but I’m not so sure now.’

‘You got that call, and it came from this house so someone was concerned enough to make that call.  They gave you two names so that indicates it’s someone who remembers both of them but who still has access to the house now in order to make that call, and it was a male voice whereas I’m guessing the majority of the household staff would be women.  It’s a strong starting point and what you’ve done already is great.  All we need is a thread to start pulling at.  They must have chatted to the other staff and said where they came from.  Once we’ve got that we can start researching the area of origin.’

‘We?’ She says almost challenging me with one eyebrow raised and a wry smile.

‘Okay you.  I’m quite happy here getting terrorised by the ghost of old Lord Huntington.  I hope he doesn’t confuse me with a serving girl…that could be weird.’

‘Maybe you could take a look at the files I’ve got so far and help me work out the next steps.’

‘Yeah I’d love to, but working as a consultant,’ I draw a sharp intake of breath ‘Well I’m not cheap let’s put it that way.’

‘Fair enough, I will pay you with coffee and dinner. How about that?’

‘I don’t want any cheap coffee, none of that supermarket own brand stuff and I don’t know what your cooking is like.’

‘Decent coffee and my cooking is fine thank you.’

‘You don’t sound convincing.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘Really? I’m not hearing a confident voice here. I bet you did what the rest of us hard working city folk did and lived on takeaways and frozen pizza.’

‘I can cook!’ She laughs.

‘Fair enough, so when do you want me round?’ I’m trying to sound casual but I’m already nervous.

‘Tonight? Unless you have plans that it.’

‘Oh I can’t do tonight, me and the polterghost have a games night planned.’

‘Poltergeist.’ She corrects.

‘You say poltergeist…I say polterghost.  I want to call Lord Fatty and see who came in to tidy up first.  He never mentioned if they want me in the house every evening or not.  You could always come here?’

‘I don’t know Mike, is it wise to be talking about this in the house?’

‘Bring a radio, we can put some music on and talk quietly.  I can’t imagine for one second they have listening devices, if they do then I would have been very sacked by now after my behaviour, but the music will cover our voices.  I’ll find out if I can come to you, if not you come here.’

In the house and Tessa makes coffee while I quickly scout the house to see if anything else has been moved.  I say quickly but it’s a big house and it takes quite a few minutes to get round it.  Everything seems fine as far as I can tell.  Finally I’m back in the kitchen picking up my mug of coffee as the phone in the hallway starts ringing.  Tess raises her eyebrows at me.

‘That’s fortuitous…’ I remark, taking the coffee with me I walk over and lift the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘Mike, it’s Charles here.’ Lord Fatty.

‘Hello Sir, how are you?’ Why is he calling now?

‘Fine thank you Mike, I’m sorry to disturb you but someone was passing and said they saw another car on the driveway.  Is everything okay?’ The drive is a mile long so there is no way someone could be “passing” and see Tessa’s car.  They could have seen her pulling in behind me, but not seen the car parked.  Cooper.

‘Yes fine.  I was going to call actually Sir, I bumped into an old friend from London in the village and we’re just catching up. I hope that’s okay, you know for someone to come and have coffee here.’

‘Oh I see!’ He sounds jolly as ever, ‘absolutely fine with that. I was worried in case one of the family had come round to cause problems or gained access.’

‘No, nothing like that Sir er, the other thing is that I popped out for a walk in the grounds with my friend and someone’s been in and tidied up.’

‘Oh, right.  Well that’s not on.  It could be one of the staff, we’ve got some part time staff that popped in once a week or so but I’m sure we told them all to stay away.  Let me check on that. Everything else okay?’

‘Yep, no problems at all Sir.’

‘That’s wonderful, I must say it’s a small world with you meeting an old chum. Did you work with her in London?’ I never said it was a female.

‘No, we moved in the same circles.  Had the same friends and met up at social events, you know that kind of thing.’

‘Yes! That’s wonderful,’ stop saying that, ‘so she’s living in Huntington now?’ Does trunky want a bun?

‘I guess so; I don’t know to be honest Sir.  I don’t know my way around at all.  May I ask? She said about meeting up in the evening, but I’m not sure if I’m required to be here all the time or not?’

‘No, you carry on Mike.  You’re very isolated up there so feel free to pop out whenever you want.  The only thing is that we do need you to be there over-night.  That was specified in the agreement.’ Does he mean the agreement with the family or an agreement with me? I didn’t read the bloody email properly but he certainly never said anything.

‘That’s fine Sir, I understand.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ He said it again; I swear if he keeps saying it… ‘So everything else okay?’ That’s twice he’s asked now.  Hmmm, let’s see what he says.

‘Well actually Sir, there are a few bumps and bangs in the night and things getting moved about.’ He laughs all jolly fat and ginger.

‘Oh that’s wonderful!’ I he said it, I am going to punch him in the face now, ‘that’ll be old Charlie our resident ghost, he’s quite famous you know. Pay no attention he’s harmless.’ Apart from beating me in the legs with a snooker cue that is.

‘Oh right I did wonder.’

‘I should have said something but it was interesting to see if you’d pick up on it yourself without me prompting you.’ Oh so I’m a test case now am I?

‘Well I certainly have Sir.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Is it? Is it wonderful? You’re world might be wonderful you fat lump of lard but mine bloody isn’t.

‘Yes Sir.’

‘Her ladyship will love this; I can’t wait to tell her.’ Ladyship? Common men call their spouses “lady” and that’s fine, but your wife really is a Lady so you can’t use it.

‘Ha, well it certainly makes it interesting Sir.’

‘’Well anyway Mike, glad you’re okay and do call if you need anything.’

‘Will do Sir, bye.’ I hang up with my fingers gripping the handset.  I don’t know of that man is a mass murderer or not but if he keeps saying everything is wonderful I will kill him to death with my bare hands.

‘Was that Lord Fatty?’ I turn round to see Tessa stood in the hallway with her wrapped round her front and holding her mug of coffee under her chin.  Only women ever stand like that, I’ve never once seen a man stand like that.

‘Yep, wonderful.  Everything is wonderful.’ She looks at me with a puzzled expression. ‘That’s all he says, that everything is wonderful.  It’s very irritating.’

‘Okay Mr Angry, anything else?’  I relay the conversation and how jolly and happy he sounded.

‘So he knew I was here and that I’m a woman.’

‘It must be Cooper, he would have seen us walking through the grounds.’

‘But he’s okay with it?’

‘More than happy, he said I can come and go as I please but the only rule is that I have to be here over-night which is more than fair.’

‘Dinner tonight then?’ She says smiling sweetly.

Chapter Fifteen

Standing at the door I watch her drive away until the rear of the vehicle disappears from view and I’m once more left alone in the big empty house.  She leaves a void and I’m suddenly aware of just how alone I am.  Apart from the ghost that is but I really don’t believe in them; my world has always been about reality and the depravity of man against man, or woman for that matter.  The dead can’t hurt you but maybe there is something in it.  I’ve heard theories of violent deaths scorching the air or the atmosphere around them so that it gets replayed like a record player or something to with the natural radio waves and frequencies.  Whatever it might be It’s dead and even if it could open the odd door or hide a packet of cigarette papers then I doubt it could go so far as opening every door in the house, arranging clothing or whacking me with a snooker cue.  No, something else is going on here I’m sure of it.

Maybe Tessa is on to something, it could be that people are going missing but that would implicate Lord Fatty as it would have been his family that brought these people in from the cities.  The most likely explanation for the spooky house things is Cooper.  He wants me gone of that I am certain and he obviously called Lord Fatty today and told him I was with someone.  I’ve got a few hours until I need to get ready for meeting Tessa so maybe I should pay him another visit.  No, that would be predictable and maybe it’s time for a change of tactics.

After wedging the chair against the door I limp painfully down the cellar steps and start going through the cupboards and drawers until I find what I’m looking for.  A house this size with as many fabrics as they have must be prepared for running repairs.  The sewing kit is the largest I’ve ever seen, bigger than my own grandmothers who had quite a collection.  Reels of every colour cotton and marked into sections with the names of the rooms so they match the colour schemes.  I heft the big basket and head back up the stairs and into the entrance hall.  This is a crude well known method and wouldn’t stand up against anyone with even basic knowledge or training but with such short notice it’s about all I can do.  Taking the sewing basket I move over to the front door and examine the area, the front door is built into a large porch extending out from the front of the house.  From the inside there is a recess and I find two points either side of the door and attach a length of the thinnest white cotton across.  The trick being not to pull it taught otherwise the person walking through it will feel the tug on their leg as the cotton breaks.  Checking there is enough room to swing the door open I step back to look.  It’s seems glaringly obvious to me but then I know it’s there and once I’m a few steps away it can hardly be seen, plus someone coming in from outside will be looking up at the interior doors and stairs and not down at their feet.

With the front door complete I move to the back door and this time I extend the cotton line immediately outside the back door between two plant pots, and I select a dull grey coloured shade to blend in with the mortar between the brick work.  It would take too long to do the every door in the house so I choose a few strategically; my bedroom, Lord Fatty’s suite and the leisure room.  Task complete and with the basket returned to the cellar I go back upstairs and stand in the hallway, listening intently and thinking.  But every time I try and put my thoughts in order an image of Tessa swims into view.  Standing close to me when we crossed the sty, her arm looping through mine, her hand clasped tightly, she smelled lovely, fresh and the way she smiles so much.  I shake the thoughts out of my head and look up the stairs, half expecting to see some ghostly apparition drifting through the wall.  The grandfather clocks tick the seconds of my life away noisily but other than that it’s silent and brooding.  My eyes come to rest on the paintings on the walls and I walk closer, examining each in turn.  Most of them are scenes of the great outdoors with men in red coats on horses surrounded by fox hounds.  Every now and then a portrait is hanging, showing the Lords of Huntington through the ages.  The current Lord Fatty doesn’t have one but I suppose they have to be commissioned or something, and if the ownership of the property is in dispute then then it might mean the old Lord has only recently died.

Examining the paintings I realise that the same man appears in most of them; the big man with whiskers who looks like Lord Fatty.  In nearly every picture he’s astride some big horse and either wearing the red jacket of the fox hunt or dressed in the military regalia of long ago.  The paintings are dated from the early 1800’s.  This must be the Lord Huntington who died in the 1850’s.  Checking back along at the dates I see none of the paintings are dated past 1856.  He was clearly a very vain man, filling his own house with images of himself.  None of the paintings show his wife or children, just him on horseback leaping over a hedge, or a river, or galloping on the flat, or sat outside an Inn and drinking a tankard full of frothing ale, another one of him swinging a long sabre at some terrified natives of god knows where.

‘Vain, fat, ginger and ugly,’ I say out loud as I move from one to the next.  Imagine if he was alive in these days with modern camera’s and Facebook; he’d break the internet with pictures of himself.  I remember the bruise across my leg and worry that he might have heard me.

‘Mind you he carries it well and more strawberry blonde than ginger.’ You coward Humber. Scared of a ghost?

‘Ah fuck it; you are a fat and ugly man Lord Huntington.  Fat and ginger and you smell of cat piss. Hear me Fatty Catpiss? HEAR ME FATTY CATPISS? YOU ARE UGLY AND FAT.’ Yeah, well done Humber, you shout at the empty house.  Very sane.

Chapter Sixteen

I feel like an idiot. More of an idiot than normal too.  I spent the rest of the afternoon having a bath, shaving and brushing my teeth repeatedly before rooting through my pathetically limited wardrobe.  Not even a wardrobe but a pile of clothes stuffed into a rucksack.  I choose my other pair of jeans and a clean t shirt and even make the effort of going back into the cellar and wrestling with the big ironing machine in a stupid attempt to make myself more presentable.  Wishing I had aftershave, or even some decent deodorant and trying to figure out if I should take anything with me.  Bottle of wine? Flowers? Chocolates? I’m so out of date with this kind of thing and I have to remind myself I’m going round to look through her files and nothing else.  Mind you, she did seem quite keen and she offered dinner too.  What does that mean? Offering dinner in the evening, does it mean anything? She could have brought them here, or we could have met in the daytime but she offered to make dinner.  So that means a dinner date right? Like a proper date? No, it’s not it’s just two people meeting up and discussing things.  Where would I get wine from anyway? I could raid the wine cellar here but I don’t know anything about wine and I’d probably end up taking something worth more than the average house.

Finally I’m in the Landy and driving through country lanes, the house has been set up for the night with curtains drawn and lights on.  I’ve locked the doors up and taken care to make sure I stepped over my cotton traps.  Going up the drive I could see the house behind me and with the lights on in the rooms it doesn’t look quite so sinister or spooky.

It doesn’t take too long to find her house, she gave me directions and told me to pass through the village and keep going on the main road until I find the only junction.  Turn left and keep going.  Far easier than cities these country roads and it’s not too long until I’m pulling up outside a row of cottages, all of them looking picturesque with lights on inside.  I park on the verge and head over to the last cottage looking at the warm glow coming from the front room when the curtains are pulled back and she’s waving and smiling at me.  I try to act cool and nonchalant and wave back.

The path weaves through a small front lawn and round to the side of the house and the door is already opened when I get there, with Tessa stood there smiling and looking gorgeous in blue jeans and a white shirt.

‘Hi, you found it okay then?’ She leans in to kiss me on the cheek and my nose is filled with her intoxicating perfume.  She looks beautiful with carefully applied make-up and hair pulled back into a simple pony tail showing her slender neck and flawless skin.

‘Yes, fine thank you.’ I wanted to make some cool and witty reply but I’m too overwhelmed and stick with good old fashioned politeness instead.

‘Come in, sorry about the mess.’ Why do people always say that? Even if their home is shown room condition they say it, like it’s some get out clause in case of a random spot of dust being seen.  Walking in I can see the front room is illuminated by soft lamps and has a big comfy looking armchair, old style cottage décor with a thick carpet and low ceilings, cosy and warm.  A staircase in front of me leads upstairs.  She walks the other way and I follow into a dining room come office with a big table half set for dinner at one end and the other stacked high with hardback files and papers.  A small desk one side with a laptop open and ready for use, printer connected with an office style lamp next to the laptop, soft music playing from an iPod docking station.

‘Wow you have been busy,’ I remark, taking in the piles of folders and papers.

‘Yeah, you might regret offering now.’

‘I didn’t offer, you asked,’ I smile to show there’s no offence meant.

‘I did,’ she concedes with a smile.

‘Er, I was going to bring something but I didn’t know what.  I thought about wine but to be honest I don’t know anything about wine and I didn’t know where to get flowers from this time of night in the country.  I suppose I could have picked some but it’s October and I wouldn’t know where to look…I’m wittering aren’t I?’

‘Yes, would you like a drink,’ she laughs at my nervousness, ‘relax; I invited you with late notice so you’re forgiven,’ she turns then stops to look back with a serious expression, ‘this time anyway.’

‘Okay and I’d love a drink please.’

‘Wine okay?’

‘I’m driving,’ the reply is automatic.

‘One won’t hurt and we’re having a meal, it’s not strong stuff.’

‘Yeah okay then, thank you.’

‘You’re very well-mannered tonight detective Humber; anyone would think you were nervous.’

‘Me? Nervous? Never, nerves of steel me.’

‘Yeah okay then…’ she laughs again from the kitchen before appearing with two wine glasses.  She hands me one and stands there looking at me casually until I shift uncomfortably.

‘You keeping that coat on all night?’ she laughs again as I sheepishly take it off and hand it over, ‘anymore spooky goings on this afternoon?’ She takes my coat to an under stairs cupboard.

‘No nothing, I paid a bit more attention to the paintings in the hallway though.  They’re all of Lord Huntington from the 1800’s, the one that would be the ghost.’

‘Oh really, I didn’t really I as I was too busy watching you limp up those stairs.’

‘Very funny, but they’re all of him on horseback doing heroic things, no family portraits, no women, no children, just him surrounded by minions or cutting down natives.’

‘Ah the vain poltergeist, rampaging round the house looking for serving wenches to ravage.’

‘Bloody hell, you can tell you’re a reporter using words like that.’

‘Journalist please.  I am not a reporter,’ she says looking at me pointedly.

‘Chasing poor celebrities for salacious gossip.’

‘Who is using big words now?’

‘Are these the files then?’ I stare down at the files stacked on the table then place my wine glass to the side before picking the first one up.

‘That’s them, here I’ll show the order,’ she steps in close, almost brushing against me as she leans over and starts sorting them into separate piles.

‘This file contains the list of staff and the dates they served from and to, and hopefully it’s in some form of date order but it might be a little out of sync,’ I glance down at the pages as she flicks through them and see mostly women’s names listed with dates and the positions they held, some of the women have multiple dates and roles as they worked their way through the hierarchy or if they left and re-joined later.

‘These files are cross referenced to the staff and contain the accounts they gave me, rough notes mostly of the comings and goings, dates of particular events they recalled such as dinner parties or society events, that kind of thing…’ She carries on detailing the records but I get distracted by her slender fingers and freshly painted nails and my eyes can’t help but work along to her slim wrists poking the ends of her shirt sleeves, the very fine hair barely noticeable on her arms.  She’s facing me slightly and bending forward, my eyes continue their travels over her shoulders and the blond hair pulled back and I watch the pony tail dance about as she moves her head while telling me something about folders and dates.  Without intention my eyes then fall down, to the top of her blouse and the several buttons undone at the top and really I can’t help stare just for a split second at her cleavage showing through the gap and the white bra she’s wearing underneath the blouse.  My heart really does skip a beat but unfortunately I choose the wrong split second to look because she’s stopped talking and is looking up at me with a knowing smile.  I feel myself going very red, very quickly.  I could have reacted any other way, tried to pass it off and asked her to continue or made some funny joke but instead I get caught red handed and react like a guilty schoolboy.

‘Did you listen to anything I just said or did you just stare at my breasts the whole time?’ She says without malice and thankfully with humour.

‘Oh god I’m sorry Tess,’ I laugh at myself and admit the offence early hoping for a reduced sentence.

‘Men!’ She laughs and heads back to the kitchen.

‘I’ll er, take a look at these then,’ I shout after her.

‘I hope you like chicken.’

‘I love chicken.’

‘Let me guess, the breast?’

‘Very funny,’ I listen to her pottering about and opening the oven door, a rich smell of roasting chicken permeates the room within a few minutes and makes me realise how hungry I am.  Opening the first few folders I quickly scan down at the names of the staff and the dates they worked.  Then I open the next folder and check the cross referencing, picking certain names at random and checking for their account.  The sheets are printed out and I can tell from the font that they’ve been very cleverly formatted.  Within each of the accounts are other names, dates and events mentioned.  These are bolder and must be hyperlinked so the reader can click and be taken straight to that point.

‘Great system,’ I call out, she replies but I miss it in the din of pots and pans being banged about.  Tessa has worked hard and it must have taken dedication and a great deal of effort to produce these results.  If nothing ever comes of the missing people she would be able to produce a great book.

Some of the folders contain sheets of handwritten notes, the ones she took when making the calls.  Everything stored and retained which again shows a thorough approach and a very methodical way of working.  Record, retain and reveal.  The three ‘R’s of any case worker.  Maybe not so much for journalists as they’re not bound by the same rules of disclosure as the police.  But if any criminal proceedings ever come from this investigation, the police team and in particular the disclosure officer will be very appreciative of Tessa’s methods.

Finally I open the last folder and this one is far thinner than the others.  It contains just five sheets of paper.  Each one headed with one of the five names of the suspected missing people.  Joanne Hartwell is first and is recorded as having worked at the house for three months in 1972, below that is a key, giving the reference numbers of the members of staff who recalled her.  The only known fact was that she was from London, or rather that she said she was from London but it’s recorded that she spoke with a London accent.  Hartwell went overnight after being said to have stolen from the house.

Gail Jones worked for three months in 1980 and again the sheet cross references the staff who remember her.  She too went overnight and it followed that she stole money from the house.  No mention of where she came from, only that she spoke with a southern accent.

Gloria Knight was only there for two months in 1987 and, as Tessa told me, she left a note saying she was pregnant and was going back to the city to find the father.  Tessa had seemingly asked if anyone had seen her handwriting before the note was found but none of the staff could recall seeing anything of that nature.  No mention of where she came from, only that she spoke with a very common accent so possibly London again.

Michael Simpkins and Julie Crimmins were employed in 1995 and again for only a few months.  They didn’t appear to know each other before they arrived and were quickly in a relationship, the main difference with Simpkins and Crimmins is that unlike the other three; they were well liked, worked hard and appeared to do try and fit in.  Comments recorded on the sheet indicate that the staff were very surprised they left as they both seemed to be doing so well.  More information was recorded for these two as they tried to ingratiate themselves into the household.  Simpkins came from Manchester and spoke with a strong accent and Crimmins was from Birmingham and also spoke with a strong accent.

A few things leap out at me, all of the girls were said to be aged in their early twenties and were blonde haired, blue eyed, thin build and very pretty with Simpkins being also early twenties, but with dark hair and dark features.  All of the girls were described as being ill-educated, rough speaking with little or no manners, surly and unhelpful.  The only exception was Crimmins but she was also of this nature until after a month or so of being at the house and changed quite quickly once she got with Simpkins.

There is a pattern here, not the strongest but even the worst murder cases have to be started somewhere.  The girls all looked alike which showed a recurring theme in their recruitment process.  They were of a similar age and of similar background in that they were down and outs, city girls who were obviously under-fed and had little or no understanding of the expected behaviour within a stately home.  Already there’s an image forming of a seedy lord Huntington cruising round inner city streets looking for young blonde haired blue eyed prostitutes, checking their backgrounds and selecting the ones with no one to care for them, no family or ties.  Every year there are hundreds, if not thousands of young people that run away from their homes and flee to the bright city lights.  Big dreams of finding fame or high paid work but the reality is they get sucked into the dark underbelly and end up selling their bodies for food and drugs.

It must have felt like a dream come true, having a wealthy man sweep them away to live in the beautiful countryside but only to find the dull routine of servitude too much to take and I can imagine them being ostracised and picked on by the other staff.  If they were beautiful girls, and thin too then I know only too well how jealousy could invoke a backlash.  Their lives could have been utter misery, and that’s not supposition but if the staff are remarking on them with negative descriptive this many years later then god only knows what kind of attitude and reaction they would have had back then.

Tessa has done a great job here, but the main skills she has shown have been in the manner of the subject being explored and building the files.  There are basic questions that should have been explored.  It’s human nature that someone new coming into an established and secure environment creates a power surge amongst the already established persons.  The same as when someone leaves and a power vacuum is created.  People will instinctively jostle about and jut their elbows out in an effort to move up the pack hierarchy.  The staff would have initially shown an interest, asking where she was from, who she was, what her family thought of her moving her, did she have a boyfriend and how was she recruited.  There would have been hundreds of questions thrown at the poor girl; some may have even shown kindness at first.  But none of that information is here, which could be that the woman don’t remember the answers, choose not to remember the answers or Tessa didn’t ask the right questions in the right way.  But then she picked up on the use of open and closed questions at the café which shows she has an understanding of effective interview techniques.  Flicking back through the first files I can see how many people Tessa has already spoken to and the amount of information she has gathered.  A noise brings me back into the room and I look up to see Tessa stood nearby watching me intently and pretending to cough lightly.

‘Sorry I was absorbed,’ I smile up at her.

‘Food’s ready.’

‘Great, I’m starving.’

Dinner is served, roast chicken with potatoes and vegetables.  Remarkably simple but completely delicious and I tuck in with gusto.

‘This is lovely, really very nice.’

‘Nothing special but you looked like a man who would enjoy a roast dinner.’

‘Definitely, good observation,’ I can see she’s itching to ask the experienced detective his view of her work but she lets me eat for a few minutes, making small talk and sipping wine.

‘Your files are brilliant Tessa; we could have done with people like you in our teams.  The hyperlinking is especially good.  Very good file construction.’

‘Really? It’s so much easier to hyperlink them and click back and forth between subjects.’

‘It’s very good.  You’ve done a huge amount of work here.’

‘But…’

‘But what?’

‘There’s a but coming.’

‘No criticism, first rule of investigation is the ego is left at the door, but there are some questions if I may ask?’

‘Please do, honestly be as brutal as you want,’ she says with real enthusiasm and not a trace of sarcasm.

‘First my observations; all of the girls have, on paper, a similar appearance.  Young, blonde, blue eyed and beautiful and thin build too.  From your notes they are described as being ill-educated, rude, surly and so forth which suggests they came not only from cities but from inner cities and lived on the streets.  Thin because they can’t afford to eat as much as everyone else.  Surly and rude because that’s the way they’ve had to be to survive.  Ill-educated because they have no family to support or guide them.  So it suggests they’ve been picked with a recurring theme in mind.  There’s no way that young girls coming into an established working house like Huntington could not have had a hundred questions thrown at them from the other staff.  But that information is missing, where did they come from? Not just London but which part of London.  What family did they leave behind? Did they have boyfriends? What work did they do before?  Even if the girls were surly and rude they would have revealed something of themselves.’

‘They didn’t,’ Tessa cuts across me. ‘The staff all say they were rude.  I asked if they were withdrawn or perhaps overwhelmed by they said no, some even said they tried making conversation but the girls just rebuffed them.’

‘All of them?’

‘Yes, all of them.’

‘What does that tell us?’ I’ve slipped with comfortable ease back into detective mode.  I could be sat in a major incident room right now, talking through the case points with the Senior Investigating Officer and brainstorming to establish known facts and new leads.

‘It tells us they were told not to say anything,’ Tessa says flatly.

‘Maybe, it could point that way and it’s certainly an option to consider but we shouldn’t assume it’s fact.’

‘Why else wouldn’t they say anything?’

‘If they came from inner cities then think of the lifestyles they’ve probably led.  Opening yourself up to anyone is a show of weakness, a show of trust and for most people living on the streets that’s something they very quickly not to do.’

‘If they came from the streets,’ Tessa emphasis the first word.

‘True, at this stage we have to establish starting points of where to look next.  So in order to narrow that down we have to assume some things, if we negate those assumptions then we can re-assess the facts and make an informed decision about where to look next.’

‘Okay I’m with you, so if we work from the basis of the girls being from the streets or homeless or prostitutes then there must be agencies we can use to trace where they came from.’

‘Start with the last two, Simpkins and Crimmins as they’re records will be the most recent.  Contact homeless shelters, charities, drop in centres anything like that and see if anyone remembers them.  Try using the city councils Births, Deaths and Marriages services, some of them are online.’

‘We could try now, after dinner I mean.’

‘Not the database, that’s too big to be online.  They have online ordering services so it still takes time but it saves sending an application by post or attending in person.’

‘Oh,’ she pauses, ‘there’s a lot I don’t know.’

‘There’s a lot I wouldn’t know about journalism and the way you do things and you’ve done a fantastic job so far.  This food really is good.’

Sat in the lounge and after two glasses of wine I’ve switched to coffee.  I can’t imagine there would be a patrol car out in these country lanes in the evening but it’s not worth the risk.  Tessa doesn’t have that concern and is sat with her legs curled under her, sipping from another glass and looking truly stunning in the soft warm light.  Despite her protests I insisted on helping with the dishes which gave us both a chance to chat amiably in the warm kitchen.

‘So are you nervous about going back tonight?’ She asks.

‘No not really, I still don’t really believe in ghosts.’

‘What about the thought of someone creeping round, that would freak me out completely.’ It doesn’t feel nice but I’ve been so self-absorbed lately and thinking it was me doing it that I never really believed it was someone else.

‘I don’t know I’m still not convinced it wasn’t me doing it.’

‘Are you taking the sleeping pills tonight?’

‘I don’t want to, I really don’t.  But it doesn’t matter how sleepy or tired I am as soon as my head hits the pillow I get restless and then the thoughts in my head that I won’t sleep without them.’

‘You’ve got to break the cycle somehow, can you reduce the dose?’ I don’t want to tell her that I already double dose.

‘Yeah I could try that maybe or just grow a pair and do without it.  Even if it means not sleeping all night.’  She lifts the bottle of wine from the floor and pours more into her glass before shifting her position and stretching her legs out with her feet resting against the side of my thigh.

‘Do you mind?’ She asks.

‘Not at all, you carry on,’ of course I don’t mind, even her feet touching my leg is electrifying.

‘Well in that case,’ she laughs and slumps down lower bringing her legs over to rest across my thighs, ‘ah that’s better, you make a good foot rest Mr Humber.’

‘Glad I can be of service.’

‘Oh you have been and thank you for going through the files I can start first thing tomorrow.’ I bring my arms down to rest on her shins and I’m still surprised as hell at how I ended up here.

‘Have you tried relaxation techniques? Maybe that would help you sleep.’

‘The doctor said about cognitive behaviour therapy and tried urging me to use natural remedies instead.  But I was a dick and insisted he give me pills.’

‘You’re not a dick, after everything you went through no one can blame you.  But…’ she sips at the wine, ‘relaxation techniques are good, help clear your mind.’

‘Have you tried any?’

‘I did yoga for a while; my job was stressful and pressure all the time, deadlines, meetings, phone going all the time.’

‘Did it help?’

‘I think so.  I tried the natural pills and drinks too sometimes.  To be honest I was so knackered by the time I got to bed I was out like a light.’

‘I used to be like that, or drunk from the pub after work.’ She giggles suddenly and takes another big drink from her glass.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘There’s always the tried and tested method,’ she laughs again.

‘What?’

‘You know…’

‘No, what?’ she’s still giggling and holding her wine glass with both hands.

‘You know…’ she winks theatrically.

‘What!?’ She laughs harder and I feel her legs kicking slightly.

‘Oh my word Mike, you know… the method that releases endorphins…into the system.’ She winks again and I can’t help but laugh at the way she does it, nodding her head while slowly bringing one eye to blink but getting it wrong and blinking with both eyes.

‘No I don’t know….oh hang on…you mean… are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?’

‘YES! It always works, guaranteed.’ Still giggling she sips at her glass again and stares at me, watching with pleasure as I shift uncomfortably.

‘Don’t be embarrassed, everyone does it.’

‘I…er…’ I don’t know what to say.

‘Really everyone does it.  You do don’t you?’

‘Tess! I can’t answer that.’

‘You must do it, when was the last time?’ She’s still giggling unashamedly.

‘Er…’ I try to think of a way of changing the subject. She pushes her calves down on my legs harder.

‘I’m not letting you go until you answer Mr Humber, now when was the last time?’

‘Tess I can’t answer that,’ I plead but her legs push down harder and she giggles more.

‘I’m sorry Mike, I can see you’re uncomfortable but I’m not letting you go until you answer.  When was the last time?’  Without thinking I put my hand to the base of her foot, she’s only wearing thin socks and I tickle the arch with my fingers.

‘No! Stop…Stop it!’ she drums her legs but doesn’t pull back and she laughs harder as I tickle more.

‘I will not submit, tell me!’ She wails between giggles.’ I bring my left arm down to rest against her shins and push down, holding her ankles in position while I tickle with my right hand.

‘Ahhh no! I’m not giving in, this is police brutality,’ she laughs, ‘when was the last time?’

‘I can’t remember, a long time ago,’ I give in and blurt it out between laughing.

‘Really?’ I’ve stopped tickling now and she relaxes, still giggling softly and twitching her legs.  My hand remains on her feet gently rubbing.

‘Ah that’s nice,’ she wriggles the toes of the foot I’m rubbing, ‘you really can’t remember?’

‘Nope.’

‘That’s awful.’

‘Why?’

‘Very sad, you should do it.’

‘I don’t know…’

‘It’ll help trust me.’

‘Maybe.’

‘No maybe about it, you have to do it tonight.’

‘What here?’

‘If you really want to,’ she bursts out laughing, ‘or later when you get home.’

‘Maybe.’

‘I am going to write a prescription for you Mr Humber, one five knuckle shuffle to be administered before bed.’ My turn to burst out laughing this time.

‘Five knuckle shuffle!?’

‘Yes, don’t laugh. This is serious, stop laughing Mr Humber…’

‘Okay.’

‘I’m being serious, really try it.  It helps.’

‘Does it now?’ I raise an eyebrow at her.

‘Ha, yes I do it, everyone does it.’ An image fills my mind and she knows it as she smiles coyly at me.

‘Well I haven’t for a long time,’ I say finally, shaking my head to clear the image away.

‘Was it that bad?’

‘What?’

‘The image in your head, you had to shake it clear, was it that bad?’ She laughs gently.

‘What are you? Psychic?’

‘So you were thinking of it then,’ she cries out in triumph.

‘Of course not, I was thinking of engines and woodwork and manly things of that nature.’

‘Such a liar.’

‘Was not,’ I say defiantly.

‘Okay, we’ll see.’

‘How?’

‘Well when I go to bed I shall undress slowly, peeling my tight jeans off to throw them on the floor before unbuttoning my blouse…one button at a time until I’m stood in my bra and panties…’

‘It won’t work…’

‘Then I shall have a warm shower with lots and lots of soap.’

‘Won’t work…I’m thinking of petrol engines and lawnmowers.’

‘After that I shall dry myself off slowly….and then maybe rub some oil into my skin, all of my skin…’ Her legs shift closer to my groin and I put my hand out to push them away.

‘Not working is it?’ she laughs.

‘Nope, still thinking of power tools and football.’

‘The oil I shall rub all over my long legs and into my stomach before slowly working up to my firm, hard…’ she breathes the last few words out.

‘Stop!’ I cry out. She pushes her legs towards my groin again and this time I have to hold them away for fear of embarrassment.

‘Ha, got you!’ she giggles.

‘Not fair.’

‘Hey it’s your imagination not mine.  I was just describing my nightly routine that’s all.’

‘Yeah of course you were…in graphic detail.’

‘Ah bless.’

‘What’s the time?’

‘Why? In a hurry to go?’ She jokes but leans over to peer down at her phone on the floor, pressing a button to illuminate the screen. ‘it’s eleven thirty.’

‘Already? Bloody hell I didn’t realise it was so late.’

‘It’s not late.’ Tessa protests.

‘It is for me and I promised I’d be there overnight.’

‘Oh,’ she makes a sad face and looks sweeter than ever, ‘you can stay a bit longer can’t you?’

‘I’d better not Tess, I’ve only just got this job and we know Cooper will be on the phone to Lord Fatty with my exact arrival time. He’s probably sat in a bush now watching the front door with night vision binoculars.’

‘Don’t! That’s too freaky.’

‘Anyway, me and the ghost of Lord Huntington are going to watch a DVD.’

‘Sounds cosy, you and the poltergeist all snuggled up on the sofa.’

‘Yeah something like that.’ She reluctantly slides her legs off my lap and I feel the warmth gone instantly.  I don’t want to go; I want to stay here with Tessa.  It feels warm and cosy here, nice. Settled and peaceful.  But I heave myself up slowly.

‘Pull me up then,’ she stretches her arm out and I clasp her warm hand and pull her up.  She staggers slightly from too much wine and instinctively I place my hands on her hips to steady her.  She reaches her hands up onto my arms and pulls herself in close against my body and rests her head on my shoulder.

‘Oh you’re so warm, I can’t remember the last time I had a hug.’ She feels so soft and I wrap my arms round her waist to pull her in closer. She murmurs and snuggles into my chest.  For long minutes we stand there hugging, bodies close and standing still.  The first few seconds I feel awkward and strange but that feeling quickly ebbs away and I relax my head to rest on the top of hers.  I close my eyes and breath in the scent of her hair and perfume and feel the warmth of her body pressed against me.  I could stand like this for eternity with my arms around her slender waist.   She slowly raises her head and I lift mine to stare down into her blue eyes, those soft blue eyes and I feel her reaching up as I drop my head down.  Eyes locked and I feel like I’m falling, falling slowly into something embracing and safe.  Closing my eyes at the last second and the sense of touch instantly heightens and my heart races as our lips touch.  Soft at first, gentle pressure with no movement.  Just the touch of lips against lips.  Slowly, so slowly our lips move and I feel her arms grip me closer.  Not pulling or yanking but just a gentle increase of pressure.  I lift one hand and lightly touch the side of her face and move my fingers back until they entwine with the soft hair behind her ears.  Her skin is velvety soft under my fingertips and her warm breath exhaling from her nose.

Sensually, gently we kiss and I become aware of everything at the same time as knowing nothing but Tessa in my arms.  I can feel her soft hair on the fingers of my right hand, my right thumb gently pressing against her cheek.  Our lips touching, one of her arms holding my shoulder and the other wrapped round me.  I can feel the small of her back with my left hand, the material of her blouse and the warmth radiating from her.  I can feel her breasts pushing against me, her legs close to mine.  I don’t feel randy or horny or anything that would cheapen what this means to me.  To have another person holding me close, sharing a tender embrace and showing affection with a sensuous kiss.  Something touches me deep inside.  A feeling that has been suppressed for a long time slowly bubbles up and for this split second I see hope and future instead of misery and torture.  I see light where there was dark, love instead of hate.  A want to survive to live not just to get by.  Tessa may never know what this kiss means to me.  Too much wine and maybe she’ll wake up tomorrow feeling sheepish and regretful, but to me, this is the best thing that has happened in a long long time.

Our lips eventually part as we break the connection and I both hear and feel her sigh deeply.  Opening my eyes and I see hers are still closed but with a serene look on her face.  She slowly opens her eyes and my heart beats harder at the sight of those deep blue circles coming into view, she blinks heavily and I’m lost in her gaze.  She tilts her face up towards mine, beckoning me to kiss her again.  I hold back just for a second and watch as her lips twitch very slightly and then I’m gone; eyes closed and our lips meet once again.  This time the pressure increases as we gently push into each other and I feel her arm now pulling me closer.  Her lips part and the tip of her tongue quickly touches my lips, then again and again until we’re kissing hard, breathing hard and pulling each other closer.  My hands move up to hold her cheeks, pressing softly as though scared she’ll pull away any second.  She doesn’t but I feel her hands move up to cover mine and they drop down until the fingers of both our hands are entwined, caressing, touching.

Our heads move and our bodies sway as we explore the excitement of intimacy and each new touch heightens the pleasure and increases the desire.  The tiniest of movements now become all important as I push into her and feel her move backwards.  I then pull backwards just a fraction of an inch and she surges forward to keep that embrace, to keep the pressure.  She releases my hands and I feel her grip the sides of my top and pull me harder.  My hands move round to the curve of her back and I feel the firmness of the sides of her stomach.  Her arms reach up to my neck and her blouse rides up slightly, revealing an inch of skin round her waist that my fingers quickly brush against.  The touch of skin on skin sends a shiver through me and she responds with increased pressure as her mouth works harder against mine.  I stretch my hands out, thumbs on her stomach and fingers holding the tops of her hips, kneading softly with the top of her jeans rubbing against my fingertips.

Still we kiss and kiss and it goes on for eternity, forever lasting and never ending.  Desire increases, the more she gives the more I want.  The more I give and the more I feel her demand until we’re virtually locked together as a gentle grinding starts as she rubs her body ever so slightly against mine.  Without realising and without conscious thought my hands have dropped down to feel the roundness of her backside and the gentle sweep to her thighs.  I splay my fingers out to feel the roughness of the denim and the softly yielding body beneath.

As my hands press harder the more I feel her push against me and then her hands have dropped down and moving round onto my own backside, pressing soft at first but building the pressure until she’s gripping and squeezing.  The flow of movement feels natural, instinctive and tender.

My hands work back up over her hips until my fingertips find the soft warm skin, she murmurs softly as I gently caress her waist and gradually lift my hands higher until I feel the hard bones of her ribs pressing into my palms.  The soft murmur increases, then a hand reaches round to the back of my head, fingers running through my hair and then as my hands go higher she grips the back of my neck, pulling me down into her.  Fingertips brushing against the very edge of her bra and she murmurs again with a soft keening noise, urging me on, pleading me to continue.  I slide my hands round to feel her back, firmly pressing against the perfect expanse of skin, taught and firm but soft and so feminine.  Inside her blouse my hands work up to the base of her neck and she shivers with pleasure at the soft tickle as I run my fingertips down and then back up her spine, feeling her back arch and her hand grip harder on my neck.  Her other hand slides deftly up inside my top until she too is stroking and rubbing my back.

My fingertips trace the edge of her bra, running round from her back, across her ribs until they are just below her breasts, resting on her skin.  I hold there for seconds while she rubs harder and harder at my back and I gently start to lift my hands until I can just feel the softness beneath the bra.  As my hands brush lightly over her breasts her fingers flex against my skin.  We hold, paused, statues barely moving until my hands cup and are suddenly full with the beautiful warm softness of her bust.  Murmuring louder her finger tips start to dig into the middle of my back and she gently rakes down, not enough to cause pain or discomfort but enough for me to feel the hardness of her nails.  My hands come alive, separate entities working independently of thought.   Gently kneading, cupping, stroking and with each movement she murmurs and responds until my hands move up from the material of the bra and onto her bare skin then start dropping down, sliding underneath the material.  She pulls back just enough to breath out deeply, her bottom lip quivering and I open my eyes to see hers are closed and eyebrows twitching very slightly.  My hands pause again, knowing that the true majesty of the breast is but millimetres away.  She barely breathes but digs her fingers in harder as my hands finally find the hardness within her bra.

Her lips fall once more against mine and she brings a leg in between mine, raising her thigh to rub against me and feeling the firmness of my natural reaction.  She rubs harder as my fingers dance gently, touching and teasing with hardly any contact.

Suddenly I become very aware of who I am and what I’m doing, trying to get my hands inside her bra to grope her boobs and I’m back to being sixteen and trying to touch breasts for the first time. I gently drop my hands back down and she senses the change, lowering her leg and pulling back to stare up at me.

‘What’s wrong?’ Her voice is husky and deep.

‘Nothing… I just…’

‘Don’t think Mike,’ she shakes her head at me with a gentle smile.  She reaches down to take my hands in hers and starts walking towards the door.  Nothing is said or spoken and her eyes remain locked on mine, daring me to resist her, daring me not to follow and at the same time pleading with me to go with her.  Entranced, in love and allowing the moment to take me where it may, I follow and she leads me into the hallway, turns and starts walking up the stairs.

Chapter Seventeen

The headlights sweep across hedgerows, illuminating the road ahead and making the shadows darker and deeper.  Driving back to the house in the Landrover and there are mixed emotions within me.  Images of Tess fill my mind; kissing in her cosy lounge and then watching her lead me up the stairs and into her bedroom, stopping at the top to re-commence the kissing and never feeling so nervous as I did right then.  Finally we made into her bedroom and she toed the door closed, enveloping us in thankful darkness.  Thankful because of the strange sensation of shame I felt, like I was being rewarded for something I did not deserve.

What followed was gentle, kind and caring.  It wasn’t clothes being ripped off and falling down to bounce around the room in passionate throws.  It was part clumsy, part apologetic, heads banging, soft giggles and heavy breathing.  But above else, it was nice, and genuine nice is often underrated.  It was comforting, having such intimate contact with another person who for those few minutes at that time and place, wanted to share themselves with me.  Both giving and receiving comfort.

For the first time I understood that it wasn’t about sexual gratification or the conquest, it was contact in an otherwise empty and meaningless life.  The sex certainly wasn’t mind blowing but then it rarely is with someone for the first time.  That comes with longevity and years of learning and understanding.  It was good old fashioned lights out fumbling in the dark, truly British but it was caring, and for that I am truly thankful.  Something in me feels fixed, mended, a step towards recovery.

We stayed embraced for a long time, holding each other and nestling our bodies close.  But duties call and eventually I forced myself to leave, insisting that she stay in the warm bed while I gathered my belongings and quietly left.  Now, driving back I can feel already feel the emptiness of that sterile house ahead of me.

But it’s dark Humber, and therein evil lurks.  So switch on and stay focussed.  Into the driveway and I immediately see the house is in darkness.  None of the lights I left on are illuminated, just a big empty foreboding house.  I switch the headlights to full beam and slow to a crawl, I then sit back and slowly move my gaze from left to right and back again.  A trick I learnt from an old sergeant when I was young in service and we’d spend hours of the night patrolling through darkened back streets.  Let your gaze relax and look to the furthest point ahead, by doing that the eye will take in the whole of the view.  The eye is a fantastic motion detector and by looking at the furthest point ahead, if anything moves in the field of vision you will instantly be drawn to it.  I relax now and allow my gaze to sweep across the house and the grounds either side, nothing moves, no motion.  Everything is static and still.

Leaving the Landrover facing the front door with the lights on full I head over and unlock the door wishing I had the foresight to bring my torch with me from my bag.  I step to the side and look down to see the cotton line still in place.  Leaning forward I let the powerful lights of the vehicle shining into the hallway to look carefully and listen intently.  Assessing the situation I decide there are two priorities; get the power back on which will mean I trio into the cellar and checking the house for which I will need light.  In order to find the fuse box I will also need light so that decides the course of action.  Straight through and into my bedroom, find the torch in the side pocket of my bag and then start searching.  The natural instinct would be to get the torch and then find the fuse box, but anyone waiting for me will be expecting that.  If anyone is inside they would have been stood in the dark for a long time so their eyes will be at maximum dilation, giving them an advantage over me in both sight and hearing.

I quickly move back to the Landrover and rummage in the back until I find a tyre iron, heavy and long; a good weapon.  Switching the lights off then I move to stand next to the front door for a few minutes, resisting the temptation to run through now.  I let my breathing settle and my heart rate slow until I’m as calm as I can be given the circumstances.  Then I force myself to wait another few minutes.  If there is anyone inside they will be straining to listen and might be tempted to adjust position and thereby make a noise.

Eventually I gingerly step over the cotton line and slowly push the door closed.  Locked and with the key removed I again stand still and wait for my eyes to adjust.  Moonlight barely lights the staircase ahead of me but I know the layout and I sprint forward and rush up the first flight of stairs to gain the top and stand with my back to the wall, tyre iron already raised and resting on my shoulder, ready to be swept out or brought down.

Letting my breathing recover and heart rate slow I listen intently, still no noise so I quickly move down the middle of the carpet and up the next flight of stairs, again pausing at the top with my back against the wall.  The next point of danger is my room; someone could be waiting inside for me.  No choice, I need the torch so I slowly inch along until I’m next to my door.  It’s closed so I reach down and turn the key to lock it.  I then withdraw the key and hold it my hand while I listen.  If anyone was inside and heard me locking the door it could cause them to panic and try to get out.  Nothing happens so I unlock the door and push it open, jump in and then straight back out again, seeing if anyone reacts and tries to lunge at me.  Again no noise so I enter and peer into the almost pitch black room, I edge round the wall with my free hand extended and the other gripping the tyre iron.  Finding my bag and I quickly unzip the side pocket, the noise of it screams out into the silent air but then the torch is in my hand but I resist the temptation to turn it on instantly.  Once you start using a torch you have to keep using it.  Best to keep it ready I case it’s needed.  Shining a modern powerful torch into the eyes of someone stood in the dark for a long time will not only blind them, but it will cause pain and confusion for a split second.

Now I feel better as the odds are evened out.  If there is someone here then they could be armed and ready.  But I am also now armed and ready and there is no way they can tell exactly where I am so that means we’re both in a big house and not knowing where the other is.

I quickly make my way back down to the entrance hall and check the front door is still locked.  Then I start moving from room to room, only using the torch to check the deepest shadows and locking each door and removing the key, placing it down on the ground and moving onto the next one.  I keep the pattern irregular, moving in an almost random fashion as I know I must be making noise but by doing this I make it harder for anyone else to guess my intended route.

It takes a long time but finally I’m done, with only the cellar to go.  I can’t tell at this stage if anything in any of the rooms has been touched but nothing obvious has been seen and all the cotton traps were still in place.  At the top of the cellar steps I pause for a few seconds.  This time, instead of creeping down I take my time and land each foot heavy, forcing it down to make a dull thud.  Clump.  Clump.  Clump.  Anyone down there will now be straining to listen to those heavy footsteps, heart racing and thudding and despite the advantage of them hiding from me the psychological effect will be worth it.  I breathe out nice and heavy, almost groaning and letting the sound draw out to tail off as my feet continue to clump down the steps.  I leave the torch off as it’s pitch black down here with no ambient light for even night vision equipment to make use off.

Reaching the bottom I lift the torch to head height and switch it on, sweeping it quickly round the entire room then back again.  No armed assailants leap out at me, no monsters lurking with drooling fangs and I almost feel sheepish as I make my way over to the electric box and examine to long rows of switches.  A big trip red coloured trip switch at the end is position to off.  I flick it back and instantly the house fills with light and the cellar too, which tells me this was done on purpose.  I didn’t turn the cellar light on when I came down here and it was definitely off when I went out, so whoever did this turned the light on when they came down here confident that it wouldn’t be seen from outside the house.  Bloody idiots.

Shaking my head I turn round to head out and come to a stop, suddenly realising why they left the light on.  They needed it to see what they were doing when they used red chalk to write the words on the cellar floor, slightly scuffed from where I walked through it.  Two words.  Big and thick letters.  HUMBER DIE.

How strange and I stand looking down with my head cocked to one side, why write that? Why not DIE HUMBER.  The use of the words seems important.  If they chalked DIE HUMBER it would be almost a command, a wish, something they want to happen, go and die.  They wrote HUMBER DIE.  As in a statement of fact, this will happen.  Of course it will happen.  None of us are immortal, and the way I’ve been living my life the last two years it could be a lot sooner than expected.

Something doesn’t sit right here.  It feels amateurish, childish.  A pathetic attempt at intimidation.  They didn’t use red paint for fear of causing a permanent stain on the ground which would be a lot harder to remove.  They used chalk which can be brushed off and they’ve even left the thick stick of chalk next to the words.  I crouch down and pick it up, weighing it in my hand.  I add the letter T to the end of the words then scribe down “eat less fatty food” then leaving the chalk on the floor I go back up the hallway.  I initially remove the key from the lock but then put it back in, sod it.  If someone wants to leave me stupid messages in chalk, let them.

In the kitchen I put the kettle on and move over to unlock and step out of the back door.  Once outside I peer down and can see the cotton has been broken.  Rolling a cigarette I give silent thanks.  Thanks for the wonderful day and amazing night with Tess and thanks for letting me know your point of entry into the house you stupid fucks.  I unlock the garage door and walk in, switching the light on and then examining the doors.  The right one has a floor and top bolt to secure it to the frame but the left is key locked.  Most modern doors are designed so that keys cannot be entered and used on both sides.  Giving the person on the inside added security by locking the door and leaving in and turned.  These locks are old and will allow keys to be used both sides.  So Cooper has keys and he’s using them to try and continue his pathetic attempts to frighten me off.

Deciding not to have a caffeinated drink I lock up and head upstairs to my room, undressing and flitting across to the bathroom for a quick wash.  The stupid idiot has tried to write something in toothpaste on the bathroom mirror but it’s all dripped down and smeared; making the words intelligible.  Who are these people? Chalk and toothpaste? They must be reading a children’s instruction book on how to scare people from your stately home.  The rooms smells minty now though and I spend a few minutes washing it off before brushing my teeth and heading back to climb under the sheets.

I feel tired and drained, but happily so.  A feeling of mild euphoria is inside me.  I know I’m now dealing with amateurs who just want to scare me.  The only danger I’ve faced is from the whack across the leg from the snooker cue but I probably did that myself.  Wishing I was back with Tessa, curled up and warm I close my eyes and feel relaxed and comfortable.  Only minutes later and I’m angry and frustrated as the pressure hits me almost instantly.  A feeling of addiction and dependency comes over me, a yearning and knowledge that I know I won’t sleep unless I take the pills.  With a curse I sit up and grope out for the pills, screwing the top off and tapping them out into my palm I dry swallow just one, wait a few minutes and then justify to myself that I’ve had a hard day and at least I’m not smashed out my face on Vodka.  I lift the second pill then remember the goings on in the house but I’ve bolted both the back and front door from the inside so there’s no way anyone can get in unless they smash a window.  And if they’re that determined then me being out of it on sleeping pills won’t make much of a difference.  That’s what I tell myself anyway as I swallow that second pill and instantly feel calmer.  Lying back I let my mind fill with glorious images of Tessa as I replay the evening’s events until sleep takes me.

Chapter Eighteen

My conscious gently drifts to a state of semi wakefulness, going from a deep sleep through the mind warping layers of dreaming mixed with reality until my senses become aware of where I am and what’s around me.  Eyes closed and a blissful feeling of warmth and I snuggle closer into the warm body of Tessa against me, her soft hair tickles my face and causing pleasant irritation.  My right arm rests over her body and my left is under the pillows so I can feel the weight and presence as we lie spooning.  Drifting between the layers I snooze and doze then come to and then let myself be pulled back under the warm embrace of sleep.  Tessa must be deeply sleeping as she doesn’t move, no twitching or soft murmurs, no stretching or trying to snuggle back to get closer.

In my drifting state I dream of fields and that I’m lying down on a farm with my nose close to the earth.  Breathing in a mix of mud, straw and animal dung.  The dream sours as the scent becomes stronger to the point of being offensive and I feel myself twitching.  I draw my body closer into Tessa’s to try and banish the feeling.  I shift uncomfortable as my body presses into a cold wet patch snapping me awake instantly fearing that I’ve pissed myself and scared of the shame that will follow.

A split second later and I’m staring at the back of something woolly with thick white hair, the smell of animal shit and congealing blood makes me recoil in horror as I lash out, beating at the body next to me, pushing myself away.  I push too hard and slip from the edge of the bed then I’m scrambling about on the floor looking at the red patches of glistening blood all over my body and hands.  With a deep sensation of utter horror I slowly get to my feet and look down to the bed, at the corpse of the sheep that I had been snoozing so happily with just seconds before.  Inert and lifeless with a thick pink tongue hanging out the side of it’s partly opened mouth.  Eyes open and staring with a deathly gaze and stiff legs stretched out.  Cries of panic fill my throat, small sounds of whimpering as I struggle to cope with the reality of what I’m seeing.  Of the slaughtered sheep with the ragged gash across its throat and the crimson blood stark against the soft pastel colours of the bedding.

Panic takes over as my hands claw at my own face and I spin round in circles trying to make sense but feeling the rising tide of insensibility gnawing at my insides.  I can’t focus or think straight; coming awake so quickly with such a sudden shock has jolted and skewed my ability to think rationally.  Keening noises keep uttering from my mouth until I feel a sudden lurch in my gut and rush across the hallway into the bathroom and just making it in time as the vomit spewed up my throat out of my mouth and into the toilet bowl.  The acid and bile burns my throat and stinging tears fill my eyes causing my vision to swim.  I feel dizzy and nauseous and the stench of the dead animal seems to cling to my skin with the blood.  I puke again making loud retching noises until I slump down at the side of the toilet, whimpering softly.  The cold floor thankfully brings me back to my senses a little and I scramble over to the bath and turn both the taps on full.  Within seconds there are two streams of steaming hot and freezing cold water pounding into the basin of the bath.  I grab a flannel and clamber in, not caring if the soft material is soaked in the hot water or the cold.  I sponge myself off still crying with the shock, smearing the thick blood round my body until it starts to dilute and wash off.  Scrubbing away I hurt myself with the scorching water and then the cold but eventually the blood is gone.  Dried off I lean against the sink and stare down, desperately trying to calm myself down with deep breaths.

Minutes later and with a big sigh I walk back across the hallway and into my room.  The sight is awful but not as bad as I’ve seen before.  At least it’s a sheep and not a person, the thought of waking to find Tessa’s throat slit sends a shiver down my naked body.  I dress quickly and then stand back to look at the room.  Assess the facts Humber and make an informed decision.  The mantra calms me and I settle into work mode.  Having attended hundreds of crime scenes of graphic and appalling violence this is just a dead sheep, that’s it, another scare tactic and an escalation from the pathetic attempts of the chalk message last night but not that bad.

I keep telling myself this as I start to take in what I can see; a dead sheep on the bed.  Throat cut.  I need coffee and a cigarette but this must take priority.  Something else might be waiting for so this has to be done first before I get distracted.

Whoever did this would have had to walk round the end of the bed to the far side so I drop down onto all fours and start a fingertip search from the door, across the floor and round the end of the bed, my stomach churning and my throat sore from the vomiting. I have to stop as the pool of blood has spread across the floor, but I get down low and examine every inch of the ground.  The blood is undisturbed with no foot prints or spattering across the ground.  The blood has come from the throat and pooled around the animal on the bed and dripped onto the floor.  It was killed here otherwise the blood would be coming out before it got to the bed but that means manhandling a live sheep through a house and making it lie down on a bed in a strange environment.  Now I don’t know a great deal about sheep but I don’t think they do things like that without kicking off, and looking at the dead animal now I can see it’s still a solid built heavy animal with strong legs.  So it must have been sedated and then brought here, laid down gently the throat was cut and the person left quickly before they got covered in blood.  Also, if the sheep was alive and kicking its heart would be hammering away with fright, a fast pumping heart means fast pumping blood going through the sealed system of veins and arteries.  A cut into that system would mean the blood would spray out all over the place.  A sedated animal with a very low steady heart beat would bleed out gently.

Nothing on the floor or the immediate vicinity, no footprints or anything I can see with the naked eye.  I wish one of our Crime Scene Investigation Teams could attend but those days are long gone.

I stand up and decide to move the sheep from the bed and then go and get coffee and see if Cooper has left anymore slaughtered farmyard animals for me.  The blankets are pulled away and I grasp the bed sheet and pull it clear of the mattress before heaving it towards me and sliding the sheep down to the end.  The animal is a lot heavier than I anticipated and it falls down onto the floor with a thump.  I bend down and have a closer look at the wound.  One neat strong cut did this, pushed in and forced over and I would guess the knife would have been inserted at the base and pulled up to allow leverage to be used.  So, a very sharp weapon and a strong arm and I quickly remember watching Cooper chopping the logs with ease.

The sheep is wrapped into the bed sheets and blankets which takes some handling and by the time I’m done my chest is heaving from the exertion and my mind is berating me for daring to do anything involving exertion before I’ve given it caffeine and nicotine.  Leaving the sheep on the bedroom floor all wrapped up I head downstairs almost holding my breath as I gain the view from descending to the hallway, but I take my time and pay close attention to the stairs looking for anything left behind from someone carrying a drugged sheep up.

At the bottom and everything looks normal as I sweep through the room, turning lights off and opening curtains.  As I do so I realise that Cooper has taken a big step forward with this one, and especially after the pathetic chalk message and toothpaste on the mirror.  I grab a quick cigarette but forego the coffee as I think furiously and feel a deep sense of anger start to creep up.  Like Tessa said last night; the thought of someone creeping round is freaky, but what sick fucker leaves a dead sheep in someone bed like some old fashioned mafia message.  The man is desperate and I know from dealing with the dangerous and deranged members of our society like this over a long career that now he’s caused death to something it means he’s crossed a threshold.  Stalkers will often go years sticking to the same methods and never stray from their regular pattern, but when they do it shows an escalation of the mind and any change in behaviour to people like that is dangerous.  Cooper has entered the house several times now and each time he has escalated his behaviour which shows he paid no heed to our conversation.  Despite all these problems I’ve landed a good gig here and my life should be repairing and getting better.  Look after a big empty house and get paid for it; what could be easier? But no, someone is making it not just bad but bloody awful.

If there is any truth to what Tessa is investigating then I can’t rule out that this could be connected, but then as far as anyone knows she’s just been compiling a history of the famous house, plus how would they connect that the girl who came here yesterday was same one as phoning all the old staff up.  No, the link is too tenuous and I’ve been here a few days and this started before I met Tessa, unless the thought of having an ex- police detective here is spooking someone, but then why employ and ex-police detective in the first place?

Once again there are too many questions and variables at play, but one thing is fact in my mind and that’s Cooper is clearly desperate to get me out of here.  My options; go to the police? No, they might take it seriously and even arrest Cooper for harassment but that would cause scandal and risk my employment which I cannot afford to do.  That would mean having to return to London and I’ve only just met Tessa.  Let Lord Fatty know? No, something about that idea doesn’t sit right and I’m sure it’s far easier to replace a security guard then a generationally employed family.

Do nothing? No. That leaves one option left.

Chapter Nineteen

Parking the Landy in the lane leading up to Cooper’s house as close as I can get without the vehicle being seen I rush round the back and pull the heavy burden out onto the ground.  I grab the fuel can I found in the garage and douse the liquid over the sheets then start pulling it towards Cooper’s house.  Moving quickly I dump the carcass in the middle of his drive and use my lighter to ignite the flammable liquid.  I get to his front door just as it opens and he goes to step out with a look of fury on his face.  He didn’t expect me to be so close and I take advantage of the split second surprise to strike him hard into his already broken nose.  Reeling back from the blow and his hands clutch at the blood streaming from his nostrils, I press the attack home and keep landing blows all over his head.  Not hard enough to knock him out or render him unconscious but enough to keep him busy.  Each shot is well aimed and I take care not to land each blow on his nose or he would end up needing facial surgery.  Screaming in pain he scurries backwards and I follow him into his house.

‘What did you expect? You left a dead sheep in my bed…’ Rushing forward I chase him down the hallway and hit him again causing him to crash into a small table and stagger backwards.  I kick the back of his knee and slam his head down onto the table and he goes down to the floor, his hands grabbing at the table and taking it to the floor with him.

‘What did you think would happen Cooper? That I’d run away with my tail between my legs?’ Flat on his back he tries crabbing backwards so I strike my foot into his groin and hear the exhalation of air burst from his lungs as he squirms in agony.  Strong arms suddenly grip me from behind and in my haste I didn’t think to check if anyone else was home.  Sloppy work Humber.  The person gripping me is strong and I can tell from the angle that they’re taller than me, whoever it is slams me face first into the wall and I manage to just turn my head to stop my face taking the full impact.  He pulls me back to do it again and I use my feet braced against the wall to push out hard, we stagger backwards into the opposite wall and I lash backwards with my head, repeatedly slamming the back of my skull into his face.  He screams and I feel the grip loosening.  My hand scrabbles for his groin and I take a fistful of his privates and squeeze and twist with all my strength while letting my weight drop.  The agony hits him instantly and he releases his arms as I fall to the floor.  Once down I spin round and wrap my arms round one of legs then drive up onto my feet, lifting his leg as I explode upwards.  He has no choice but to topple backwards and I push the leg hard forcing him to splay out onto the ground.  I give him a swift kick in the groin for good measure, just as Cooper gets back to his feet and charges at me.  His strong frame literally scoops me off the ground and he powers me through a doorway into an open plan lounge.  Cooper is strong enough to carry me over to a table and dump me down before he starts slamming big fists down on my head.  I dodge left and right and bring my arms up to protect my face, he gets a few blows in but luckily they strike the side of my head rather than my face.  The power in him would knock me out cold if he landed a good hit.  I wrap my legs round his waist and lunge up to put my arms round his neck.  He roars in anger and stands up, lifting me with him.  I squeeze my arms as he lands blow after blow into my ribs and back.  Twisting my head I dig my teeth into the side of his skull and he howls in pain, spinning round while trying to push me off.  I quickly let go and the sudden removal of the weight causes him to stumble so I hit him, and keep hitting him until he goes down again.  The second man lurches through the door nearly bent double from the pain in his groin.  Two quick steps and I’m grabbing the solid wooden door and slamming into his shoulder.  I wrench it back and do it again, this time it hits him on the top of his skull and slams him back into the hallway.  Quick glance behind me and Cooper is slowly getting to his feet; stubborn bastard just won’t stay down.  Stepping into the hallway I sweep the second man’s legs out and force him down onto the ground face first.  Just as Cooper staggers in I grip his wrist and pull it back so the elbow is pulled against the side of my knee, the pressure makes the man cry out in pain as the joint starts flexing the wrong way.

‘One more step and I’ll break his fucking arm,’ breathing hard but I shout the warning to Cooper, he pauses for a second and stares at me with utter hatred in his eyes.  I’m not convinced he won’t try and lunge at me so I wrench back and twist the wrist round so the poor blokes elbow is not only being forced against my knee but his arm is also twisted round at the shoulder joint.  That’s the problem with big blokes like this; no flexibility at all.  Cooper holds his position but I can see it’s only a matter of seconds before he decides to risk it.  His face is a mess with fresh blood pouring down from his nose and covering the old bruises from a few days ago.  My hand finds the little finger of the hand I’m holding.

‘I told you to stay away but you didn’t listen did you.’ I apply pressure to the little finger as I force it away from the rest of his fingers.

‘What do you want from me Cooper?’ Stupid question really.

‘Just fucking leave,’ the wrath in his voice roaring out surprises me and I realise just how unhinged he might now be.

‘Fuck you,’ I shout back and wrench the little finger hard, the bone breaks audibly as the man screeches out.  I’ve already dropped the hand as Cooper rushes in and I scoot backwards over the prostrate form on the floor.  Cooper doesn’t break stride as he charges at me, but this time I run backwards until I slam into a door at the end of the short narrow corridor.  Just as Cooper slams into me I force my elbow down onto the handle and feel the door give under our combined weight and slam open.  We stumble through and I groan inwardly as I realise we’re in the kitchen.  Any police man worth his salt knows you never try to take a fight into the modern day armoury of the average kitchen.  Especially when it’s the other blokes house and he knows exactly where all those sharp and heavy things are.

With no other choice I have to escalate into serious violence and I fire a barrage of blows into his face and head, slamming them down as fast and as hard as I can.  As he stumbles away I use my knees to strike first into his thighs and then his stomach.  As he drops down I go behind him and put one arm round his neck, then use my other hand to lever it in.  He chokes instantly, trying to fight back for a couple of seconds before he goes limp.  I release the pressure a little, just enough to allow him to draw air in and avoid crushing his throat.

I manoeuvre round to see the other man is sat in the hallway cradling his broken hand.  I push Cooper through until we’re a couple of feet away from the second bloke.  Now I can see him clearly I notice the similarity between him and Cooper.  Same build, hair colour and facial features but maybe a few years younger.

‘Is he your brother?’ I ask Cooper, my words snatched between gasping breaths.  He doesn’t respond so I give a quick squeeze then release and ask him again.  He says something but his voice is too hoarse and ragged to understand.

‘Don’t push it Cooper, don’t push it or I’ll give you war you won’t believe.’

‘Rambo you prick,’ Cooper whispers.  This bloody idiot knows all my best lines.

‘This ends today Cooper, you come anywhere near that house while I’m still here and I’ll kill you and your brother.  Do you understand?’  He gets a sudden rush of anger and tries standing up, using his powerful legs to drive up and shake me off.  I squeeze hard and hold the pressure for a few seconds until he sinks back down but I keep pushing and drive him down onto the floor until he’s flat out with me lying stretched out on his back.  At the last second I release the pressure and feel him sucking air in to his lungs.

‘Cooper, I will end you if you don’t stop this right now.  I’m not a policeman anymore and I don’t fucking care. This is the first decent job I’ve had in a long time and I’m not letting some cunt like you ruin it for me.  Now do you understand?’  He can’t speak but he nods forcefully.

‘Let him go…’ the brother speaks quietly but pleading and looking up I can see he looks terrified and rooted to the spot clutching his damaged hand, ‘please, just let him go, we won’t do anything now I promise you.’

‘We?’

‘It’s over I promise,’ tears roll down his face and force me to realise just how terrified he is.  I pull my arms out and slowly stand up.  Cooper has the sense to stay down this time and I stand still for a second rubbing my sore knuckles and painful wrists.

‘I’m going out for a few hours.  When I get back I want every trace of that sheep removed from the house…and the fucking chalk in the cellar, and anything else you’ve done.  Got it?’

‘Yes!’ the brother wails instantly, desperate for me to leave.

‘Cooper?’ It feels stupid calling him Cooper when they both have the same surname but I nudge the prostrate form with my foot anyway.  He rolls over slowly onto his back, still breathing hard and wiping the blood away from his mouth with his sleeve.  He looks up and I notice the anger has left his eyes now.  He looks resigned with a look of intense sadness.

‘We went through this before Cooper but you didn’t listen.  Do not keep pushing this.’  He nods back but his eyes don’t look at mine anymore, instead he stares off into the distance.  I walk down the hallway to the still open door and once through I glance back to see them both still in the same position.  The strong smell of roast lamb wets my appetite as I pass the burning bundle and make my way back up the lane.

Chapter Twenty

Driving slowly I take the time to calm myself down and recover my breathing.  Pains in my back, knuckles and wrists, ribs and just about everywhere else too including a dull ache in the side of my head but at least no cuts or bruising to my face.  That was a hard fight and I should have been prepared for two of them being there, and country folks nearly always have shotguns too and with the beating I was giving them it wouldn’t have been beyond the realms of possibility for one of them to grab a firearm even just to threaten me, but twitchy fingers and adrenalin make for a bad combination with guns.  Seeing the fight go out of Cooper at the end has made me feel better and a faint glimmer of optimism shines in the distance.  I could have questioned him and the brother but it would have invited a conversation and weakened the impact I had on them.  Best to leave it like that with the threat of killing him and his brother.

The violence I just experienced can’t help but remind me of the beating I gave to that man two years ago and the promise I made to myself that I would never lose control or do anything like that again.  But desperate times call for desperate measures and Cooper started all this.

Almost ten o’clock, it’s been a busy morning already and I still haven’t had a coffee.  Maybe Tessa will be at the café so I head into the village periodically checking my mobile phone but finding the signal bar empty.  Pulling into the square I see her red car parked up but no sign of Tessa.  I head over to the café and walk in to find it almost empty apart from the old man and his dog.

‘Morning love, usual is it?’ The woman beams a smile at me, greeting me like a local and it almost feels nice to come back to a place and be remembered like that.

‘Yes please.’

‘Your friend popped in a minute ago, she said to tell you she’ll come back and it’s your turn to get the coffee’s in,’ she laughs as she speaks, taking genuine pleasure in the mild intrusion into my private life.  I feel suddenly nervous with jitters in my stomach.  Last night was wonderful but I’m worried that she’ll have woken up this morning full of regret and be working herself up to give me the good news, “Hi Mike, listen about last night….”

‘Penny for them?’ I turn round and see Tessa grinning at me, she looks stunning and it takes my breath away as I remember kissing her beautiful soft lips.

‘You keep on doing that,’ I smile at her awkwardly.

‘It’s that ninja training course I took a few years ago finally paying off,’ she leans in and kisses me on the cheek, just a quick peck but it’s enough to re-assure me, ‘how are you? Nice morning?’

‘Yeah, lovely day again.’

‘I love autumn, so cold and crisp.’ She mock shivers and smiles sweetly at the girl behind the counter.  After paying for the drinks we head outside to our normal table and I think of how quickly habits form and things become a natural way of being.

‘Now listen Mike, about last night,’ she says as we sit down, but she’s smiling wickedly as she speaks. ‘I know you’ll be worried about it but I really enjoyed and I have no regrets.  I wasn’t drunk and it was very nice.’ I settle back, thankful that she’s got the foresight to put me out of my misery but I show no reaction and just stare blankly at her.  Her smile fades and she looks at me with concern.

‘Er, are you okay about last night?’ She leans forward looking worried.

‘Er, well I didn’t quite know how to say it but…’ her face falls and she looks down at the ground, ‘Ha, I really enjoyed last night Tessa, it was the best night I’ve had in a long time.’

‘Oh you shit,’ she slaps at my arm laughing with relief.

‘So have you had a good morning?’ I ask.

‘Yep,’ she sips the coffee, ‘I was awake for a bit after you went.  I really didn’t want you to leave but then I had a good sleep and got straight into it this morning.’

‘Oh really? How did you get on?’

‘Well thanks to your consultancy review I started with Simpkins and Crimmins, well with Crimmins actually.  I must have contacted dozens of homeless shelters and charities, most of them were no good but two from the same area in Birmingham and they remember her.  Well one remembered her but the other had a record of her staying there several times in early 1995.She was from the streets just as you said, had no known family and was never seen again after 1995.  Then I did Simpkins but that was a lot harder as Manchester seems to have a higher proportion of homeless.  Nobody actually remembered him but a few city centre shelters and drop in centres had records of him visiting in 1994 to mid-summer 1995 but then he disappeared.’

‘How on earth did you get them to tell you information?’

‘I said I was his sister and desperate to get in contact,’ she looks at me sheepishly, ‘and also I may have said I worked for certain government financed authorities…’

‘You said you were a police officer?’

‘Um…No? Maybe just a little bit.’

‘How can you say you were a little bit police officer?’

‘Anyway….moving on swiftly, so we’ve tracked them to their cities of origin up until the time they disappeared but nothing after that.’

‘What about where they came from? Family, the area they lived, associates, friends anything else that could help?’

‘Yeah…Mike what happened to your face? It’s all red.’ She leans in peering at the side of my face where it impacted on the wall, ‘and your knuckles are all swollen.’

‘I had a busy morning, but tell me what else you found out.’

‘No Mike, what happened?’

‘Woke up to find a dead sheep in my bed,’ I take a sip of coffee, watching her mouth drop open and the blood drain from her face.

‘You did what?’

‘I didn’t do anything, I woke up and it was next to me.’ I tell her what happened from when I got home last night and finding the chalk messages through to the events at Cooper’s house with his brother.

‘Oh Mike, this is getting serious.  You should leave.’

‘And go where Tessa? I haven’t got anywhere to go to in London, this is a good job with good money.’

‘Do you think it could be connected to these disappearances?’

‘I thought about that and I’m convinced it isn’t.  First off, Cooper was a grumpy mean bastard before I even met you and things were happening then too.  Second, you’ve been careful not to meet these people and as far as anyone is concerned you’re just writing a book about the house and its history.  Have you told anyone else about the real research you’re doing.’

‘Only one of the sub-editors back at the paper, just so she knew where I was and what I was doing.  No one else though.’

‘Good, so there’s no reason for anyone to make that connection, and if they were worried why would they hire an ex-detective in the first place.  No, this is just Cooper being jealous, spiteful and somewhat unhinged.’

‘Do you think he’ll keep doing things?’

‘I hope not, look I thought about going to the police or Lord Fatty but neither of them seemed the right thing to do so I dealt with it myself.  If nothing else it’ll show him I’m not prepared to just sit back and take it.’

‘Did you hurt them badly?’

‘Not really.’

‘They look sore, you should get a cold compress on to bring the swelling out,’ she takes my hands in hers, gently running her thumbs over my knuckles, ‘we’ll go back to mine after here and I’ll soak them.’  Statement not a question, an assumed act which feels nice.

‘Anyway, you were saying?’ I prompt her but she shakes her head and looks keeps the concerned expression.

‘Mike, I’m really worried.  What if they do something worse tonight? They’ve got all day to sit and brood and build themselves up.’

‘I’m sure they won’t.’

‘Maybe I should come and stay with you.’

‘No.’

‘Quick answer thanks Mr Humber,’ she smiles.

‘I’d love you to stay Tessa, nothing would make me truly happier but it’s not going to happen.’

‘Why not?’ I can see where this is going.

‘You know why.’

‘So you’re not sure they won’t try something else then.’ Clever woman has me foxed in tight.

‘I’m quite sure.’

‘Quite sure?’

‘Fairly sure?’

‘Quite or fairly?’

‘Both.’

‘You’re not sure at all are you?’

‘I’m reasonably sure?’

‘Mike, stop using bloody different words.  I’m not happy if you’re in danger.’

‘Why not?’ I stare into her eyes, half smiling.

‘You know why not.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Are you fishing Mr Humber?’ She smiles coyly.

‘Maybe, I’ve had a rough morning.’

‘Well you’re my consultant detective so we can’t have anything bad happening to you now can we?’ She caresses my hands gently while looking up at me with those blue eyes.

‘Guess not, so anyway you were saying?’

‘Right,’ she shakes her head a little and takes her coffee cup back up for a sip, ‘I was amazed that someone would remember Crimmins from such a long time ago but the person I spoke to said he was about the same age as her and remembered her because she was so pretty.  Anyway, he thinks she came from an area of Birmingham which gives us a starting point.’

‘Which area?’

‘I can’t remember it’s in my notes at home.  No such luck with Simpkins though, he was just a name on a sheet.’

‘No date of birth? Previous address or known associates?’

‘Nothing.’ She shrugs almost apologetically.

‘Okay, so we can start working the back trail with Crimmins and make a start with the other three.’

‘Sounds good, are you following me back to mine?’ She starts gathering her things together and I gulp down the last of my now almost cold coffee and stand up.

‘I’m sorry Mike, you’ve had a hell of a morning and here I am trying to rush you.  Sit down we’ll get another coffee first and did you know you’ve got blood on your jeans?’

‘Have I?’ I look down to see the darkened splatters covering my thighs, then at the same on the sleeves of my jacket, ‘shit, I don’t know if it’s the sheep or from Cooper.’

‘I’ll sponge it off later for you.’

‘Oh really?’ I wink down at her smiling; she laughs and motions me to sit to back down.  I do as told and take a seat, movement catches my eye and I see Coopers Landrover pulling into the square, two figures sat inside as it slides into a parking space.  The smile fades from my face as I watch it closely.

‘Mike?’ Tessa asks following my gaze she watches the two men climb down from the vehicle and start to walk towards the mini market.  Cooper is closest and even from here his face looks a mess; swollen and bruised.  Cooper glances over once then drops his head as they keep walking.

‘Maybe we should skip that next coffee,’ I mutter quietly to Tess, something about them seeing me with her like this unnerves me but not as much as the way Cooper walked with his head down.  He looked beaten and cowed and I take no pride in making that happen, in fact I feel guilty and ashamed.  Using violence to solve everything again Humber? Look how good that ended up last time.  The sudden thought of those events makes me feel even worse, with everything going on here I’d thought about it less and less.  Something I’ve lived with for a long time and I don’t deserve the relief of not having it on my mind every minute of the day.

We’re in our vehicles and pulling before they come out of the mini market and I wonder if they’re either buying cleaning materials to clean the mess of the sheep away, or maybe some lighter fluid to set me on fire later.  Guess I’ll find out in due course.  Following behind Tessa we weave our way through the narrow country lanes and I give a silent prayer of thanks that she hasn’t woken up yet and realised what a loser I am and told me to piss off.

We pause at a junction as a green army transport truck slowly rolls by, followed by a squad of young soldiers doing a forced march with heavy rucksacks and carrying automatic weapons.  I watch with interest at their red faces straining with the effort.  Two men out front lead the march, one with dark curly hair and the other much smaller in build.  The smaller man turns round at the sound of the young soldiers talking.

‘Private Blowers and Private Cookey if I hear you talking again you will be cleaning toilets for the rest of your lives,’ a huge voice roars out from the small man.

‘Yes Sergeant!’ Two young recruits grin at each other and put their heads down.

‘Thank you Dave,’ the officer with the dark curly hair says as he looks over and first nods at Tessa then gives a short wave to me as a thanks for waiting for them to pass.  We lock eyes for a split second and an involuntary shiver passes over me.  He does the same and I watch him shake his head quickly before facing forward.

We pull out after they’ve passed by and I give a momentary thought to the young officer and the responsibility he has of those young soldiers.  They could be doing pre-deployment exercises and be in Afghanistan soon, facing a daily threat of death and it brings my own problems into perspective.  So I beat a man up, but he was a child rapist and he had it coming.  I’ve paid the price for it and suffered and now it’s time to move on.  Grasp life and live.  There is a beautiful woman in that car in front of me; she seems to like me so give with it.  The missing people might turn out to be innocent and even if it isn’t and something sinister has happened, well it will help Tessa forge a career in investigative journalism and it gives me something proper to focus on for once.  I need to forget the past and start living for the future.  If anything helps happens with Cooper I’m going straight to Lord Fatty and telling him.

By the time we reach Tessa’s house I feel positive and upbeat and smile as I jump down and walk towards her.  She smiles quizzically at me.

‘Hello happy? What’s made you smile?’

‘Nothing,’ I shrug but keep smiling.

‘Nothing eh?’ I follow her up the narrow path and wait while she unlocks the front door, ‘well you should smile more often, it suits you.’

‘Thank you, I will.’

‘Unless you’re smiling because you’re expecting a replay of last night?’ She looks at me sternly and pushes the front door open, ‘because that will not happen Mr Humber, we have work to do and we need to focus.’

‘I understand.’

‘Seriously, we’ve got a lot to do so no hanky panky.’

‘Okay. So why are you kissing me?’

‘I’m not, you’re kissing me.’

‘Am I?’

‘And you can stop touching my bum with those hands of yours too.’

‘Are they?’

‘They are now, that’s better, now where were we?’

‘You were saying we had a lot of work to do.’

‘Oh yes, that’s nice…oh that’s really nice…yeah so we’ve really got to get…er…don’t stop.’

‘We really should get on Tessa…lot to get through…you smell so good…’

‘Yes…calls to make…notes to write, you smell of roast lamb and petrol.’

‘Do I? Is it that bad?’

‘Come back it’s not that bad! It’s probably those clothes, you should take them off…here let me help you.’

‘Thanks very much, but I don’t want to make your clothes dirty, maybe you should take them off too.’

‘Good idea, you do mine and I’ll do yours.’

‘Roger that.’

‘Who’s Roger?’

‘A man I once knew.’

‘Was he nice?’

‘No.’

‘You’re nice.’

‘You’re nicer.’

‘Am I?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘How much nicer?’

‘Are you fishing?’

‘Yes, let’s go upstairs.’

‘Roger.’

‘He’s not coming.’

‘Okay.’

Two hours later and I’m stood under a steaming hot shower, slowly turning so the needles of water massage my shoulders and neck.  What an amazing morning, I wake up to find a dead sheep in my bed, beat two men up and now I’ve just spent two wonderfully naked hours with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.  Where last night was tender, loving and caring this was with a sense of more urgency, passionate and fast.  Then when it was over we lay wrapped up and entwined for ages, chatting about nonsense and enjoying every last second of it.  She’s taken my clothes to her washing machine and left me her thick white cotton dressing gown to use.  Her bathroom is nice and feminine, bottles and jars of beauty products everywhere and frilly things that get rid of dead skin.  There are clean towels out and a nice thick bath matt on the floor.  Everything about it reminds me of what I once had and what I’ve missed out on in life.  But instead of feeling the pull of depression I feel a sense of hope and peace.

‘Wow, you look good Mr Humber!’ She laughs while making coffee, staring at me in her much too tight gown, ‘your clothes are washing and I’ll put them into dry when they’re done.’

‘Thank you,’ she’s wearing grey jogging bottoms and a baggy pink hooded top and looks more ravishing than ever.

‘I made you some toast, I guess you missed breakfast this morning.’

‘I did, thank you.’ This woman is amazing.

‘And I got some food from the mini market earlier so I can make us some food later,’ my god I’m in love. ‘Er, if that’s okay with you that is?’ She looks at me with care and I still cannot believe my luck.

‘Are you joking? This is the best day ever!’ I say after swallowing some toast down.

‘Well it’s not all play I’m afraid,’ she steps in and wraps her arms round my waist, leaning back and trying to bite the slice of toast hovering near my mouth.  She takes a big bite and drops her head down on my chest.’ I’m gone, in love, smitten, fallen, I was close before but that tiny gesture of biting my toast and then hugging me has sealed the deal.  Is it too early to propose? Can’t be can it?

‘Shall we just go back to bed and do the work later?’ She says quietly.

‘Roger that, can I bring the toast?’

‘Yes to the toast but no to Roger.’

‘Okay.’

Chapter Twenty One

Another two hours later and we’re down stairs in her office, I’m dressed in my freshly laundered clothes and feeling very content with the world.  We both dozed off after the second time and woke up spooning which is also the second time I’ve done that today but at least it wasn’t with a sheep this time.

‘Right, now you’ve finally finished seducing me we can do some work,’ she smiles and picks up the notes she must have made this morning, ‘Crimmins was originally from the Solihull area of Birmingham oh and I’ve got her date of birth too.  One of the shelters she stayed always asked their residents and visitors.  They said most refuse but they always ask.’

‘Most of them would be committing petty offences or owe money so they wouldn’t want people tracking them.’

‘I guessed as much, I was going to start online first and look for schools, try to work out her schooling years and then start trawling the social update sites for any re-union groups, see if anyone has mentioned her.’

‘Good idea, I can make a start on the other three girls,’ I pick the folder containing their known information up and refresh my mind.

‘I printed a list out of all the homeless shelters, charities and drop in centres in London,’ she hands me a sheaf of papers and a cordless landline handset, ‘it’s fully charged,’ she smiles.

Within a few minutes I’m settled at the dining table with a pen, notepaper and the lists of shelters from London.  Starting at the top of the list I dial the number, clear my throat and press the phone to my ear.

‘Hello, St Albans shelter.’

‘Good afternoon Sir I am sorry to disturb you.  I’m calling with an official enquiry relating to missing persons may I ask if you have a few minutes to talk?’ I slip into the official tone of a man at work, implying politeness and professionalism within just a few words.

‘Yes of course.’

‘You do, that’s great.  My name is Michael Humber and I’m working on a taskforce dedicated to tracing people who have been recorded as missing over the last four decades.’

‘Good god, that’s going to be a job and a half!’

‘Yes quite, but we’re making headway all the time.  You’ll be amazed at how many people are on these lists that turned up later and no one told us and of course drawing in the information from all the many agencies is a bureaucratic minefield.’ Let him think I’m imparting some information while being that hard working frustrated professional just trying to do his job.

‘Oh I can imagine.’

‘Now, I’ve got three names that relate to your area, er…Gloria Knight, Gail Jones and Joanne Hartwell.’

‘Right okay, let me check our system, can you give them to me again…’ I relay the details and make small talk while he searches through whatever database they have and checking each name in turn.  The common surname of Jones takes a while but eventually he gives me the bad news.  I thank him for his time and look up to see Tessa staring at me with interest.

‘Nicely done detective Humber,’ she says.

‘Thank you.’

‘Did he ask where you were calling from or what agency you worked for?’

‘Nope, we used to do it all the time.  Sound professional and mention a plausible background and most people will open up.  Some firms are switched on and ask for clarification.’

‘Why didn’t you just say you were from the police?’

‘If they think of something else after the call they’ll try and contact you and then find out who you are.  Also, we didn’t always want people to know it was the police calling trying to find things out.’

‘Very clever,’ she nods as I turn back to the list cross the first one off and dial the number for the next one and go through the same process.  For the next couple of hours I repeat the calls over and over again, contacting shelters, centres and charities.  Some of them question who I am and what agency I’m calling from but I use similar tactics as I did in the mini market on my first day in Huntington, asking questions back at them, overwhelming them with information and coming up with bullshit in such a tone that expects them to know things which they clearly don’t which makes them brush over it so they don’t look stupid.  A couple of the places have had training and request for an application for information to be made in writing or faxed, in those cases I took down the contact details and said it would be forthcoming in the next few days which buys us time and will hopefully stop them trying to find out who was calling them.  Most importantly though, I key 141 into the handset before each call and block Tessa’s number from being displayed.

‘Nothing, absolutely nothing,’ I lean back and stretch, ‘how are you getting on?’

‘Same, there’s a lot of school in that area.  I’ve worked out her schooling years and now going through the social networking sites to see if any reunion groups have formed from those years.’

‘Have they?’

‘Loads but none of them mention our girl, just yacking on about pop groups and who snogged who behind the bike shed and do you remember that party when the girl puked in the fish tank.’

‘Nice,’ I smile at the mocking tone she uses, ‘I need coffee, do you want one?’

‘I’ll make it; I need a break from staring at this screen.’ She moves into the kitchen, stopping to give me a kiss as she goes.’

I keep going and steadily work through the list, I wasn’t expecting any strong leads but I’m surprised that no one has any records or recollection of the names I give them.

‘Are you sure they came from London?’ I ask Tessa while I rub at my face.

‘Er, from the women I spoke to they all said they spoke with London accents, are you getting no hits at all?’

‘Nothing, I wasn’t expecting a lot but I would have thought we’d get at least one hit.’

‘What else can you do?’

‘We need to access the Police National Computer and see if we get any matches but that’s not an easy thing to do.’

‘How will you do that?’

‘I can’t really, it would mean having to contact someone I used to work with who has access but it’s one of the biggest no no’s there is.  It’s strictly controlled and anyone caught doing it for non-policing matters faces instant dismissal and prosecution.’

‘Oh.’

‘It does happen, it happens all the time but I don’t think any of my former colleagues would take kindly to getting a random call from me asking them to break several laws.’

‘That’s the PNC thing?’

‘Yeah, these girls would have petty records and their PNC records would be updated each time they came into contact with police.  It would give us locations, dates etc.  You were a journalist, don’t you have any contacts?’

‘I could try, I’m sure some of the editors would know people that could get it done.’

‘Give them a call; it could save a lot of time.’

‘I would but…’ she checks her watch, ‘it’s gone five so they’ll be gone by now.’

‘Really? That surprises me; I would have thought they all worked late.’

‘Not these days, the unions are too strong.’

‘How times have changed, in my day we all stayed on and worked every hour we could.’

‘Oh is the old dinosaur re-living his youth,’ she laughs and quickly scoots over to me and sits astride my lap.  ‘So, other than accessing the police records, what else can we do?’

‘Keep going with the contact list you made, if they came from London then one of those will have a record.  If they are all negative then we have to assume they’re not from London.  You said you tried the national missing register didn’t you?’

‘I did, they had no records of any of them.’

‘Then it comes down to good old fashioned plodding.  We research every city in the country that has a significant homeless population and contact all their shelters too.’

‘That’s not an easy job.’

‘Nope, but it might be the only way.  We only need one hit to give us a location or date of birth and we can start doing what you’re doing with Crimmins.  We’ll get there eventually.’

‘Okay…so let’s say we do all of that, check every single shelter and charity in England and nothing comes up for any of them.  What then?’

‘Well by then we’ll have the result of the PNC check from your contact, if that’s negative and we get not hits whatsoever then we would have to try the voters registers, utility companies, credit reference agencies, financial companies, High Street banks…’

‘How do we get access to those records?’

‘The voters register is public information but it’s notoriously out of date and badly maintained.  The others can be done from official agencies like the police, benefits, custom and excise or we find someone who works for them and bribe them for information.’ She watches me intently with a serious expression on her face.

‘So we’ve got a lot left to do then?’ She asks me finally.

‘We do, but I need to pop back to the house and check it’s been cleaned up first.’

‘Are you coming back later?’

‘I’d love to, but maybe you’re fed up with my company already?’

‘No, I’d tell you if I was.’

‘Would you? What would you say?’

‘I’d say…’ she bites her bottom lip while staring at me, ‘I’d say piss off Humber.’

‘Would you now,’ I laugh at the way she says it.

‘Okay, you do that and I’ll carry on here for a bit, what time are you coming back?’

‘Around eight? If that’s okay with you?’

‘Hmmm, it’s too long, be quicker.’

‘Okay, I’ll try.’

‘Don’t try….do.’

Tessa sees me to the door and we pause to kiss passionately for a few minutes, our hands moving with pleasure over each other’s bodies.  She pushes me out, telling me to go now before she pulls me back upstairs.  With a grin like a Cheshire cat I slope off to the Landy and drive back to the house.

Heading down the drive I see Lord Fatty’s expensive Range Rover parked up and the big man himself knocking at the front door.  It must be awful for the poor chap to have to knock and wait at his own stately home.  I slide the Landy in and climb down quickly, offering apologies for not being in.

‘Mike! Hi there, absolutely no problem.  I just called round to see if you were okay.’ He extends a pudgy hand towards me which I shake firmly and nod back.

‘Very good Sir, no problems at all.’

‘That’s wonderful! Been to see your lady friend have you,’ he gives a big side on wink looking every inch the sleazebag he probably is.

‘Er, yes Sir, you know…catching up and things.’

‘Wonderful!’ Please don’t keep saying that. ‘Anyway, I wanted to let you know that we’ve got a shindig on this weekend.'

‘A shindig?’

‘Yes, it’s an annual charity event for Halloween, you know; raise some money for the poor kiddies and that kind of thing.  Anyway, it’s our turn to host this year and let me tell you, I’ve had to jump through hoops to get all those bloody solicitors to agree but we finally got the okay from the courts so we’re all set.’

‘Great, and that’s this weekend?’

‘Yes! On Saturday night. Now, we’ve got a few of the staff coming in on Friday and Saturday to prepare the house and we’ll have catering staff in early Saturday morning.’

‘Okay Sir, I’ll make sure I’m here and ready.’ This all sounds normal and the kind of thing I would expect from a stately home like this.

‘That’s wonderful,’ He gives me a big smile and steps in to speak quieter, like we’re old friends conspiring together, ‘now there is a role for you too.  I want you to be down here on the door meeting and greeting, smiling nicely and taking coats, that sort of thing,’ he lowers his voice again, ‘but really you are looking out for any of the other family members and making sure they don’t get in.’

‘Oh right, okay but how will I know who they are?’

‘We’ll take care of that, someone will be nearby and it will down to you to politely turn them away, no fuss or anything but they must not step over that threshold.’

‘I understand Sir, will you be here?’ How come he’s allowed to be here but none of the others?

‘Yes I’ll be here, this is what’s taken so long for the family to agree for us holding the event and you have to make sure I do not stay the night.’

‘Okay Sir.’

‘So you’ll have to kick me out if I have too many scotches and fall asleep somewhere,’ he laughs loudly at this suggestion, the wealthy aristocrat imparting special onetime use powers on his underlings.

‘Will do Sir,’ I grin back respectfully.

‘That’s wonderful,’ I am going to punch his face, ‘now, do you have a smart suit?’

‘No Sir, I didn’t think to bring it with me from London,’ I sold all my suits to pay debts.

‘No problem, we’ll have one dropped round for you.  Call this tailor and give him your measurements and he’ll take care of it,’ he hands me a card which I glance at and pocket.  A new suit? I wonder if I’ll be allowed to keep it.

‘Okay Sir, and once the guests are inside? Do I have any other duties?’

‘Not really, just be on hand in case any of them try to steal some of the furniture,’ he laughs and winks again, slapping me on the shoulder with his big fat hand and I notice there’s power in his arm despite his fat jolly manner.

‘I understand,’ I nod back at him.

‘Wonderful! Right so you’ll have staff coming in from Friday morning but remember, none of the family can enter and none other than you can stay overnight.’ This is his way of telling me not to have Tessa staying overnight.

‘Got it Sir.’

‘That’s wonderful, well I’d better be off, lots to do.’ He starts walking towards his Range Rover, ‘oh by the way,’ he turns back to me with one hand raised, looking like a fat ginger Columbo, ‘I spoke to the staff and it was one of them that popped in and cleaned up.  Stupid girl forgot she wasn’t supposed to come in,’ he rolls his eyes, ‘I don’t know, staff eh?’ He tuts and gets into the Range Rover, slamming the door then winding the window down and looking at me with a serious expression, ‘so everything is okay with you Mike?’ Why does he keep asking me this same question?

‘Yes Sir, I’ve got used to the bumps and bangs now.’

‘Wonderful! Any problems with Cooper?’ He comes right out and asks and I can see he’s staring at me with interest and the bumbling jokey Lord Fatty is replaced with a serious businessman.

‘No Sir, none at all,’ Cooper is a dick but I hope we’ve sorted that problem out but I’m intrigued about being asked like this.  Lord Fatty must have an inkling of what’s going on.  Maybe if he’s getting constant calls from Cooper trying to snitch me up he’s realised I could be having problems too.

‘Well, you let me know if anything happens, he can be a right grumpy one,’ he starts the engine and the serious businessman is replaced with the bumbling posh boy again, ‘his father was the same, too much time alone in those woods if you ask me,’ he laughs at the end, rolling his eyes again, ‘well bye for now Mike,’ he pulls away with a pudgy arm raised out the window.

Scratching my head I enter the house and head straight up to my room.  As soon as I enter the smell of pine disinfectant hits me, not unpleasant though and there is no trace of the blood.  Even the bed has been re-made with fresh covers.  I pull the blankets and sheets back, expecting to see snakes or razor blades but instead I find nothing.  The bathroom is clean too, and it looks like they even scrubbed round the bath and the floor.

I carefully check through every room in the house and find them all in good order with no sign of anything being moved or touched at the same time as I try to work out what day it is.  I’ve lost track completely up here.  The drunken nights, sleeping pills and so much going on makes me feel like I’ve been here for months, but it can only be a few nights surely.  In the end I have to find my mobile and use the calendar to work the date out.  I got here on Friday, I remember that because I thought it was strange they were interviewing so close to the weekend, so that makes it Wednesday today.  Bloody hell, it’s only been five nights.  It can’t be it has to be longer.  I check again genuinely feeling that I must have lost days somewhere but I’m right, only five nights here.  Not even a full week.  No wonder my head is constantly spinning and I feel like I’ve been dragged along by a freight train of events.

The realisation of how much has happened makes me slow down and take time out to sit in the courtyard with a coffee and cigarette, going through it all in my mind.  At least it means I’m not constantly dwelling on the past now and beating myself up with what I did and what I lost.  And despite the nasty things happening with Cooper it feels good to be involved in something again, meeting Tessa and helping her with that enquiry.  Personally, at this stage I don’t think there can be much in it.  Some girls from the city came to work here many years ago, lasted a few weeks and went off again.  Maybe the break made them realise on what they were missing out on and they decided to avoid going back to what they were before, and this is a big house with a lot of employees and staff.  Someone would have noticed, right?  But they did, Tessa got that call at her paper and it came from this house and it was a man calling her, not a woman.  Nearly all the staff here are women.  Who would the man have been and why report it so long after the last event? I’m missing something here.  That sensation I always got when I was working on a case and realised I was looking in the wrong direction.

I’m getting rusty and I remember that telling myself to think and work the case never did it for me.  Settling the mind and allowing the facts to whirl and spin of their own accord that was always when I had the best moment and could it see it clearly.  Five people went missing, four girls and a boy.  All coming from the city to work here and then never seen again and leaving no trace anywhere, not on any sites, not on any registers.  Nothing.  I need to clean.  I need the repetitive action of doing something mundane to let my brain settle into a plodding method of sorting through the information.

In the kitchen I grab a spray bottle of detergent and a cloth and start cleaning the worktops, the sink and every other surface I find.  Spray, wipe, spray, wipe, rinse the cloth and start again.  I move steadily round the kitchen and before long I settle into an almost trance like state.  Spray the bottle and wipe with the cloth.  Slowly my mind eases and instead of being a room filled with boxes all with labels I let the contents spew out and spin about gracefully in the air.  I know I’m missing something.  I wouldn’t be feeling like this otherwise.  The downside is that Tessa stays stubbornly at the front of my mind with my emotional state refusing to let her drift off even for a short while.  She is beautiful, stunning even.  Those blue eyes and blonde hair, slender figure but full breasted and the way she moves and kisses me, and the kindness, the thoughtfulness she has shown has been amazing.  I try to push her away but she gently floats back into my mind’s eye.  I don’t know anything about the woman, was she ever married or engaged, does she have a big family, here I am so wrapped in my own selfish existence and I’ve not shown her any real interest at all.  The urge to see her and just be with her is strong so I dump the cleaning materials and run round the ground floor switching lights on and drawing curtains before I jog out to the Landy and start heading towards her house.

Chapter Twenty Two

‘You took your time,’ she says, stepping back to let me in through the front door.

‘Sorry Tess, Lord Fatty was waiting for me when I got back.’

‘Oh, is everything okay?’ She steps in to kiss me, stretching up to wrap her arms round my neck and draw me in close.  I explain about the charity event this weekend and run through what he said about Cooper at the end.

‘Do you think he knows anything?’ She asks with concern.

‘No, I reckon Cooper has been pestering him with calls trying to dish the dirt on my activities and Lord Fatty’s clocked what he’s trying to do.’

‘Ah, makes sense, are you hungry?’ She unzips my jacket and starts tugging it off my shoulders, the act of her undressing me triggers something and I grab her tight for another kiss.

‘Not that hungry then,’ she laughs when I finally let her go.

‘I’m starving, famished and hungrier than a very hungry thing.’

‘Are you now, and I was going to suggest we work up an appetite before dinner…but if you’re so hungry now we can just eat instead, oh like that is it,’ she giggles raucously as I dive in with more kisses and the passion explodes within me.  She responds in kind and within seconds we’re tearing each other’s clothes off as we slowly make our way up the stairs and into her bedroom, kissing, fondling and immersing ourselves for the third time today.  Funnily enough the passion not so much stops but ebbs away once we lie down and instead of frantic activity it becomes tender and loving with long stares into each other’s eyes.  A deeper feeling, something strong and loving between us and we stay entwined for a long time after, just holding each other in intimacy.  But after a while my rumbling stomach lets her know how hungry I am and we roll downstairs to chat while she makes food.

‘So, tell me more about you,’ the question comes out clumsy and she laughs with delight.

‘Are you interviewing me detective Humber?’

‘Sorry, force of habit, you know what I mean.’

‘Well what do you want to know?’

‘I don’t know, anything, everything.’

‘Everything eh? Well I was born in London, my mother was a dance teacher and my dad worked as a driver on the underground…’ she stands holding a spatula out to one side, talking quickly and clearly mocking me.

‘Very funny.’

‘Sorry, my mother was a dance teacher but she got arthritis and slowly had to stop, she died when I was sixteen, Dad raised me after that.  He did work on the underground and he put me through college and university.’

‘Does he still live in London?’

‘Er, no he died when I was twenty-two,’ her voice drops in tone.

‘I’m sorry Tess, I didn’t mean to act stupid questions and make you feel bad,’ bloody idiot blundering in like always.

‘No its okay, it was a long time ago now.  So, just me left, no brothers or sisters.’

‘Aunts, Uncles? Cousins? Grandparents?’ I watch as she shakes her head slowly and shrugs once.  I want to rush in and hold her but hold off fearing it would be patronising.

‘It’s not that bad, I was an only child and well, I guess I’m just used to it.’

‘Ever married?

‘No, you were though weren’t you?’

‘Yeah but I was a shit husband.’

‘Oh I can’t believe that,’ she looks almost serious.

‘I was, always working, staying late and being a grumpy shit when I was at home.’

‘Did she leave you before all that stuff happened?’

‘Yeah a long time before, trust me I had it coming.’

‘Do you still speak?’

‘God no! I haven’t spoken to her for a long time, I wouldn’t even know where she is, she could be married again for all I know.’

‘You never had children then?’

‘Thankfully no, that was probably one of the only decent decisions I’ve made in my personal life. Anyway, stop changing the subject.’

‘Ha, was it that obvious.’ She laughs again before coming back over to me and resting her head on my chest again.

‘Do you not like talking about yourself?’

‘Just takes me time to open up, being an only child does that to you.’

‘Fair enough, I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘That’s okay, it’s sweet really,’ she kisses me again before going back to the food and stirring something in a saucepan.

‘Anyway, so I carried on digging when you were gone, but nothing.  No leads on Crimmins at all, nothing from any Solihull schools reunion sites or anything.’

‘Well, I guess she could have been home schooled or maybe a drop out from an early stage, or even she could have been in trouble and been raised in a children’s home.’

‘You can tell you’re a detective,’ she smiles at me in admiration.

‘Was, not anymore. We’ll have to keep trying; there’ll be a trail somewhere.’

‘You think so?’

‘Always is, just got to keep looking.  Everything is recorded somewhere these days, it’ll just take time.’

‘So let’s say you were working on this full time with a team, how long would it take you?’

‘To do what? Find a trail or…’

‘I don’t know; yeah find a trail for one of them?’

‘If I was in the police with a team of detectives we’d have a trail within a couple of days, and with enough resources that would be for all of them.’

‘That quick? How?’ She seems genuinely surprised.

‘Christ, that’s a question and a half, we’d have access to PNC plus all our own databases, we could get access to other forces and constabulary’s information and records, and the impact of having plain clothed detectives turning up to ask questions often yields some good bits of information.  Plus we’d have an office staff putting it all together and giving out actions as new leads present themselves.  We could send forms to councils and agencies and require they respond immediately.  You should see the pace they work on murder enquiries, it’s relentless.’

‘Okay, so with a full team but not being in the police?’

‘A lot longer but we’d get there in the end, if the team was made up of ex-detectives then the results would be the same, but the method in gaining the information would be different.’

‘How about if it was just you, on your own working full time doing it?’

‘Longer still, but the result would still eventually be the same.  The old myth of a trail going cold isn’t so relevant in this day and age.  Like I said, records are made everywhere; it’s just a matter of knowing where to look.’

‘Fascinating, you ready to eat?

‘Oh yes, I was ready ages ago before you jumped my bones.’

‘I did no such thing!’ She giggles as she carries two plates of pasta heaped up with a creamy sauce.  We sit and eat, chatting amiably until my plates cleared and she rushes off to get me a second helping.  Once finished I insist again on helping with the dishes until we’re eventually sat on her sofa with fresh coffee.

‘No wine tonight then?’

‘I don’t drink a lot, just now and then and on special occasions…like last night.’

‘Was that a special occasion?’

‘Yeah, it was for me anyway.  Very special.’ She leans in for a slow kiss then gently eases and twists until she’s resting her back against my chest, my arm looped round her shoulders.

‘So, we’re potentially looking at a long investigation then?’ She sighs and asks me quietly.

‘Potentially yes.’

‘Oh well, we’d better pace ourselves then so we don’t burn out.’

‘Oh right?’

‘Yeah, after all those years working hard we’ve learnt our lesson haven’t we?’

‘Have we?’

‘Oh we have, the mornings should be having coffee in the café, then back here for a romp…’

‘A romp!’

‘Yes a romp and don’t mock my use of words thank you Mr Humber, anyway, so after our morning romp, we do a bit of work and get ready for the afternoon bonk.’

‘Bonk!’ I almost spit my coffee out with laughing so hard.

‘Yes, a morning romp and an afternoon bonk and a bit more work until we’re ready for the evening session.’

‘Romp bonk and session…I like it, sounds good.’

‘But that’s a hard pace, do you think you can keep up.’

‘You worry about yourself, besides I know where I can get cheap Viagra.’

‘Maybe we could take Sundays off,’ she rubs my leg gently.

‘What the whole day or maybe just cut one or two of them out?’

‘But which ones? I like them all!’

‘Hmm, we’ll have to give it some thought.  Maybe the bonk.’

‘Not the bonk.’

‘Okay the romp.’

‘Definitely not the romp.’

‘Then it’ll have to be the session.’

‘Not the session either.’ She says firmly.

‘Well if I start losing lots of weight…’

‘I’ll keep you fed Mr Humber.’

‘So let me get this right, you’re offering me sex three times a day and food too? Is it too early to propose?’ She laughs while rubbing my legs soothingly and we gently pass the time until we’re both almost dozing off from the day’s exertions.

‘I’d better get going.’ I yawn and rub my eyes.

‘No,’ she says muffled and sleep, ‘stay with me.’

‘Don’t tempt me.’

‘I’m not letting you go.’

She does eventually with some prising and cajoling which turns into tickling and giggling, and then more kissing.  But my eyes can barely stay awake and I break away with another big yawn.  We say our goodbyes and I start to move off when she suddenly walks down the lane behind me and pulls me in for another hug.

‘Is this job for you Mike?’ she says quietly and with a sudden intensity.

‘Sorry?’ she catches me off guard.

‘With all these skills you have you must be able to find work in the city, maybe a private detective firm or something.  I don’t know… this just seems beneath you.’

‘I don’t have much choice Tess, it’ll do for now and it means I have plenty of time to spend with you, I’ve really got to go, I’m falling asleep on your doorstep.’

‘Off with you then Mr Humber, off with you and get ready for the morning romp.’

‘I will.’

The fresh air revives me a little and I keep the windows of the Landy cracked enough to keep a constant stream coming in.  I feel bone weary but in a lovely buzzing way and if this carries on then going back to Huntington House will just get harder and harder every night.  Maybe I’ll be able to sneak her in once in a while; she could duck down in the back of the Landrover and once we’re in the garage no one would see her.  The thought of sneaking around like teenagers makes me grin stupidly.

With the Landrover parked I trudge my way into the house and lock the doors behind me before standing in the grand hallway and try to convince myself that the house doesn’t need checking.  A sense of duty takes over and I still don’t know if Cooper has given up yet so I make my way round but everything looks the same until I get back to the kitchen and find my tobacco pouch in the middle of the kitchen floor.

‘Fucking ghost,’ I mutter as I pick it up.  I only just put it down a few minutes ago and no one has come in so it must be the stupid ghost of the stupid old dead Lord Fatty.

‘I’m going to bed,’ My legs feel like lead as I work my way up the stairs, giving a one finger salute to the framed pictures of Lord Huntington as I go.  Brushing my teeth after finding my toothbrush in the bath again and as with before when I bent down to pick it up, my bedroom door slammed shut.  Muttering about the fucking ghost I have a quick wash and I’m in bed with the lights out and for the first time in as long as I can remember I start to drift off naturally.  See, that was all I needed.  Lots of sex instead of Vodka and sleeping pills.

Chapter Twenty Three

Waking up naturally I don’t feel dizzy or dull headed and my senses snap to normality a lot quicker than normal.  I lie there for a few minute wondering what monstrosity Cooper has left for me today.  Maybe the headless corpse of a cow swinging from the chandelier, or a piece of plain paper with letters spelled out in newspaper cuttings telling me to go and die somewhere.  Needing to urinate I climb out and find most of the stiffness from the stupid exercise I did has worn off; just a few aches and pains from rolling about with Cooper and his brother remain.  Even my bedroom door is closed and I lean out gingerly to peer left and right before proceeding and doing the same in the bathroom.  Everything looks normal so I quickly use the toilet and start washing myself off.  Back in my room and I check the time, it’s only just gone 7 o’clock, far too early to head to the café.  I eye my running shoes and decide to try and undergo another stupid exercise session.  Well, I’ve got to keep myself fit now haven’t I, what with these triple daily sex sessions planned out for me.  I must drink more water too, and eat some fruit.  Maybe get some multi-vitamins from the mini market.

Running gear on and I head downstairs and find myself actually humming.  Humming like a normal person would do in the morning.  I’m normal.  Mike Humber is normal again, I feel great like I’m bursting with energy.  The house is normal too; no dead things anywhere and the doors are still closed and locked.  I do my morning rounds and open the curtains to see another gorgeous clear day outside.  Even the kitchen is normal and my tobacco pouch is where I left it too.  Things are looking up and I wonder who will the bastard that upsets it, someone will, always happens.

So far so good and I start jogging up the driveway and feel the cold air biting at my face, I go slow and steady at first but build up a little faster until I’m working quite hard.  I don’t want to go hell for leather and wear myself out, not when I’ve got a nice day ahead of me.  Pace yourself Humber, and drink lots of water.  Why do people always say to drink lots of water, mind you if a hundred people tell you to lie down; don’t stand up.

Reaching the end of the driveway I stop and do some stretching exercises, easing out my hamstrings before starting back towards the house and I make it halfway back before I have to stop and walk, which is a significant improvement on last time.  I flit between walking and gentle jogging until I reach the house and stand there for a few minutes getting my breath back.  The looking up and around and wondering why nothing bad has happened yet.

In the courtyard and I do some circuits, not as crazy or as full on as last time, but enough to get the muscles and heart working and I keep going until I’ve got a light sweat on.  By nine thirty I’ve exercised and had a foamy bath, a shave, got dressed and sat outside with a mug coffee and my first cigarette of the day thinking that we’ve never really agreed a time to meet at the café but it’s been about ten in the morning so far.  I wonder if Tessa is waking up and feeling the same happy feeling that I am.

Bursting with impatience I lock the house up and head into the village, park up and go into the café to be greeted with a big smile from the counter woman.

‘Morning love, she’s not been in yet, usual is it? I’m starting to like this local familiarity, it’s nice.

I take the coffee and head outside to sit down, I even saw a newspaper left on one of the tables and I’ve brought it out to flick through.  I’ve been detached from the world for a few days and not seen any news or television so I read through some of the stories with genuine interest, sipping my coffee and smoking away happily.

‘Penny for them,’ she has to shout this time as I’ve seen her pulling in and getting out of her car.

‘Too late, I’ll get you a coffee,’ She looks stunning and her face is glowing with happiness and a huge grin.  I can’t take my eyes off her and wait for her to get close so I can snatch a kiss before heading inside and getting two fresh mugs.

Outside and she’s sat comfortably flicking through the newspaper, I place the mugs down and ease down into my seat.

‘This is getting to be a habit,’ I remark.

‘A nice one though,’ she says quickly with another big smile, ‘not a bad way to start the day is it.’

‘True, how’s your morning?’

‘I woke up late,’ she says with a guilty look, ‘all that romping and bonking and sessions made me very sleepy,’ she adds demurely.

‘Maybe we should have that day off today then.’

‘You can dream on Mr Humber,’ she winks and sips at her coffee, ‘yes I was languishing in bed far too long, then languishing under the shower and I got diddly squat done.’ I love the way she uses old words.  ‘So,’ she stares at me with keen interest, ‘how’s your morning been?’

‘Fine, woke up early, went for a run, had a bath and a shower then came here,’ I laugh as she almost looks disappointed.  ‘Sorry, not very exciting, I can make something up if you want.’

‘Ooh yes,’ she says excitedly.

‘Okay, well I woke up to find the ground littered with the chopped up corpses of pigs, then in the hallway there were nooses hanging down from the ceiling…’

‘Ooh, keep going.’

‘Then downstairs I saw Cooper and big gaggle of farmers all with hoods on and holding pitch forks.’

‘A gaggle you say?’

‘Oh a big gaggle.’

‘And what did you do?’

‘I ran and hid until they went away.’

‘Good move Mr Humber,’ she laughs, ‘we don’t want anything bad happening to you.’

‘I’m very brave.’

‘You are,’ she winks at me, ‘so no sign of Cooper or his tricks then?’

‘That tricky Cooper and his pesky tricks,’ I make an old timers cowboy voice, ‘nope, just a nice pleasant morning.’

‘Well I’m glad Mr Humber, it’s about time you had some good luck.’

‘Me too Tess and the last couple of days have been some of the best I’ve ever had.’

‘Really?’ She suddenly looks unsure, just a fleeting glimpse of something on her face before she smiles it away, ‘shit did I say the wrong thing.’ I feel like an idiot spilling words of sentiment like an old fashioned out of touch moron.

‘No, don’t be silly,’ she reaches a hand out to cover mine, ‘I’ve loved the last couple of days and I really like you Mike…it’s,’ conflict in her eyes like she’s searching for the right words, ‘I don’t know,’ she shrugs and looks away with a deep sense of sadness.

‘Tess, what’s up? Say what’s on your mind, if this is going too fast just say…’

‘No, nothing like that Mike, I like you a lot, a hell of a lot and well, I’m just not used to it I guess and I don’t want anything to ruin it.’

‘What could ruin it? As long as we’re honest to each other.’

‘Yeah I know I’m just being silly. Ignore me.’

‘Okay,’ I take the paper up and shift he chair so I’m facing away and start pretending to read the front page.’

‘Oi Humber, not that quick.’

‘Sorry, did you say something?’

‘Cheeky, right are you coming back to mine?’

‘For the morning bonk?’

‘No, it’s the romp in the morning and the bonk in the afternoon.’

‘Is it? Oh okay.’

‘Well? Are you coming then?’

‘Nah I might stay here and get some more coffee, you know read the paper and have a stroll round the shops, get a bite to eat later…’

‘Oh! Like that is it, well I shall go home on my own then, and get that bottle of oil out and start massaging myself, you know I think my boobs are a bit dry and need lots and lots of oil to be rubbed in.’

‘Bit dry are they?’

‘Oh very dry, they need a very slow massage with creams and oil, then a shower to wash them off.’

‘Right, let’s go…’ I’m up and heading for the car already, leaving her laughing behind me as she gathers her things and follows me out to the parking area.

‘I see that got you moving.’

‘Less talk woman and drive quickly, those boobs need moisturising.’ An old woman coming out of the mini market shoots me a quick look and I realise the volume of my voice, covering my mouth and raising one hand in apology to her.  Tess laughs as she climbs into her own car and pulls out as I get my red face into the Landrover.

She does drive quickly and her little car leaves the old Landrover struggling to keep up and within a couple of minutes she’s lost from view.  I try to speed up but the Landrover isn’t built for speed and doesn’t hold the road quite as well as a modern car and I have no choice but to slow down.  By the time I get to Tessa’s house her car is parked up with no sign of her.  With a big grin on my face I jump out and walk swiftly up the narrow path to find her front door ajar.

‘Tess?’ I call out as I walk in and close the door behind me.

‘Oh hello,’ she appears at the top of the stairs, speaking in a husky low voice and wearing just a white thong, holding a bottle of massage oil in her hand, ‘are you the dry boobs man?’ she asks in that mock porn voice.

‘Er, yes ma’am I am the dry boob’s man, I hear there is a dry boob’s emergency here.’ I speak in my own mock porn voice which makes her bend over giggling, which just sets her boobs wobbling and makes my mouth drop open.

‘Oh yes, there is an emergency, they are so very dry…I keep trying to rub oil in but I keep getting it wrong…’ she upends the bottle and squirts a stream of oil onto the base of her neck and lets it slowly slide down onto her cleavage.

‘Ah, you are squirting it in the wrong place ma’am.’

‘Oh am I? Are you good at squirting?’ I burst out laughing and start charging up the stairs, she squeals and runs off quickly into her bedroom.

Chapter Twenty Four

‘That bloody oil got everywhere,’ Tessa carries the bedding through her dining room to be loaded into the washing machine in the kitchen.  After making love we spent far too long in the shower, soaping, rinsing and then doing it all over again until our skin went wrinkly and we finally came downstairs to do some work.

‘Well you were squirting it all over the place,’ I reply.

‘I was wasn’t I,’ she laughs and potters about for a few minutes before joining me and settling down at her computer while I pick the list up from and start from where I finished yesterday.  Each call is the same as I give them the spiel and make idle chat while they check whatever system they use, and each result is the same.  I get a few potentials with Jones first initial G, but each one turns out to be Gary, or Gordon and the odd Gregory but no Gail’s.  I do get a few Gail’s, but again none of them with the surname Jones and none that match the description.  Knight and Hartwell are the same and with a growing sense that I’m still missing something I keep going until the list is finally exhausted.  I hold the phone receiver in my hand for a few minutes as I try to relax my mind and put my finger on what is bothering me so much.  But I can’t seem to grasp it, and I even consider asking Tessa if I can clean her kitchen for a while so I get the repetitive action thing going.  But that would be weird so I remain seated and staring down at the lists.

What am I missing here? Something isn’t right about this.  I glance over to see Tessa glued to the screen, scrolling down through lists of names with some school logo above them.  She moves the screen quickly and presses the back button to go back to a screen showing a list of schools from Solihull and clicks another one to start again.  The search results are in blue, they always are with Google but the one she clicks is purple, indicating she’s already clicked the link once.  Good thorough method though, checking everything through twice.  Cooper suddenly springs to mind and the way he moved across the car park yesterday, looking downcast and beaten.  My mind seems to be telling me there’s a connection but I just can’t pinpoint what it is.  Tessa clicks the back button and goes back to the search results and again clicks on one highlighted in purple and starts scrolling the page quickly, checking her results again before moving on.

This is going to be a long job; these girls couldn’t have been homeless in London.  There would have been a record of at least one of them coming up.  We’ll have to widen the search and taking in other cities that suffer a high rate of homeless person.  Tessa said they all spoke with a southern accent so that at least cuts out half the country.  But what other cities had homeless people in the seventies and eighties?  Maybe Portsmouth or places like that but they wouldn’t have high numbers of homeless so the risk of being caught kerb crawling would be far higher, every city gets kerb crawlers looking for young girls but someone being caught who is connected to the Huntington’s would have to be very careful, especially if it was a Huntington male doing it.  I think of Lord Fatty driving some big flash car through the dark city streets, pausing to wind the window down to stare at a scantily clad young blonde woman.  The image is familiar to me after working vice for a stint, and I know that most girls are controlled by pimps who are nearly always nearby to offer protection and make sure the punter pays up.  That means further risk being taken though as it would leave a witness.  It’s a myth that pimps and gangsters don’t ever go to the police, they often come to report missing girls and let us do the hard work in tracking them.  A working girl is a good commodity and worth their weight in gold to the men controlling them.  If these girls really were taken then maybe the taker went through the pimp and bought them outright.

I reach over and pick some of the other folders up and start flicking through the accounts given by the staff, marvelling at the amount of work Tessa has already done.

‘Hey big guy, you fancy a coffee?’ Tessa wraps her arms round me from behind having moved silently across the room.

‘Yeah I’d love one, I’ve drawn a blank with London, I was going to read through these and see if anything springs out, maybe something we’ve missed.’

‘I’ve been through them loads and I wrote the information down straight from the calls so what we’ve got is all there is.’

‘Hmmm, right, in which case I need a coffee and another list of all homeless places in Southern England.’

‘One coffee coming up, then after that you’ll have to help me put new bedding on seeing as we got oil over the last ones.’

‘Okay,’ she moves into the kitchen and fills the kettle, ‘feels like something is missing,’ I say, following her in and stretching my legs.

‘How do you mean?’

‘I don’t know there’s a nagging sensation in the back of my mind that I can’t shake off.  I used to get this when I was working cases and not connecting the dots.  Like I had all the information but I just couldn’t put it in the right order.’

‘I see, so what can you do?’ She takes two fresh mugs out starts spooning coffee out.

‘Sounds strange but I just need to relax and let it happen naturally, trying to force it doesn’t work.’

‘I don’t get what you mean? Missing what?’ She pours milk and looks at me with a puzzled expression.

‘That’s just it, I don’t know.  If those girls came from London then they would have come up somewhere on a record but they didn’t.’

‘Then they couldn’t have come from London,’ she says simply and pours the hot water into the mugs, stirring them with a teaspoon.

‘How about your contact at the paper, did you manage to get hold of him?’ She picks up the mugs and walks towards me, holding one out.

‘I called this morning but he’s away for a few days, I left a message asking for him to call me as soon as he gets back.’

‘Doesn’t he have a mobile? Call him on that.’

‘I tried but he must have changed his number and they wouldn’t give me his new one.’

‘Didn’t they know you used to work there?’

‘That’s what I said but it was some snotty receptionist that must have started after I finished.’

‘Couldn’t she put you through to someone else who would have his number?’

‘Why? In a hurry to get this job done are you Mr Humber?’ She steps in close and reaches up for a kiss.

‘No, not at all.’

‘Why don’t we take these coffee’s upstairs,’ her eyelids droop down with the sexiest look I have ever seen in my entire life.

‘Right behind you.’

‘I bet you are.’

‘Cheeky.’

‘What’s wrong with my cheeks?’ She grasps one bum cheek and sticks her butt out.

‘Oh I can’t answer that without a much closer examination.’ She certainly knows how to get me going, beautiful, kind, sexy, intelligent and a massive tease too.  She is very intelligent, that’s obvious and this investigation is going to take a long time if we keep nipping upstairs every couple of hours.  That nagging feeling surges into my mind as I watch her sexy behind going up the stairs just in front of me.

‘What paper did you say you worked for?’ I ask as we reach the top and walk into her room.

‘Er, excuse me detective Humber but this is the afternoon bonk time and not the time for questions,’ she smiles at me taking the mug out of my hand and placing it on the bedside table.

‘I thought it was the afternoon romp?’

‘No it’s the morning romp and the afternoon bonk,’ she giggles and pulls me down onto the bed so I land on top of her.  I put my hands out and lever myself up to look down into her beautiful eyes, those stunning blue eyes and pink lips parting to show her white even teeth.  She half smiles and flutters her thick eyelashes while she reaches her hands up to my chest and starts tugging my t shirt off.  I know I’ve fallen in love with her, of that there is no doubt.  And as I lower myself down to start kissing her, alarm bells start ringing in my head.

She kisses me passionately as I think of how she evaded the question when I asked her what paper she worked for, and how she quickly replied when I asked about the contact she has.  She saw me starting to flick through the folders and came over to distract me.  When I asked her about her family she became quiet and withdrawn, and this morning at the café she flashed a look of concern when I said how much I’d enjoyed spending time with her.

Within minutes we’re naked and I look down at her stunning body; at her flat stomach and perfect breasts, long slender legs and flawless skin.  I’ve always carried a low amount of fat on my body but in comparison to her toned body I look like a mess.  She could have any man she wanted but she chose me.  Fair enough, up here there isn’t the best choice of men but even so.

I don’t want to think like this but now it’s entered my mind it won’t go away. I’ve connected a dot.  I don’t know exactly what it is but something isn’t right with Tessa.

I suddenly feel both very wary but still strongly drawn to her and I keep my eyes open as we caress, kiss and touch each other’s bodies; familiar but so exciting.  She shows absolutely no sign of faking anything; she sounds, acts and responds with the same passion she has every time we’ve been together.  She pulls at me with desperate urgency, stroking my back and kissing me hard.  The passion over takes me and I sink into the moment, convincing myself that I’m wrong.  There’s no reason why Tessa would make all this up, what would be the reason?

Throughout our love making I keep dropping in and out of awareness, one second watching her like a hawk but then the urges and ecstasy overtake me and I’m lost in the moment.  The internal conflict seems to heighten our passion as I pull back and slow down to watch her and examine the swirling maelstrom in my head, she breathes slower and deeper when I do this as if waiting for the second I will unleash my passion, which I do when I can’t hold myself back anymore.  We keep going faster as I get drawn in, then slower as I feel confused and worried.  Tender when I refuse to accept that this might be happening.  If it is true then she has used me, used me for reasons beyond my comprehension and all of this has been a game.  Well if it’s a game you want…I turn cold and ruthless, thrusting with power and grunting with effort.  Her nails rake my back, her legs wrap around my waist as I gain momentum and I stare down at her face with disgust and love and watch as her groaning becomes louder and louder and her nails dig in harder.  Is this what you want? Just a fuck?  The thrusting builds into a frantic pace until I can feel tiny rivulets of blood dripping down my sides from the small cuts caused by her nails, the ecstasy starts slowly but builds strong and powerful and suddenly I don’t hate her, this is isn’t just a fuck, I’m love with her and we climax together with a loving embrace and the most tender kiss ever shared.  Finally I drop down, first on top of her but then rolling off to the side and our chests heave as we recover our breathing.  Her hand finds mine, our fingers entwine and she grasps me tight.

‘That was amazing,’ she whispers between breaths, rolling over to face me, ‘you were amazing,’ she snuggles in close to rest her head on my chest and my arm goes round her shoulders to rest on her side with my hand on her hip, feeling the gentle sweep from her waist.  I kiss the top of her head and she murmurs in response, shuffling her body to squeeze in closer.  Bathed in sweat we lie there for a long time, not talking and I listen to the sound of her breathing and feel the warm exhalation on my skin.

My mind feels confused, Tessa is clearly hiding something but I can’t figure out what it is.  She came to me with the missing people theory; she’s doing the work and the digging and has spent hours already; compiling notes and establishing facts from the memories of all those staff.  Today it felt like she was trying to divert me away from the folders when I picked them up but the other night she was happily showing me through them and explaining what she’d done.  But then I got distracted with her low cut top and she did position herself right in front of me so I could get a clear view of her cleavage.  At the house she made sure to take me away from the actual building to bring tell me what she had established and found out, and about the phone call from the house.  I have no idea what she’s hiding or what the reasons are, and why I haven’t got any results from the three names of the girls in London.

I decide to keep going and show no signs of my suspicions until I have more evidence.  If I’m wrong, and I hope to god I am, then I will sound like a raving paranoid freak.  I’ve already told her about my drink problem and addiction to medication, about the depression and how low I’ve been.  Telling her that I think she’s hiding something will scare her off and she is quite possible the best things that’s ever happened to me.  Telling myself to slow down and stop looking for conspiracies I gently relax.  Tread carefully Humber, keep your eyes open assess the facts and make an informed decision but don’t be a paranoid freak.  Please don’t mess this up, for once in your life just accept it and be happy.

Chapter Twenty Five

We slept for an hour or so, gently dozing until our bodies cooled and the sweat dried, leaving us both shivery and chilled.  Feeling better from the sleep and some of the harsh thoughts have abated leaving me more relaxed and natural.  Showering together we soap our bodies and rinse off, smiling and joking with ease.  Then once downstairs and with a fresh coffee and renewed sense of purpose I decide to continue the investigation.

‘But it’s almost five, shouldn’t we wait until tomorrow?’ Tessa says after asking her to print off contact details of homeless centres in Southern England.

‘We can get a few done today,’ shrugging nonchalantly, ‘besides I’m intrigued now and determined to find the back-trail for at least one of them.’

I sit back and watch as she loads the search results and copies the contact information onto a Word document, her hands move quickly but I notice she has to glance down at the keyboard when she types.  Journalists and reporters live by the written word and I’ve never met one who couldn’t touch type.  She’s close and definitely experienced but not an expert.

‘I can feel you watching me Mr Humber,’ she says quietly.   She glances round when I don’t answer and I make sure she catches me staring at her legs, looking up surprised and smiling she laughs and turns back to the computer.

The folders are on the table and I reach over to pick the one containing the staff accounts up and start idly flicking through the pages.  My peripheral vision picks up on her turning to see what I’m doing but I pretend not to notice and start reading through the accounts.  After a few pages and several accounts from different members of staff something starts to become apparent.  When I used to call potential witnesses I would write notes of who they were, where they lived and then bullet points of what they said.  My notes were nearly always the same style and written in the same manner.  But these accounts have almost captured the voice of the person giving the account, phrases and key sentences are typed out, irrelevant comments, witty observations and colloquial expressions.  This would be perfect for someone compiling a real book but Tessa isn’t, she’s investigating missing people, so why go to all this trouble of writing this stuff down? Fair enough she could be building fake evidence if anyone asked to see her research to show that she is working on a book and throw someone off the trail, but that could be retained in her written notes and not typed out in this manner.

The accounts she’s compiled are impressive, too impressive.  I find the sheets of information giving information on the missing people and find the accounts of the staff that mention them, starting with Joanne Hartwell.

‘Hey, the first lot are ready,’ Tessa says as the printer comes to life and spews out a single sheet of paper.  She must have worked faster when she saw me looking through the files and quickly added a long list onto a Word document.  Smiling I take the sheet and start reading through them.  The list is randomly generated and not in any geographical order with contact details of places from all over the south.  She has hurried this, but again I pretend not to notice and busy myself getting plain paper, a pen and getting the phone from the charger.

I start working through the list but this time I make more effort to urge the call takers to check their records and be thorough.  Asking them to not just check the full name but the surname and first initial too.

Not one of the centres has any records of any of the girls, and I ask for all of the names Tessa said were missing.  One thing springs to mind; not one person mentions anyone else ever asking about these girls.  If they were missing then you’d expect at least one person to have called before us and make the same enquiry.  Fair enough some of them are from a very long time ago but Simpkins and Crimmins are not that far in the past.

Within an hour or so most of the numbers are ringing out and I can feel a growing sense of frustration.  These names are either fake or the locations they were said to have come from is wrong.  But a southern accent is exactly that; a southern accent.  Distinctly different from the accents of the north and instantly recognisable.  I’m jumping to conclusions, why on earth would someone make all this up and go to the lengths that Tessa has gone too?  Maybe she’s mad, like proper crazy but she is so incredibly beautiful that it probably wouldn’t put me off.

‘What’s your surname Tess?’ The question spills out before I realise I’m asking it, she turns with a slightly puzzled expression, half smiling.

‘Don’t tell me you don’t remember?’ She laughs.  I might be a bumbling idiot addicted to sleeping pills and binge drinking, I may have been booted out of the police for kicking the shit out of a child rapist and I may have recently believed I was losing my mind but I know for fact she never gave me her surname.

‘Did you already tell me? Sorry, it’s been a weird week.’

‘I’ll let you off, it’s Jenkins.’

‘Jenkins? Wow, I was expecting something more exotic and reporterish, like the famous one Carly Adie.’

‘Sorry, it’s just plain Jenkins I’m afraid.’ The famous one is Kate Adie and any female journalist intent on a serious career would know that name but she didn’t correct me.

‘And it was Kate Adie, not Carly,’ she adds.  Fair enough, so maybe she is a reporter but just not very good at touch typing.  I’m thinking too much again and I sit back to rub my eyes.

‘I’d better get back and check the house; I’ve been out all day.’

‘Oh,’ she sounds sad, ‘but we haven’t had the evening session yet.’

‘My god woman, you are insatiable.’

‘No I’m not! I just want you.’ She scurries over to sit on my lap and throw her arms round my neck, hugging me tight and the bad feeling is gone instantly.  How can she be faking this?  I hold her close and breathe in the scent of her hair, remembering the shower and washing her hair while massaging her head with my finger tips and admiring her bare backside.

‘You coming back?’ She asks quietly, ‘I want you to come back.’

‘I want to come back, but it’s already getting late.’

‘So? I’ll wait for you.’

‘Okay.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘Be quick.’

‘I will.’

‘Really quick.’

‘Okay, really quick.’

‘Good,’ she kisses me tenderly and waits while I get my coat and shrug it on.  She stands in front of me, connecting the zip and pushing it closed, ‘stay warm for me.’

‘Okay.’ I give her another kiss and leave, she stands at the door smiling at me until I go out of view and I hear the door close shut.  The Landrover fires up and I pull away with the noisy diesel engine sputtering into the quiet night.  I drive down the lane to the first layby and pull in, turning the engine off I climb down and start jogging back to the row of cottages.  My legs feel heavy from the run this morning and all the exercise I’ve done with Tessa but I push myself to keep going.  Reaching the end of the row I slow down and take a couple of minutes for my breathing to ease.

Her house is at the end of the row so fortunately I don’t have to pass anyone else’s windows.  I left the gate open on purpose, knowing I’d be sneaking back.  Inside the front garden and I walk quietly down the path, the lounge curtains are pulled with one of the lamps on inside.  With it being dark outside it means I can get relatively close without being observed.  Getting close to the window I peer through the gap in the curtain but see nothing.  Creeping round I get close to the front door and lean in with my ear close to the letterbox.  Low murmur of voices from within, no just one voice.  Tessa on the phone but I can’t make out what she’s saying.  Her voice suddenly becomes clearer as she moves past the front door and I catch a snatch of conversation.

‘He’s just gone…..yeah he said he’s coming back.’ She’s telling someone about me, her tone seems natural but she goes out of range as she goes into the lounge.  I strain harder and listen intently and although I can’t hear the words I can hear her tone which seems normal.

‘….But I really like him….’ Her voice passes by the front door and I feel like a paranoid fool for trying to listen.  She must be talking to a friend and saying how much she likes me, I imagine the friend telling her to take it slow and steady.

‘…No you listen,’ voice harder in tone now but it fades as she paces up between her lounge and dining room.  She goes silent for a few minutes, obviously listening to the other person speaking.

‘…Okay, yes I said okay,’ her tone is resigned but also sounds frustrated like she’s being told off or chastised.

‘…I’ll call you later or tomorrow.’ She ends the phone call and I move away silently, pausing by the corner of the house and checking she’s not in the lounge before I sneak out the gate and jog back down the lane.

The conversation I heard, or rather the few snatched words doesn’t really tell me anything and I mull it over while I drive back to Huntington House.  She said she likes me, and she started that sentence with the word “but” which means there was a counter argument being put to her.  She was justifying her actions by saying “But I really like him”.  That could be to anyone though, but it must be someone close to her by the way her tone hardened and she told the other person to listen but then whoever it was must have some element of control by the way she acquiesced and agreed to whatever she was being told.  It could be anyone, a friend, ex-lover, family member even but no, she told me she was alone.  But that doesn’t mean she’s hasn’t got close friends or confidants.

Arriving at the house I have a momentary flutter of concern at seeing it in darkness but then I remember I’ve been out since early this morning and didn’t switch lights on in any of the rooms.  Leaving the Landy outside the front of the house I enter through the main doors and grope about for the light switch.  Then I stand in the silence and think why one earth Tessa would make it up, there’s no reason for it that I can see.  I’m wrong, I must be.

I walk through the ground floor switching lights on and drawing curtains, running all the events through my head, all of the things that have happened but they don’t seem connected; just a random series of weird things happening.  You’re a detective Humber and you were a bloody good one too.  My crime detection rate was absurdly high and that didn’t happen through fluke that was from hard work and the ability to see patterns when most would pass the over.

So far I’ve had doors being opened and strange things happening in the house which at first I out down to my drinking but then convinced myself it was Cooper.  That all culminated with the dead sheep and although Cooper didn’t actually admit it, him and his brother soon came round to clear the mess up.  So Cooper was behind the things happening in the house, job done, ticked off and move on.  What’s next? Tessa saying there are missing people from a long time ago, we always called these historic allegations.  So Tessa tells me of these historic allegations and I start helping her out, but within a day or so I’m starting to think there’s something wrong.  Tessa was working on Crimmins while I focussed on Hartwell, Jones and Knight.  So is it that because I can’t find a trace of them that I suspect something is wrong, or is from Tessa’s behaviour that I think something is wrong.  It has to be both.

Tessa showed me those folders, well put together and professional in appearance with the hyperlinks and the cross referencing, but at that point I didn’t know anything about it so I wouldn’t question what I was looking at.  It was only after that I started to get an idea and when I tested her she skilfully changed the subject or diverted my attentions.  But for what gain? Is she worried that I’ll beat her to the scoop or I’ll tell someone else? No, that doesn’t make sense.  She came to me with this; she decided to bring me in on it.  Or possibly I’ve given her too much credit and really there is no job here.  We had this many times within the squads when officers fail to look at the evidence rationally and make a bad judgement call and every clue further convinces them of the suspects’ guilt.  So at the moment I have suspicious behaviour with no offence and no known motive or known intent.

Translating this to street policing, it would be worthy grounds to search someone and ask a few questions but not to arrest or detain.  Someone acting strange doesn’t mean they are doing something wrong, unless it is out of character or accompanied by something else and I don’t know Tessa enough to make that kind of judgement.  No Humber, at the moment you’ve got nothing so chill out and relax, or chillax as I keep hearing people saying nowadays.  Chillax? Who thinks of these things? And twentyfourseven, my god I can’t stand that one and I once made the mistake of voicing my distaste for it in the office once and then had to suffer weeks of it being repeated constantly in my direction.

I check the rest of the house, going from room to room and finding nothing untoward until I reach my bathroom and discover my toothbrush in the bath again.  Nothing else.  Just my toothbrush lying in the bathtub and this time I’m ready for the sound of my bedroom door slamming shut when I bend down and pick it up.

‘Fucking polterghost.’

Chapter Twenty Six

It did cross my mind to stay at the house and not go back to Tessa’s, but it really was just a crossing of the mind, not even that, maybe more of a flashing across the mind.  Either way I ignored it and after checking the house I drove back to Tessa’s.  She was genuinely pleased to see me when she answered the door and pulled me into her small hallway to smother me in kisses, one thing led to another and the evening session was conducted in a very pleasant manner, although I will admit it was hard work after the multiple sessions we’ve had the last few days, and if I’m honest, things were starting to get sore after not being used for so long.

But being the brave soldier that I am, I carried on without complaint and suffered the mild discomfort until we were both exhausted and lying naked on her bed, half covered by a single sheet and enjoying the post coital warmth from within.

‘I’m getting a bit sore,’ she murmurs quietly.

‘No stamina,’ I reply, ‘actually I am too.’

‘Are you? Oh, I am pleased.’

‘Pleased?’

‘That we’re sharing the pain together.’

‘Oh I see, I thought you meant you were pleased I was suffering.’

‘No silly.’

‘Maybe you’re one of those women that likes to see their men suffer.’

‘My men?’

‘Yes, all your men.  I’ve seen them in the cupboards.’

‘Oh you found my other men in the cupboards, I’m really sorry about that I did mean to throw them out ages ago but I just didn’t get round to it.’

‘S’okay, I will suffer in silence.’

‘Okay.’

‘Like a hero…heroically trudging on…in a heroic way…’

‘Okay Mike,’ she giggles softly.

‘No really, I don’t mind being the subject for your evil experiment,’ careful Humber.

‘What experiment?’ She laughs.

‘The evil one to see how many times you can seduce me before I collapse in exhaustion.’

‘Oh that one!’

‘Are there more evil plans afoot then?’

‘Oh lots,’ she rolls over to face me, gently placing her hand on my arm and tracing her fingertips lightly up towards my shoulder.

‘Really? And what are these evil plans?’

‘I can’t tell you that…they wouldn’t be very evil if I exposed them now,’ she giggles again.

‘I knew it; this is all some experiment for The Daily Star.’

‘The Star?’ She bursts out laughing, ‘I wouldn’t work for The Star.’

‘The Sun then.’

‘Not them either.’

‘Well in that case it must be Women’s knitwear monthly.’

‘Nope.’

‘Train Spotters weekly?’

‘No!’

‘Um, The Daily Sport?’

‘Mike!’

‘You worked for The Daily Sport; wow did you get to do the sexy photo-shoots?’

‘That’s just a soft porn mag.’

‘Ah I see, well then it must be Country Walks Periodical.’

‘It wasn’t,’ she keeps giggling, showing what appears to be real delight in the guessing game.

‘Well I give up, unless it was some serious highbrow broadsheet like The Telegraph, or the Financial Times.’

‘The Financial Times doesn’t really go for celebrity gossip.’

‘Fair one, well then Tessa the intrepid reporter…I truly give up.’

‘Do you?’

‘I do, you’ll have to tell me.’

‘Or what?’ She says sexily.

‘Oh my god woman, not again!’

‘Ha, no I was joking.’

‘I won’t sex you but I may tickle.’

‘Sex you? Did you just say sex you?’

‘I may have done.’

‘I have never heard that one before.’

‘Well then you won’t know just how torturous it is, so cough it woman.’

‘Maybe I want to try this sex you…ing….thing.’ Damn she won’t give it up.

‘Fine, on your head be it,’ I roll over quickly and commence an evil tickling session, staring with her ribs but moving onto the under arms and feet until she’s screaming with laughter and beating at me with her arms.

‘Okay….Okay I give in,’ she sobs with big heaves, still laughing even when I cease the tickling.

‘Ha ha, I knew you would yield…so which one was it?’

‘Evening…Standard…’ the words come out between bursts of giggles causing her boobs to jiggle tantalizingly, ‘are you staring at my boobs again Mr Humber?’ She giggles harder, clearly in the middle of a laughing fit and I adopt a very serious and intent expression as I study them closer.  Her sustained laughing sets me off after a while and I can’t help but giggle along foolishly while she carries on, hugging at her stomach and trying to tell me it hurts to keep laughing.

An hour later and we’re in the kitchen drinking coffee and making small talk, I leave any serious discussion for another time, content to just enjoy her company and while away the time until it gets late and I have to leave.  We stay glued at the door for long minutes kissing and holding each other, acting like a pair of love struck teenagers.  But then the yawns kick in and I reluctantly trudge away wishing with every ounce of my life that I could stay there with her.

On the way home I feel content and re-assure myself that nothing is amiss.  We didn’t speak about the investigation once this evening, nothing about it was mentioned and although she seemed reluctant to tell me what paper she worked on at first, she did tell me and I think more now that she’s just a playful tease, and the bad thoughts I had before have faded far into the background.

By the time the Landrover is locked away and I’ve checked the house it’s late and I feel bad for leaving the house for such long periods of time.  Especially when I’ve been trusted to do a job and within the first week I’ve got pissed several times and now met a woman and spending long periods away.  It’s the early hours of the morning when I climb shivering into bed, exhausted and drained from so much exertion both physically and mentally and the for second night running I don’t need sleeping pills or Vodka to help me sleep.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Voices and doors banging wake me up and I come to full wakefulness suddenly, sitting up in bed and listening to people chatting away.  Women’s voices and several of them by the sound of it and I quickly jump into clothes and head downstairs, getting ready to try and eject some big toothed ginger coiffured haired family members.  Instead I find several women stood in the large entrance hall, the front door wide open and more women entering.  They all stop and stare at me, mouths hanging open and silence descends for a few seconds as we all stare at each other.

‘Are you Mr Humber?’ One of the older women asks.

‘Yes, sorry I was fast asleep.  Lord Fa…Huntington told me some staff were coming to get the house ready.’

‘Sorry, I know it’s early but we’ve got a lot to do.  Didn’t mean to wake you up Sir.’ She says in a respectful tone.

‘No no, please I didn’t mean to still be asleep.  It must be late…’

‘No Sir, just gone seven. Right you girls, you crack on and get the kettle on, I’m sure Mr Humber here would like a nice coffee too.’ She speaks with authority and by her tone and manner she presents herself as the head cleaner, or housemaid or whatever they’re called.  Domestic assistants maybe.

‘I’d love one, I’ll just get cleaned up and be right down.’

‘You take your time Mr Humber; we’ll be down here for a while yet.’ The woman bustles off and I head back up to use the bathroom and make myself presentable.  A few days growth on my chin since I shaved and I make the effort of getting rid of it and regretting not getting my wayward locks cut.  Pretty soon I’m ready for the day and feeling surprisingly energetic and happy.  No medication or alcohol for two days now and already I feel the difference in the mornings.  My body feels fitter too, a bit sore from all the love making but fitter and leaner.  Again I find myself humming tunelessly as I make the bed and tidy my things away, wondering if I need to stay with them in the house or if I’ll be able to slip off and see Tessa.

‘Coffee’s there love,’ another of the women gives me a big smile as I walk into the kitchen, and find a few of them sat round the table, ‘I haven’t sugared it though, you looked sweet enough,’ they all laugh together and I give a cheeky smile back.

‘Thanks, that’s lovely.’ Taking the mug I head over to the side and spoon some sugar in.

‘So you’re the security man we’ve been hearing all about.’ One of them says, and judging by the tone there must have been some gossip.

‘Yeah that’s me,’ I smile back and sip my coffee, making an appreciative face.

‘So how you finding here then? All cooped up in this big house on your own?’

‘It’s fine, lovely house.  Very peaceful too.’

‘He’s not all alone though from what I been hearing eh Judy,’ they start cackling like witches but it’s a pleasant noise and I laugh along, looking suitable sheepish.

‘Been seen with a fancy woman at the café every morning he has.’

‘Has he now? Fancy that…’

‘Didn’t take him long now did it.’

‘Mind you I wouldn’t say no to being his fancy woman for the day!’

‘Margaret, you’re old enough to be his mother!’

‘I’m only joking Judy, he knows that, you know that don’t you Mr ‘umber.’

‘Oh,’ I make a sad face, ‘I thought I was in for a good day then.’ That sets them off, cackling away and making jibes to each other.  It sounds nice hearing people in the house and these women have clearly worked closely and lived closely together for a long time.

‘So you all work here a lot?’ I lean against the counter with my coffee, desperate for a smoke but thinking I’ll be polite and chat for a few minutes.

‘Oh years.’ One says.

‘Too bloody long if you ask me!’ Another adds to more chortles.

‘We were all pretty much full time until a few weeks ago then old Huntington said we had to stop coz of that court thing going on.’ So that much is true then.

‘Oh right, so did you get laid off then?’

‘No, he’s alright Lord Huntington is, he said he had to drop the money seeing as we weren’t working but he’d keep us on a retainer, whatever one of them is.’ They don’t sound bitter and most of them nod in agreement when the woman says he’s alright.

‘That’s not too bad then.’

‘The lady liked the house spotless every-day she did, wouldn’t accept nothing less than perfection.’

‘High standards eh?’

‘Too bloody high sometimes, she’s a one she is, Mr Huntington is alright, but she can be a funny bitch.’

‘Easy Judy,’ one of the women says in a warning tone.

‘I won’t repeat a thing don’t worry.’

‘See, our Susie said he was alright,’ Judy says.

‘Susie?’ I ask confused.

‘Works in the café, serves you the large cappuccino every morning.’ Bloody hell, they even know what drink I have.

‘Oh yeah, nice lady.’

‘What Susie? She’s alright, bit of a gossip between you me and the gatepost,’ Judy winks.  I love it when older women get together and commit character assassination on someone they all know.

‘So your fancy woman about is she?’ That sets them off again and I laugh along with good humour.

‘Nobody can stay overnight, Lord Huntington made that clear, it’s just me and the ghost.’ I watch their reactions close, a couple go quiet and visibly shudder, the older ones and Judy just smile knowingly.

‘You’ve met him then?’ Judy asks.

‘I don’t really believe in ghosts but there have been a few weird things happening.’

‘Let me guess,’ Judy sighs theatrically, ‘doors being opened and things being moved? He likes toothbrushes does old Hunty.’

‘And slamming doors.’ One of them smirks.

‘Old Hunty?’

‘That’s what we calls him, has he locked you in the cellar yet?’

‘Yes he bloody did, well I got stuck down there for a while anyway.’ They all laugh again, ‘I had to use a coat hanger to get out.’

‘Ooh he’s like James Bond he is,’ one of the cackles.

‘Somebody should of told you to make sure the door was propped open.  I got stuck down there for a couple of hours when I first started, bloody terrified I was,’ Judy says.

‘I remember that!’ Another older woman adds, ‘you fairly wet your knickers Jude.’

‘Come on ladies, we’ve got a lot to do and I’m sure Mr Humber here has things he needs to be getting on with.’ The woman who spoke to me first at the bottom of the stairs walks in and gently chides the women, she speaks gently and I watch that none of the women scowl or show a negative reaction to her.

‘Just finishing our tea Maggie,’ Judy answers.

‘Excuse me I’m popping out for a smoke.’ I gather my tobacco and head into the courtyard, rolling one up as Maggie steps out to join me.  I listen to the women at the kitchen table fall into idle chat.  Maggie takes a packet of cigarettes from the front of her apron pocket and lights one up, exhaling the smoke into the clear air.

‘So he treating you alright then Mr Humber?’

‘Yeah I can’t complain it’s a good gig really. Have you worked here for long?’

‘Since I was fifteen, started part time at weekends then joined the staff when I finished school.’

‘And you’re in charge now?’ I guess she must be well into her fifties, so that would be about forty years’ service.  She would remember the girls that worked here, but how do I ask about them without setting alarm bells off.  Surely she would be one of the staff that Tessa would have spoken to.

‘Wow, that’s fascinating.  You must have seen some changes over the years.’

‘Not really, fashions come and go Mr Humber but the house hasn’t really changed, just the people in it.’

‘I don’t really know anything about the family or the house or even the history.’

‘I expect not being a city man like yourself.’

‘Have the Huntington’s always lived here?’ Stupid question seeing as it’s called Huntington House.

‘Been in their family since it was built.’

‘And they’ve always lived here too?’

‘Aye, I remember the Lord when he was little and the old Lord and Lady had it.’

‘So what’s this court battle about then? It seems clear cut to me, shouldn’t it just pass straight down to the present Lord?’

‘Ah well you see Mr Humber, the old Lord liked the ladies he did.  Well, all of the Lord’s like the ladies.  Must stem from Old Hunty who pretty much ravagedevery serving girl back in his day…’

‘I saw there are no locks on the staff quarters rooms.’

‘Aye, that was for easy access when he felt the urge, dirty bugger.  Still I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’

‘So I take it that the previous Lord made a few…er…indiscretions?’ She smiles at my tactful manner.

‘He did Mr Humber, quite a few.  Wasn’t so much worry about protection as there is nowadays, and of course abortions were still a rare thing too.’

‘Oh I see, so I guess when he died the children made a claim?’

‘They have, quite a few of them too.’

‘That could be messy if they can prove paternity.’

‘Aye, should have kept it in their trousers shouldn’t they.’

‘True enough Maggie, so was it local girls then?’

‘No! they were clever enough to make sure that never happened what with sexual harassment and that kind of thing these days.’

‘Oh,’ I make a surprised face, ‘so who were the girls?’

‘They brought in city girls Mr Humber, said they were giving them a chance to start a new life.  Mind you they were always pretty little things they were.’

‘That must have been awkward, having pregnant girls here and trying to explain how they got in the family way.’

‘Oh no such thing! They were paid off and taken away, well paid too from I hear.’

‘Wow, this is like something from a movie.’ I draw her out, letting her carry on making conversation.

‘The upper classes are all at it, the present Lord and his father are peas from the same pod.’

‘I take it this is common knowledge then?’ This explains why the girls left overnight.  They must have been driven away in the early hours and given a bundle of cash in exchange for their silence.  But surely one of them would have mentioned this to Tessa when she was calling them.

‘Not really, my mother was head staff so she knew a bit about it, and I took over from her and she told me, the staff might have an idea about one or two of them but they don’t pay no attention really.’ Why tell me then?

‘So what excuse did the Lord’s give when these girls left?’

‘Oh let me think…stealing was one excuse they used a few times, and another was said to be already pregnant, I think they said that because she said something about being in the family way.’

‘Ah I understand,’ I nod knowingly.

‘I know you won’t say anything about this what with you being that famous policeman.’ That explains her ease at opening up, thinking I’m still somehow magically connected to the world of law enforcement.

‘I won’t repeat a word,’ I promise, apart from Tessa. I wonder how she’ll react when I explain they aren’t missing, they were just paid off and relocated.  This explains why they didn’t return to their old lives, they didn’t need to with enough money to start somewhere fresh.  What about that phone call that Tessa got at the paper? I shrug it off thinking it’s probably Cooper trying to stitch the Huntington’s up with a scandal.  The man clearly harbours some serious jealousy issues.  Maybe he wanted to get pregnant and paid off too.

‘Well anyway Mr Humber, I better get on, this house won’t clean itself and them girls will be down there gossiping if I don’t get ‘em moving.’

‘Okay, do I need to stay here? Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘God no Mr Humber, you get on and enjoy your day.  We’ll be here till late afternoon and back in the morning.  Got food deliveries coming all day so you’re best of out of it, otherwise you’ll just distract my girls from doing their work.’

‘Fair enough, I know when I’m not wanted,’ I sniff indignantly.

‘Ah be off with you, have a nice coffee and enjoy your day off.’ Day off? Does she realise how little I’ve done since I’ve been here? Every day has been a day off really.

She goes back inside the house leaving me to smoke a cigarette in peace, smiling to myself at the turn of events.  Tessa was right about the girls going missing but not in the way she was thinking.  Knocked up and paid off, not quite the same story but still a good story though and I can imagine the headline now, Randy Lord Sued in Heated Court Battle.  She could still run with it, especially seeing as Maggie said there were a few of them.   And although it’s a private civil case, Tessa could still apply for information under the Freedom of Information Act.  The court would have to reveal which cases are currently listed which will give the names of the girls involved.  Also, it shouldn’t then by that hard to contact solicitors and find out who is acting on their behalf.

Funny old world and I shake my head at how easy it is to think of the worse scenario when all it ever really comes down to is sex and greed.  Before long I’m in the Landrover and driving into the village, thinking I’m too early to meet Tessa but also that I’m completely starving and seeing as I now have the day off as Maggie put it, I might treat myself to a big breakfast at the café.  Got to keep my strength up for the romp bonk and session, must drink more water too.

Chapter Twenty Eight

The breakfast was lovely and I sat inside for while reading through the paper and devouring the biggest cooked breakfast they offer, aptly named The Farmers Fry Up on the chalk-board.  Susie, now I know her name, greeted me like a regular with a big smile and we stood chatting for a few minutes about the weather and the girls I had met this morning at the house.  The paper was full of the mindless rubbish it normally is and I still get amazed when I read about some great catastrophe with loss of life in some far flung place in the world being relegated to page seven while the celebrities and local tittle tattle get front page and top billing.  There is seriously something wrong with this world, but like I said this morning it all comes down to sex and greed in one way or another.

I hear the door opening and glance up to see Tessa entering, looking round and giving me a huge smile.  My heart skips a beat again and I wonder how long it will take for that to stop happening every time I see her.

‘Morning handsome,’ she bends down to give me a kiss and steals a slice of toast in the process.

‘Hey you, do you want some food?’

‘Nah, I’ll just steal yours, she starts heading to the counter but Susie calls out that she’ll bring her drink over.  Tessa sits down and quickly finishes the first slice and starts on another one, stealing a thick bit of bacon she places it on the toast and folds it over to make a mini bacon sandwich.

‘I got some news for you,’ I say with a teasing tone.

‘Oh really?’ She looks at me expectantly, ‘well, go on then.’

‘It’s both good and bad.  Bad because it kind of dismisses your current idea but good because it fits what we know so far and explains a lot of questions.’

‘Ooh, well spit it out then Mr Humber.’

‘Shall we go outside?’  The café is virtually empty apart from the old man and the dog, plus Susie of course but it’s quiet and I know our voices will carry.  We take our fresh coffees outside and take our now usual seats, and I busy myself rolling a post breakfast cigarette while filling her in on what Maggie told me.

‘Oh,’ she says flatly when I’ve finished, she picks the coffee mug up and takes a sip, ‘oh,’ she repeats.

‘It does make sense, it explains why we can’t find a record of them on any missing person database because they were never missing, they were given a good financial payoff and rehomed somewhere else.’

‘Oh,’ she says in the same flat tone.

‘The only thing it doesn’t answer is why we can’t find them in any of the homeless person records, but maybe they were never from the streets.  It could be they were simply recruited, brought to the house, got knocked up and then sent off.  They could have come from children’s homes, unemployment centres, job agencies.  Bloody hell, they could have answered an advert the same way I did and been selected like that.’

‘Oh bugger,’ she bites her bottom lip and looks crestfallen, ‘all that bloody work, all those bloody phone calls and not one of them mentioned it.’

‘Tight bunch up here, Maggie only told me because she said I was that famous policeman and I was able to steer the conversation subtly.’

‘Shit.’

‘But there’s still a good story there Tess, we could be talking quite a few women here.  And if they were lured away from their homes and families by the Huntington’s on the promise of a good job and a new life only to be seduced and sent packing…That seems pretty outrageous to me.  Not as meaty as missing people, murder and cover ups but still it’s pretty bad.’

‘Yeah…Yeah I can see it; I’m just annoyed that I didn’t see it earlier.’

‘Don’t be, I’ve had hundreds of investigations that we’ve thrown loads of resources at only to find it was some simple explanation.  It happens.  But the ability to assess the facts as they become established and make an informed decision on where you go next, that’s the true investigators ability.’

‘Hmmm, so I guess they are the women making a claim against the Huntington estate, so we could apply to the courts for that information couldn’t we.’

‘Yeah absolutely, they won’t give a great deal of information but they might give us names, and possibly a location.  We could start contacting solicitors to try and find out who is representing them.’

‘Would they tell us?’

‘They won’t but they’re duty bound to pass on any request from you to their clients.  So if you contact them saying you are investigating repeated claims made against the Huntington’s and you want to bring this to the public attention,’ I shrug, ‘some of them might reply, they could see it as helping their cause.’

Well Mr Humber, I am both deeply shocked and deeply surprised by this turn of events and I wish to thank you for your efforts into this matter.  You will be suitable reimbursed.’

‘You’re welcome, who do I send my invoice to?’

‘Ah, now I may not be able to afford your services on a monetary basis but maybe we can come to some other agreement,’ she leans in and raises on eyebrow suggestively.

‘Hmm this sounds interesting, we should discuss terms.’

Which we do, and in quite graphic detail too.  With the new development this morning I feel relieved and settled again and no longer thinking that Tessa was trying to hide something but that it was my own paranoia creeping in.

‘No but what I am saying is that I cannot use the romp bonk and session as payment to you because they are the given freely of my own will, so it has to be something else.’

‘But I like the romp bonk and session.’

‘We’ll still have them, but you have to have something extra now.’

‘Oh, really?’ I start to worry, thinking that the current three sessions are already at my physical limit.

‘I don’t mean just sex; we’ll both be needing medical treatment if we do any more of that funny business.  How about a nice all over body massage?’

‘For me or you?’

‘For you of course, it’s your payment for services rendered.’

‘But I would get just as much pleasure in giving you a massage.’

‘Okay, I’ll do you and you do me, how about that?’

‘Hmm, yep agreed,’ I extend a hand and we shake on the deal.  ‘So does this massage involve the use of oil?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then we should go.’

‘Roger.’

‘That’s my saying.’

‘Roger Wilco over and out ten four rubber duck.’

Chapter Twenty Nine

My “day-off” is spent in a state of near permanent bliss, the news from Maggie seems to have taken any sense of urgency from Tessa and instead of working, we do everything but.  The morning romp and following cuddles while away a few hours with a long shower chucked in for good measure.

Then food and more coffee and the day gently drifts along with mindless nonsensical chatting and lounging around her cottage.  By late afternoon we’re back upstairs both telling the other how sore we are and vowing to just have a cuddle.  The cuddle leads to a kiss, which leads to petting, then hands get involved and the natural thing that men and women do inevitably happens.

By early evening I’m starting to think I should check back at the house, realising they have no way of getting hold of me with the distinct lack of phone signal round here.  So with a giggling round of kissing I finally depart and ease myself into the Landrover to drive slowly back to Huntington House as the daytime starts to fade and twilight leads the night subtly along.

As the house comes into view I see a collection of vehicles at the front of the house, most of them the same as when I left, indicating the cleaning and house staff are still here.  Then I see Lord Fatty’s expensive Range Rover parked up but with no sign of the man himself.  As I get closer I see a small marked police car almost hidden from view behind the Range Rover.  I increase the speed and pull the Landrover in amongst the vehicles before climbing down and heading in through the main door to find several of the cleaning staff stood round with red eyes, tear stained cheeks and Maggie talking to them softly.

‘What’s happened?’ I’m already guessing this involves a death of some kind.  A single police vehicle and it looked like a section vehicle used by the majority of shift officers rather than a pursuit and response vehicle.  Most forces will not let their response vehicles get tied up with protracted incidents like non-suspicious sudden deaths.  If it was something more serious then I would expect more vehicles and an officer on the front door.

‘Oh Mr Humber, it’s awful, just awful,’ Judy sobs loudly, and despite the obvious sense of grief in the room I can tell she still has the desire to be the first to tell the gossip.

‘What is it?’

‘Ah Mike, glad you’re here old chap, there’s been a tragic accident,’ Lord Fatty appears from the direction of the kitchen looking serious and solemn, a young uniformed policeman follows him out holding a clip board with paperwork fastened to the front and a pen in his hand.  No hat thought which tells me they were sat in the kitchen completing some forms when they heard me come in.

‘It’s Cooper…and no easy way to say it but, well it looks like he’s taken his own life.’ The young officer looks respectfully to the ground and strangely I want to tell him to get his eyes up and watch for the reaction of the people being told the news.

‘Christ, how did he do it?’ I watch Lord Fatty with a steady eye, he looks suitable upset but his eyes are dry and his voice doesn’t quaver.

‘Well young Tom was just telling me, he gassed himself in his car.’ The answer tells me that Lord Fatty also knows the local policemen enough to call them by their first name and refer to them as “young”, also that the policeman shows no effort to exert his authority or take control but instead stands back and looks down at the ground, also saying it in that way gassed himself is very blunt.  And I know myself from having to give countless death messages that there are many gentler ways of saying it.

‘That’s awful I am very sorry,’ I adopt a calm sincere tone and look about to see some of the women break down in fresh tears and others staring back at clearly in a state of shock.

‘Come through to the kitchen Mike, I think Tom wants to ask you some questions.’

‘Of course,’ I follow behind them as Maggie gives me a sad smile and turns back to comfort one of the sobbing girls.

‘Tom this is Mike Humber the security man I was telling you about,’ Lord Fatty makes the introduction as he settles himself down into a seat that I notice he he’s moved round so it’s at the head of the table.

‘Good to meet you officer.’ I extend a hand to the young policeman which he takes with a weak handshake.

‘Hello Mr Humber,’ I suppress a wince at his high pitched young voice and try to convince myself I was never like that.

‘Now what was it you wanted to ask Mike?’ Lord Fatty asserts his control and I watch the officer as he looks down at the form.

‘Right, er when was the last time you saw Stanley Cooper Mr Humber?’ Now this could be awkward, as the police would have seen the bruising and injuries to his face.  They might have already spoken to his brother who could be telling them I beat them both up.  If the brother is angry and bitter then he could be making allegations against me, but then this young officer wouldn’t be sat here asking me basic questions if he suspected assault.

‘The day before yesterday,’ I keep the answer short but my tone polite and I make sure I keep a helpful look on my face.

‘Oh right,’ the officer shows surprise so he clearly wasn’t expecting that answer, ‘er, where did you see him?’ I catch a surprised look from Lord Fatty too.

‘At his house,’ again the answer is blunt but my tone implies I’m trying to help.  The Lord catches me glancing at him and gives one of his jovial smiles but the eyes tell a different story.

‘Oh I see….Er, what were you doing at his house?’ That’s another closed question you moron and one which will elicit a basic answer.  What time is it, where do you live, what colour is the sky?

‘I went there to see Mr Cooper.’

‘Why did you need to see Mr Cooper?’ Another closed question.

‘To speak to him.’ And it gets a closed answer.  An experienced officer would have picked up on the evasive answers by now and be changing his angle of approach, however I think my polite and helpful tone confuses him.

‘What did you talk about?’ The officer doesn’t even look up from his forms but holds his pen hovered over the appropriate box waiting for the answer.

‘Oh just about the house,’ let me see how switched on this copper is, ‘tell me officer, how long had he been there?’

‘We’re not sure.’ He answers quickly, glancing up from the form.

‘Did someone report him missing or was it a family member that found him?’

‘He was expected here this morning and when he didn’t show Maggie sent someone round to his house.’

‘Oh that must have been quite shocking for them, and this girl found him in the car?’

‘Yes, poor girl was in pieces.’

‘I can imagine.  Did she try to resuscitate him?’

‘God no, he was well gone.’

‘How did she find him?’

‘In his Landrover, he was sat in the driver’s seat slumped over the wheel.’

‘Tell me about the vehicle.’

‘It was his Landrover.’

‘No I mean tell me about his vehicle, the state it was in.’

‘Oh it was quite tidy.’ How the hell is this officer allowed to go out on his own.

‘Great,’ I suppress the urge to be sarcastic and remember my own dealings with young officers coming into the office to pass on information or a job and being nervous at sight of steely eyed detectives staring at them. This is when closed questions should be used; when someone doesn’t have the wits to answer fully and you need specific answers.

‘Was the engine still running?’

‘Er, she didn’t say.’ Lord Fatty flicks his intense gaze between the officer and I.

‘Were you first on the scene?’

‘Yes Sir,’ the Policeman’s tone has become submissive as if he’s talking to a senior officer.

‘Was the engine running when you got there? Were the keys in the ignition and turned over as though the engine was on? Were the lights on? Was the engine block cool or warm? Did you touch the exhaust to feel for heat?’

‘Oh, er…’ he becomes very nervous, flicking through his notes.

‘Tom,’ I use his first name to gain his attention, he looks up at me with a worried expression, ‘How long have you been in?’

‘Just finished my probation Sir, two years last week.’

‘Is this the first suicide you’ve dealt with on your own?’

‘Yes Sir,’ he nods and continues looking at me like a scared puppy.

‘You’ve done really well Tom, and it’s never easy dealing with something like that.  Every policeman remembers their first suicide.  Just try to think from memory, you were there, you saw the scene so just describe it to me.’ Lord Fatty cocks his head slightly and that bumbling posh fool is again replaced by the shrewd man he really is.

‘Yes Sir, sorry Sir, Erm…Well the Landrover was parked out the front of the house.  The hose was connected to the exhaust pipe and fed into the driver’s window which was wound down slightly to allow the hose to go through, er…the engine was off but the keys were in the ignition…’

‘Did you remove the keys?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you have to turn them to pull them out or could you pull them straight out?’

‘Oh, er…I had to turn them, yes! I did have to turn them so the engine was on before.’

‘Has anyone tried to move the vehicle?’

‘No Sir.’

‘Okay so it ran out of fuel which caused the engine to cut out.’

‘Oh yeah...’ He looks excited, ‘er…the lights were switched on too but they weren’t actually on though.’

‘So they drained the battery,’ I prompt him.

‘Yes!’

‘What does that tell us?’

‘Er, that he was there for some time?’

‘Yes, but to get a precise time you would need to know how much fuel was in the vehicle and then speak to an expert to work out the fuel consumption for a vehicle of that age with that particular engine, and then match it to whoever was the last person to see him alive. That will give you a timeline of events.’

‘And if the lights were on then it would indicate it was done at night time.’ He’s getting into the swing of it now.

‘Possibly, but some people keep their lights on all the time.  I’m guessing a Landrover won’t do that though, so yes it’s probably safe to assume that the lights were on because it was dark.’

‘What else?’ he sounds eager.

‘You tell me Tom? What else was at the scene?’

‘Er…the body?’

‘Good, what about the body?’

‘It was cold and stiff.’

‘So that means the body had been there long enough for the blood to settle and rigor mortis to set in.’

‘Er…his seatbelt was off!’ Bless him, he’s trying hard.

‘Right, that’s a good observation but I’m guessing most people round here probably don’t wear them anyway.’

‘Oh yeah, that’s true.’

‘The house?’ I prompt his again.

‘Oh right yes, the house.  Er…the house was unlocked, the front door was pulled closed but not locked and it looked tidy and in order.’

‘No note?’

‘No Sir, none that we could find.’ That is strange; they nearly always leave a suicide note.  Especially if the victim is angry at some perceived event or thing.

‘Family?’

‘We haven’t found any yet Sir, both parents are dead and the brother doesn’t live there.’ Which means they haven’t traced or contacted the brother yet.

‘Does the brother live nearby?’

‘In the next town Sir, but we haven’t been able to get hold of him yet.’

‘Any sign of alcohol or tablets?’

‘None Sir.’

‘Clothing?’

‘Just his normal, jeans and a fleece top.’

‘Well this has been interesting,’ Lord Fatty interrupts and he’s back to his jovial self, ‘watching a city detective at work but I’m sure Tom has more enquiries to make elsewhere.’

‘Of course, sorry Tom old habits and all that.’ Lord Fatty has made it clear he wants this conversation finished.

‘No Sir, thank you!’ The officer says with clear gratitude and I’m pleased he hasn’t taken offence at me questioning him, instead of the other way round.

‘I’ll see you out Tom,’ they start walking towards the front door, ‘and pass my regards to your family.  Is your father’s back any better?’ I miss the answer as they walk through the hallway.  Interesting, very interesting.  Cooper certainly didn’t seem the sort to kill himself, he seemed a proud man to me.  No note, no signs of alcohol or pills.  Putting the kettle on I busy myself making a coffee while thinking that the officer didn’t mention the bruising to his face.  Unless the blood had drained out completely and left the face too pale, or he was left squashed face first on the wheel which would make it hard to see clearly.  Surely they would have seen when they lifted the body out, but Tom is clearly nervous and floundering so it’s not hard to assume he simply didn’t look very hard.

‘Well Mike, you certainly showed young Tom how things are done,’ Lord Fatty walks back into the kitchen with a knowing smile.

‘Sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to show him up.’

‘No I could see that, he’ll be able to go back and say he’s been cross examined by the famous detective Humber.’ He laughs with his podgy chin wobbling, showing no sign of distress that his Groundsman has just killed himself. ‘So what do you think?’ He asks, still in the posh voice but I can see the serious look in his eye.

‘Routine suicide by the sound of it Sir.’ Which it isn’t but my instinct is telling me to be very careful.

‘It does sound like it, poor Cooper he’s been struggling a lot lately.  I think his parents dying and his brother moving away have left him alone and isolated.  We kept hoping he would meet a nice woman but alas…it never happened.  And if you’ll forgive me saying it but he had ideas far above his station.’ Above his station? What does he mean by that?

‘How so?’

‘Oh you know trying to boss everyone about like this was his house and his land.  I guess his family have run it for so long that he just forgot he was a paid employee like everyone else.’ His tone is mild but the words are brutal and I catch the implication.

‘I understand Sir, it’s a shame though.’ I say with a respectful tone, ‘is the charity event still going ahead?’

‘Of course it is,’ he says with a smile, ‘we mustn’t let adversity stop our good efforts.’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘But I will let the girls get on home, they’ve had enough for today and they can finish off tomorrow if they start early enough.’ That’s very kind you fat selfish turd.

The gracious Lord Huntington speaks to the women, telling them how saddened they all are at the news of Cooper’s death and they can go home to be with their families.  I notice he speaks to Maggie separately, telling her he wants them in early the next day to get everything ready for the grand event.  She nods respectfully before going out the front door.  Once they’re all gone the Lord switches back to his beaming jovial manner and tells me that he has to get on and organise things so he’ll leave me in peace.

I stand out the front and watch as he powers his Range Rover up the driveway, waving his fat ginger arm out the window as he goes.  I now hate and detest the man.  What a cold and ruthless bastard.  He showed no sign of distress at Cooper’s death and clearly didn’t want me to carry on questioning the officer.  Maybe he hated Cooper but couldn’t find a way of getting rid of him so this is good news.  The thought stops me in my tracks.  The Landrover would be a diesel engine and diesel engines produce far less carbon monoxide than petrol engines.  Even modern petrol cars have converters fitted which make them a lot more difficult to kill yourself by exhaust fumes.  But the Landrover would be diesel, producing less carbon monoxide.  The Landrover wasn’t in a garage so the fumes would be going back out the window and leaking from the many ventilation points the older style Landrover’s have, thereby reducing the amount of deadly toxins in the cabin.  Cooper would have to be in a well-sealed environment to finish himself off with a diesel engine.  No note. No alcohol.  The man seemed proud and defiant.  Where is the brother? Lord Fatty didn’t want me asking more questions and he asked me what I thought of the situation.  My instinct even then was telling me to tread carefully.

Leaving it half an hour, long enough to make a coffee and smoke a few cigarettes I move round the house and go through my now routine practise of making the place look lived in.  Once finished and when a long enough period has passed I grab my jacket and torch and head out the door and start walking across the back lawn towards the meadows.  I considered driving round to Cooper’s house but it would be easy to see me and I want to stay as quiet as possible.  The going is a lot harder now in the night and I resist using the torch until I have to, and even then I cover the lens and only show the bare minimum of light, just enough to light the way for me.

Eventually I find the fence cross over point and start moving through the wooded area, keeping my tread gentle and trying to avoid making too much noise.  The dark and gloom are oppressive and the tree’s cut out any moonlight, making it almost pitch black.  With infrequent and quick flashes from the torch I make my way along the path until it opens out and I can see the dark shadows of Cooper’s house.  Crouching down and I listen for long minutes, getting myself familiar with the normal sounds of this environment and straining for anything that seems out of place.

Minutes later and I’m moving forward slowly, watching and listening but there doesn’t appear to be anything other than the creak of tree’s, branches and the odd scurry of an animal in the undergrowth.  Reaching the front of the house I see the Landrover in situ, parked in the middle of the parking area.  It’s always been at the side of the house when I’ve been here so why would it be in the middle?

I quickly check to make sure the windows are all in darkness and then move over to the vehicle, the hose has been left in position with one end attached to the exhaust pipe with tape and the other end shoved through a gap of a few inches in the driver’s window.  I’ve seen this before many times and most people will try to tape the gap up and prevent the fumes from leaking back out.  I check the exterior and it is an old version with a hard box top and sliding windows and many ventilation points.  The doors are not even locked and I shake my head at the lack of training the young officer has been given.  Taking care not to leave any prints I climb into the driver’s seat, Cooper was a bigger man than me so the seat is pushed back further than I would have it.  He must have been cold sat out here in just a fleece top.  The heaters in these things are crap and with the window open it would have got very chilly very quickly.

The post mortem won’t be until at least Monday now; with no signs of foul play and a standard report from the officer it will be put down as routine.  I know if I was investigating it I would be asking for toxicology reports, blood alcohol and a determination on the cause of death.  I would bet my life savings it won’t be carbon monoxide poisoning, but that’s a safe bet as my life savings are nil.

Inside the vehicle I’m safer to use the torch and I shine it about, in the glove box I find a pile of receipts from the local fuel station.  This vehicle must be owned by the Huntington estate so Cooper would need to keep his mileage receipts.  They are in order and the top one shows he put fuel in a week ago.  These older vehicles are robust but they’re heavy on the fuel consumption.  A quick check through the other receipts shows me he filled up weekly.  The prices of the fuel indicate he was filling the tank up too so couldn’t have had much left when he sat here with the engine running.

With nothing else in the vehicle to examine I head over to the house, half expecting to find it unlocked.  But even Tom isn’t that incompetent so I move round the building to the back door, an old fashioned wooden door with a Yale lock.  I use my expired and maxed out credit card and within a minute I’ve pushed the lock back and opened the door.  Inside I find myself in the kitchen and take even greater care not to leave any prints by pulling my sleeves down over my hands.

A quick check round confirms no one is here so I start a search in the kitchen.  I pull the curtains closed and hold the torch in my teeth while I open cupboards, drawers and units.  Not really sure what I’m looking for but I have enough experience to know I’ll spot anything of interest.  One drawer is dedicated to his bank account, the balance showing a healthy six thousand pounds and regular deposits from Huntington Estates.  The rest of the paperwork is standard utility bills and normal household stuff.  No sign of debt or credit cards.  The fridge has a few cans of beer inside and usual single man food items.  The bin is normal too, no sign of empty pill packets or spirit bottles, no half written suicide notes.

Down the hallway and I remember the fight we had, stumbling around and the strength of Cooper when he carried me into the lounge.  A proud strong and healthy man with no obvious debts, living in a wood side cottage that most city dwellers would pay a fortune for.  A decent job with steady wages.  This doesn’t make sense.

The lounge looks tidy and clean, far tidier than most single men I know, which again shows that he had enough morals and principles to make sure his house was in order.  If he was suffering a mental deterioration I would expect to see clutter, mess and filth.  No sign of a note pad and nothing out of the ordinary anywhere.  A few bottles of spirits on the sideboard but most of them are unopened and the ones that are opened are mostly full.

Upstairs and I find three bedrooms, one must be the brothers old room and looks preserved in the sense of clothing and personal items taken but basic décor retained.  One room is mostly empty apart from a few boxes and then the biggest bedroom with a double bed.  This must have been the parent’s room which Cooper took over after they died.  His clothes are neatly folded or hanging in the wardrobe and the room looks as clean and tidy as the rest of the house.  In this room I take my time and search thoroughly, checking each drawer and making sure I put everything back exactly as I found it.  At the bottom of the wardrobe I tap the base which causes it to move slightly.  By pushing down on one end I can lift the opposite corner up and get my fingers in enough to prise it up.  Under the base is a laptop computer bag, a modern one with a chest strap and two carry handles.  The soft material is safe to handle with my bare hands as it won’t hold finger prints.  I lift it out and unzip the bag, inside is the laptop, leads and accessories.  Why would this be in here? Why hide it if he lives alone? The obvious answer springs to mind, that he must be a porn addict and into some serious stuff.  But I haven’t seen a modem anywhere so he would have no way of connecting to the internet and using mobile phone signal won’t work out here.  A quick through the bag reveals no discs that he could be watching.  Which means he has used the laptop to store information.  Information that he doesn’t want other people to see.  Information that he doesn’t want the Huntington’s to see.

The laptop will hold finger prints so I have to use my sleeves to slide it out and prise the lid open.  The laptop is in sleep mode and comes to life with a gentle push of the button.  The battery is half charged which shows he used it very recently before his death.  Unfortunately the main screen in password protected, I try a few entries and the obvious ones: Cooper, Huntington, Landrover but it keeps telling me the entry was incorrect.  The boffins back at the yard would have this cracked within minutes but I lack the knowledge to do it.

The bedroom becomes illuminated as car headlights sweep by, accompanied by the sound of an engine.  I react quickly, shoving the base back down on the wardrobe and clearing out of the room with the laptop bag in hand, pulling the strap over my shoulder as I move quickly down the stairs and into the kitchen.  I pause to make sure no one is coming in the back door and I hear car doors closing and the crunch of footsteps over the parking area, low voices too.  It could be the brother but something tells me it isn’t.  I ease myself out of the back door and close it behind me, wincing at the sound of the lock dropping home.  Then I’m off, jogging away into the darkness of the night.  I drop down at the edge of the tree line and wait for a few minutes.  Lights go on inside the house and I see two figures moving round inside but I’m not close enough to see who it is.

Keeping low I edge closer to the parking area and see Lord Fatty’s Range Rover parked up.  I drop down and keep myself low, making sure the laptop bag is secured and not likely to drop or make any noise.  They take ages inside the house and I track their movements by the lights going on as they move from room to room.  The cold starts to bite and hugging the ground like this means I’m shivering and can feel my teeth starting to chatter.  Through the lounge window I can see they’re doing what I just did, searching and going through his drawers and cupboards.

Finally, after what must be at least an hour, the lights are switched off and they come out of the house, locking the door behind them.  Once into the light I see one of the men is Lord Fatty but I don’t recognise the other, a heavily built man in his forties with short dark hair.  They stroll over to the Landrover and the dark haired man shines a torch through the windows.  They murmur in voices too low for me to hear clearly.  Without worrying about leaving prints they open the doors and go through the glove box and check the entire vehicle.  They close the vehicle and start back towards the Range Rover, talking quietly.

‘…the hell has he put it then?’ Lord Fatty’s voice comes into range and I can hear the frustrated tone of his voice.  The jovial posh boy aristocrat is gone, replaced by the harsh tones of a hard man.

‘I don’t know Sir,’ the second man replies in a subservient tone.

‘We have to find it, are you sure it’s not with Simon?’ Who is Simon?

‘No Sir, we’ve taken care of that, it’s definitely not at the brothers house.’ That answers the question.

‘Well where is it?’

‘It could still be in there Sir, carefully hidden.’

‘Right, well get some men up here tomorrow night and go through it properly, rip up the fucking floor boards if you have to.’

‘Will do Sir, so no problems from Humber then?’ My heart misses a beat at the mention of my name.

‘No, we’ve got him where we want him.  He started asking Tom a load of questions today and I can see what she means now, he knows what he’s doing.  He was treating young Tom like some he was still a senior detective but I sorted it and got rid of him before he planted any stupid ideas.’

‘Does he suspect anything Sir?’

‘I don’t think so, I asked him and he said it looked like a routine suicide. We’d better go.’

‘Yes Sir, so she is happy to carry on then…’ They climb into the Range Rover, closing the doors and leaving me feeling like my stomach has dropped out through my arse and the blood is pounding through my skull.  She is happy to carry on then…

The Range Rover pulls away and slowly drives down the lane and out of view but I stay on the ground for long minutes, the cold feeling replaced with a sense of numbness.  Once on my feet I make my way back through the woods and into the meadows.

That line going through my head over and over; she is happy to carry on then… The only person I’ve made a connection to up here is Tessa.

Despite all my suspicions and trying to think my way out of it.  Tessa is involved.

Chapter Thirty

I walk in a daze back to the house, threading my way through the woods and into the meadow.  They want this laptop, or rather what’s on it.  Tessa is in on whatever is going on.  The dots connect and everything falls suddenly and clearly into place.

Cooper wasn’t jealous about me staying in the house; he was trying to warn me.  He was trying to get rid of me as he knew something bad was going on. But he couldn’t say what it was.  Tessa must be the “she” they referred to, that means she used me.  She used me to see how an experienced detective would find the missing girls.  Maggie said the girls were paid off after being made pregnant, but maybe not all of them.  Maybe some of them had to be silenced if they threatened to go to the press.  The names Tessa gave me must have been fake.  Tessa kept asking me questions; what would I do if I had a full team with me, how about if I had to investigate this on my own, how long would it take, what steps would I take, how would I get the information.  Why me though? Then it dawns on me, this has nothing to do with Mike Humber the famous detective.  This is Mike Humber the ex-detective, down on his luck with no known family or connections.  That advert in the security magazine would have elicited thousands of responses, and they would have quickly worked through them to find someone with experience and knowledge to know how to handle a case like that, someone who would fall for Tessa, someone who had no current connections and someone that nobody would miss.  I haven’t told anyone about this job.  With the kind of money these people have they could have put surveillance on me the minute they got the response from the advert.

I walked into their trap and fell for every part of it.  Christ I was even telling Tessa every little step that Cooper was doing and she must have been feeding it back to Lord Fatty.  They must have loved it when I went round and beat the poor bloke up twice.  I groan inwardly at the thought that I beat the shit out of Cooper and his brother.  Why didn’t they just tell me something was going on?But then if it was that bad they would suspect that I’d tell Lord Fatty or Tessa, which would expose them and put them in danger.  And that’s kind of what did happen, I told Tessa, Tessa told Lord Fatty and eventually they went after Cooper.  My blood runs cold with the realisation that I’m dealing with a very clever group of people, calculating and cunning beyond measure.  They’ve quite possibly murdered Cooper and his brother and made it look like suicide.  I know what the next move will be.  Cooper’s brother will be found hanging or dead from an apparent suicide and they’ll put it down to a joint enterprise or suicide pact.

From what I’ve learnt so far, Lord Huntington owns everything in sight, and the right pressure applied in the right way means no one will stand up to him.  For fear of losing their jobs, homes and everything they’ve got they will go along with whatever he says.  Not murder and extreme violence, somebody would challenge that so I doubt they know the real story.  But if Lord Huntington speaks to the local police chief and “advises” him that any sort of seedy account would be bad for business, oh and isn’t it about time I made my annual contribution to the police fund…I’ve seen it happen.  Even in the city forces the corruption isn’t from the local bobby taking a back hander from a drug dealer.  It’s at the top, with the superintendents and chiefs.  Serious businessmen do not like to be investigated and the funny handshake club are a very close bunch.

And what does that mean “we’ve got him where we want him”, what more do they want from me? Tessa and I haven’t even talked about any of this for the last day or so.  I suspected Tessa was up to something before but her feelings for me really do appear genuine and if she was faking at all then why let me keep having sex with her three times a day, and she’s the one initiating it most times.

At the house I make sure no one else is here before I go through to the garage and stuff the laptop bag deep onto a high shelf then cover it rags and old bits of wood.  The urge to open it up and keep trying is passwords is hard to resist, and I know there is no danger of getting locked out as it will just keep re-setting until I get the right one.

What do I do now? I’ve got no evidence of anything and I would still be laughed at if I went to the police.  They don’t suspect I know anything that much is clear, so I just need to keep going with it and wait until an opportunity presents itself and I can gain some hard evidence.  With my past reputation there will be old colleagues that would take me seriously and start an investigation, but they’re in London and there are strict protocols in place for cross border investigations and the minute the local chief gets wind of this he’ll be onto Lord Fatty which puts me at risk.  Assess the facts Humber, assess the facts and make an informed decision.  I need more, I need evidence and until I get it I just smile prettily and act the same as always; which means I have to go and see Tessa because any deviation from the already set pattern would cause suspicion.

I rush round and make sure the house is locked up, then leg it up the stairs to grab a clean t shirt and find my toothbrush back in the bath.  Even the bloody ghost is having a laugh at my expense.

The Landrover is pushed as fast as it will go in a vain attempt by me to gain time and I only slow down when I’m drawing close to Tessa’s house.  Parking up I take a short minute to calm myself and get the mind-set right.  When I did undercover work on the street squads I quickly learnt it was about mind-set and acting in a normal way, go with the flow and let it wash over you.

‘Hey you, I was starting to get worried you’ve been gone for ages,’ she smiles as I step through the door and despite everything I now know and suspect about her, I still can’t help but feel a sense of excitement as I take her in my arms for a kiss.

‘Awful news, that poor bugger Cooper has gone and topped himself.’ But you already know that don’t you.  She jerks back quickly and stares at me with a horrified expression.

‘What?’ Her tone is hard and sounds genuinely surprised, good actress this woman.

‘Cooper, he put an exhaust pipe through the window and killed himself.’ Her face goes pale and I wonder how she does it. My undercover work was good but this woman is amazing.

‘Jesus Mike, that’s awful.’

‘Yep, poor bastard.  I guess he really wanted to be in that house.’ I make a quip, keeping it the same as ever.  She looks away as though in deep thought.

‘That’s too much,’ she adds quietly, as though to herself.

‘Too much?’ The question is out my mouth before I realise what I’m doing.

‘Yeah, you know killing yourself like that,’ she shrugs, ‘seems so…so…’

‘It was his choice Tess, his life and was a grown adult able to make decisions for himself, he chose to do it so that’s down to him.’

‘Mike, that’s brutal,’ she looks at me with a frown.

‘Sorry Tess, I don’t mean to sound callous but I didn’t share any love with the man, look what he did to me and I guess maybe I’m hardened to it after the things I’ve seen.’

‘Yeah I guess,’ for a man she’d never met she’s acting like it was a close friend or something.

‘Anyway, so Lord Fatty was there and the girls were all upset and this young copper started asking questions and bless him, he got all confused so I helped him a bit, you know, just what kind of thing to look out for with sudden deaths,’ I prattle on, covering the silence while I ease my jacket off and act like everything is normal.  She nods as I speak but I can see she’s a million miles away and I’m finding it hard to work out why she’s having this reaction.

‘Tess, are you okay love?’ I step in and put my arms round her, she responds instantly by burying her head on my chest and I swear she’s fighting to hold back from crying.

‘Hey love, what’s up? You’re taking it very hard.’

‘Sorry, I just don’t like that kind of thing, always upsets me.’ I’m even more confused now, she’s acting like she genuinely didn’t know.

‘I’ll make us a coffee,’ I go to break away gently but she clings on harder and I feel her arms pulling me in tight, and again even though I suspect her off being immersed, involved and up to her arm pits in whatever is going on I can’t help but rub her back and hold her close.

‘Tess, what on earth is wrong?’ Yeah go on, tell me that your friend Lord Fatty forgot to mention they murdered Cooper.

‘I’m okay, honestly, I just needed a hug.’

‘Tess, you can trust me,’ I put my head so my mouth is right next to her ear and I whisper the words quietly, very quietly.  She freezes and doesn’t flinch for a few seconds then slowly leans back to look up into my eyes and I can see hers are filled with tears and a raging conflict of emotions.  I half squint my eyes very quickly and nod once, trying without words to send a message.  I don’t know if her house is bugged or maybe even camera’s, I don’t know how deep or far this thing goes and to be honest, I don’t know why I’m trying to give Tess a chance but I guess I want to know that she likes me for me, and not because of a big fat pay check.

She stares back at me, and I can see her face is a mix of emotions.  The thing I just said, that she can trust me would be a strange thing to say in this moment so she now suspects that I know something, but that is all I have said, just that she can trust me.  The air becomes charged and her eyes go through milliseconds of hardening and softening then a single tear rolls down one cheek and I reach my hand out to extend one finger and catch the tear, I lift it gently towards me as she watches intently, gazing at the droplet of moisture clinging to the end of my finger.  I put my finger onto my lips and wait for it to soak in, feeling the wetness of it and desperately trying to convey to her that I’m here, I’m here for her.

She steps in close and once more wraps her arms round me tightly, ‘I’m glad you came back though, I missed you,’ she says in a normal voice of normal volume and the implication is clear as day.  We’re being listened to.

‘Me too, I couldn’t stay away from you even if I tried,’ I reply as I resume rubbing her back.  Dropping my head down again I hold my mouth once again right next to her ear and I feel her shudder from the warm breath I exhale.

‘Cameras?’ I whisper as gently as I can, barely audible but the word is enough and I feel her shaking her head on my chest.

‘Just audio?’ Her head nods firmly twice then stops.  I wrap my arms round her and bring her in close, telling her through movement that it will be okay.  I kiss the top of her head and I feel her arms tighten around my waist.

‘Every room?’ I’m back to rubbing her back, hoping that the sound of friction will distort any bugging devices.  Modern microphones can be tiny and still exceptionally powerful and there could be one right above my head for all I know. She shakes her head twice and again I kiss the top of her hair, letting her know I understand what she’s telling me.

‘Listen Tess, I’m sorry for being so blunt about Cooper, I didn’t like the bloke and I forget that not everyone has dealt with death and people still get upset.’

‘I’m one of those I think,’ she replies and reaches up to kiss me, then gently slides her cheek against mine so her mouth is right next to my ear, ‘thank-you,’ she whispers.

We break apart and head for the kitchen and I lean against the door frame watching as she moves about, filling the kettle and switching it on and all the time thinking of the times I’ve called Charles Huntington Lord Fatty instead.  Still, he seems to think he’s got me right where he wants me, wherever that is.  But like everything else this week so far, nothing is as it seems and Tessa has now just shown me that she’s involved but there is a chance of her crossing over to my side.  How do we do it though? How do we discuss this without them knowing or hearing?

‘Penny for them?’ She smiles at me, then suddenly realises what she just said and what I must be thinking about.

‘I was admiring your bottom if I must be perfectly honest.’

‘Oh really?’ A look of relief passes over her face and I smile at her.

‘It’s a great bottom.’

‘Thank you,’ she seems a bit nervous now and I can see by her hand movements that she’s shaky.

‘Do you know what I’ve been thinking about all afternoon?’

‘What’s that?’

‘A nice long shower with you and your bottom, actually it would be lovely to lie down in the bath and let the shower pour down on us,’ think Tessa, think about what I said before, that listening devices can’t work with background noise.

‘That sounds lovely,’ she says woodenly then catches the hard look on my face, she freezes and stares back at me, both palms facing out and half shrugging.  She’s struggling and will give the game away if she carries on like this.  I don’t know what’s caused her to go to pot; she’s been the best actress in the known universe up till now.

‘So anyway you should have seen this young copper today, my god he was so young.  It made me think if I was ever like that.’ She passes me a look of relief again as I start making mindless small talk.

‘Were you?’ She says.

‘Yeah, we all were at some point.  Mind you, being a probationer in inner city London means you have to learn quickly.’

‘Oh I can’t imagine you being clean shaven and running around with one of them big hats,’ she smiles, slowly relaxing.

‘I hated them hats, they’re bloody awful.  Mind you I looked good in the flat cap though.’

‘Is it true that if a pregnant lady asks to wee in your hat you have to let them?’

‘Oh my god, I lost count of the amount of times I was asked that question.  No it’s not true, or at least it was one of those really old laws that never got repealed.’

‘So it might be true then,’ she laughs.

‘Hmmm, maybe then.’

‘Well if I ever get pregnant I shall find some young constable and tell them that the famous detective Humber told me I could.’

‘Christ, if I had a woman like you asking me that when I first joined I would have dropped down and held it ready for you.’

‘Urgh that’s gross Humber,’ she laughs more naturally this time but I can see the strain on her face.

‘Sorry,’ I giggle back as she hands me my coffee.  She pauses, clearly not sure what to do next.

‘Shall we?’ I look up with my eyes, motioning that we should head upstairs.  She nods back then holds me back as I go to lead the way.  She squeezes past me and walks through the dining room, pointing at the lamp in the corner and looking back at me.  I nod once to show I understand.

‘Have you eaten yet?’ she asks, trying to fill the silence.

‘Not yet, I’m not that hungry yet to be honest.’

‘I can make something later if you like,’ she walks through the hallway into the lounge and I follow to watch her draw the curtains closed and move over to switch a small lamp on, motioning with her head as she does so.  I nod back again and cross over to her, leaning in for a kiss.  She kisses me back and I look down to spot a tiny black object stuck just inside the shade of the lamp.  I was right, they are very modern and sophisticated which means they will also be very good quality.

We head upstairs making chat and enter her bedroom and she crosses over to put her coffee down on the bedside table.  She looks up at me, looks round the room and shrugs, telling me she doesn’t know if this room is bugged.  If it is I bet the dirty bastards have had a field day listening to our romp bonk and sessions.

‘Back in the bedroom eh?’ I put my cup down and indicate for her to keep talking while I start moving round the room searching for devices.  She pauses with a terrified look on her face then plunges in, telling me in a loud voice about how she misses not having take-aways nearby and having to do all the cooking herself.  Motioning her to keep going then giving a thumbs up as she nods back and keeps talking I move from object to object, examining everything closely.  I make comments back and talk about the great and awful food places I used to use when I was working late.  There’s no sign of any bugging equipment in the room but I’m still not confident so I put my finger to my lips and give a hushing sign to show I’m not satisfied.  Then I flop down on the bed, she stands there unsure what to do and the worry on her face is obvious.  I reach up to pull her down next to me which she does but the worry is radiating off her.  We have to be normal, anything less than that could put us both in danger and I still don’t know how involved Tessa is.

‘Come here sexy,’ I murmur.  If someone is listening then they would know that we can’t keep our hands off each other, and if they’ve heard me telling Tessa about Cooper and then her reaction they could be sat somewhere now, listening through headphones and picking up on her change of character.  I start kissing her neck and she responds with a fake groan that makes me feel like a creep.  Her eyes are wide open and looking about the room while her hands stroke the back of my head.  She looks down at me and mouths ‘I’m sorry,’ at me.

‘Are you falling asleep on me?’ I say with a joking tone, trying to cover up for abnormal silence.

‘Sorry, I’m just so tired,’ she reacts quickly, ‘you’ve tired me out Mr Humber.’ She gives me a sad smile and I lie down next to her and start gently stroking her soft cheek.

‘Well how about that nice bath to help you relax?’

‘Yeah, sounds lovely.’ I go to move away but she grabs my hand and pulls me back in for a kiss, a long slow kiss and I can feel the tension in her body.

In the bathroom I turn the cold tap on but don’t put the plug in.  The water thunders into the bathtub but doesn’t sound right, it sounds exactly what it is, cold water pouring down.  I ease the flow and turn the hot tap on, instantly the sound of the boiler firing up reaches me and I nod in satisfaction.  I leave it running and push the plug down then look up to see Tessa stood leaning against the bathroom sink watching me and still fully clothed.  I move over and pull the bathroom door closed then strip my t shirt off so I’m stood just in my jeans.  Standing in front of her I put my hands on her hips and wait for a couple of minutes until the steam from the hot water starts filling the small room.

‘You getting in then?’ I say softly.  She nods back at me and starts unbuttoning her blouse, starting from the bottom and working up to the top.  Despite the circumstances it’s incredibly erotic watching her slowly undo the buttons and then slip the blouse off to reveal a black lacy bra underneath.  She looks up and locks eyes on me, sensing my feeling of excitement.  Keeping her eyes locked on mine she slowly pops the button open on the top of her jeans and pulls them open, each button making a quiet popping sound as they come apart.  Bending forward slightly she eases the jeans down, giving a very slight wriggle to pull them down.  Her matching black panties come into view as the jeans are slowly pulled off and left in a heap on the floor.  She stands up slowly and keeping her eyes locked on mine she reaches out to my belt and starts unthreading it, prising it open then undoing the button.  She slowly drops her hands to unzip the fly then without warning she reaches in and starts massaging me, slow at first but then harder and firmer as my body responds.

‘Nice?’ She asks me.  I close my eyes as her hands kneads away, rubbing with long strokes.

‘Very,’ I murmur as the pleasure starts building up.

‘You like that do you?’ Something in her tone makes me open my eyes and I see a hard look on her face.  I put my hands on her wrists to pull her away but she resists and pushes them further into my jeans, forcing the gap to widen and they fall down round my ankles.

‘This is what you want isn’t it,’ statement not a question in a quiet voice with harsh tones.  I go to pull away again but she steps with me until my back is pressed against the wall and she’s leaning into me, her hands rubbing hard.  I can’t help but respond naturally which she can feel as she starts gripping and rubbing harder.  She reaches one arm up and pulls a strap of her bra from one shoulder, wrenching the bra down to reveal one breasts.  She takes my hand and places it on her exposed breast then starts kneading my hand to rub her bosom.

‘Touch me,’ she commands.

‘Tess?’ I whisper quietly, hoping the sound of the water will mask my words against microphones.

‘Come on Mike, let’s give ‘em a good show,’ she steps in so her mouth is close to my ear and whispers in a hoarse voice.

‘Tess, stop this,’ I gasp as her hand rubs faster.

‘This is what you want isn’t it, this is all you ever want.’ Her tone grows harder and her grip almost hurts.

‘No Tess, I want you.’ I try to pull her hand away but she roughly pushes me off and stares at me with anger in her eyes.

‘You want me? How? Bent over, legs spread or are we going for missionary position with the lights out?’

‘Tess, please stop this.’ I beg and will my erection to go down but it won’t and she takes my hardening as a response to her now furious tugging.

‘Okay,’ she stops suddenly and part of me is very glad, but another part wants her to continue.  I look down into her eyes but her eyes look furious. ‘I know what you want,’ she says with a sultry poisonous tone.  She lowers herself down until her face is in front of my groin.  I try to reach down to pull her back up but she lashes out with a worrying violence, smacking my hands away.

‘I’ll scream…’ She looks up at me smiling.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’

‘Exactly what you want, this is what you keep coming here for,’ with one movement she yanks my boxer shorts down and grips me with a firm hand.  What the hell is happening? I can’t understand why she’s doing this.

‘Oh that’s nice isn’t it Mike,’ she starts rubbing again with long strokes, ‘you like that don’t you big boy.’

‘Tess, please love, you don’t have to do this.’

‘I’m doing it for you lover, this is what you want.’

‘Please stop,’ her strokes get firmer again, I’ve nowhere to go.  My back is against the wall and she seems demented, if she screams and they come running they could figure out that she’s betrayed them and put us both at risk.

‘You want me to stop?’ She purrs.

‘Yes!’ But I don’t want her to stop.

‘Okay Mike, you’re the boss…you’re the famous detective,’ she says in a hard sarcastic tone.  The water is still thundering into the bath and the room has become steamy as the temperature rapidly rises.

‘Tessa, please I don’t want it like this…’ I beg her to stop.

‘Oh I’m sorry, is my hand not good enough for you? How about this then…’ a sudden warmth envelopes me as she takes me in her mouth, I shudder at the immense pleasure while cursing myself for being weak and not pushing her off.  I drop my hands to her head and start trying to push her away but she grips with teeth and gives a growl deep in her throat.  I stop trying to push her head away and she lifts her teeth from my shaft then gently starts moving up and down.  I groan as the pressure builds.

‘No….Tess! No…stop…’ I groan but she carries on, her head bobbing away.  I slam the back of my head against the wall, furious with myself and feeling powerless.  I could easily push her off and over-power her but she’s seems crazed and despite everything it feels amazing.  My hands massage the back of her head, fingers entwining in her hair.

‘Tess,’ my own tone hardens and she looks up at me, I grasp her face in both hands and lift her up to her feet, breathing hard.  Grasping her behind I lift her bodily up as I sit down on the closed toilet seat and bring her down onto my lap.  She reaches down to pull her panties aside and we become locked as the steam billows round the room.  She looks at me, her gaze now softened and back to normal.  Tears falling down her cheeks and she grasps my face in her hands, staring at me intently.

‘I’m so sorry Mike,’ she whispers and the tears spill out faster.

‘What for?’ I grunt, confused.

‘Just know that I didn’t fake any of it.’

‘What?’

‘I love you Mike,’ she whispers and tears pour down her face.

‘Tess?’ What the fuck is going on.

‘Say you love me.’

‘What? Tessa…’

‘Say it Mike, I need to hear it…quickly…please,’ she whispers quickly, pleading as she looks at me, blinking the tears from her eyes and her chest heaving with sobs.

‘Tess….I…I love you.’ The words come out and I mean them but I can feel something is desperately wrong.  A loud crash and the front door bangs open, heavy footsteps thundering up the stairs, male voices calling out.

‘I’m so sorry…’ she cries out as I wrench myself to my feet, dropping her down on the floor and I reach down to pull my jeans up in one movement.  I’m not worried about my penis being out, but that the jeans wrapped round my ankles will impede my movement.

The bathroom doors slams open and the dark haired man I saw with Lord Fatty comes charging in.  I grab a heavy jewellery box from next to the sink and slam it into his face as he charges at me.  The blow is strong and he staggers over, tripping against the bath and screaming as he lands in the scalding hot water.  The next man is on top of me, driving me back against the wall.  I swing the jewellery box down onto the back of his head and he drops down.  The first man is back up and then I’m engulfed with both of them raining blows into my head and body.  I try to defend myself and keep my head covered but all I can hear is Tessa screaming, telling them to stop.  Before I black out I see Tessa jumping onto one of their backs but then a strong blow hits the back of my head and I sink down as my vision slowly fades.

Chapter Thirty Two

This feels pretty much the same as when I used to wake up from a night of Vodka and sleeping pills; head pounding, stomach churning and feeling very nauseous.  At least I’m used to it now but I know the effects of a head injury last a lot longer than a hangover.  I don’t think strong coffee will help me this time.

My hands are bound behind me and I can feel tightness and pain round my wrists, I wriggle my fingers to make sure the blood’s not completely cut off.  I’m seated on a hard backed chair with my ankles tied to the chair legs.  Opening my eyes but its pitch black and I can’t tell at first if I have something covering my head or not.  I blow out but my breath doesn’t come back at me so I know there isn’t a bag over my head.  A sense of panic starts to rise and I force myself to bite it down and breathe deeply.  Nothing will be achieved by panicking; all it will do is waste vital energy and create hysteria.  Stay calm.  Stay calm Humber, assess the facts and make an informed decision.

What happened? How did I get here? My head feels sluggish and the thoughts are hard to hold onto.

Tessa.  Something about Tessa.  I feel myself slipping back under, I try to fight it but a wave of dizziness passes over me and in the end I relax and let myself sink back down to the blackness.

Several times I come too then slip back under.  Any sense of time is gone completely.  I could have been here for a couple of hours or a couple of days.

‘Is he still alive?’ A voice from in front of me, a man’s voice.  Of course I’m alive you moron but I can’t speak right now; I feel sick.  Hands push my head back sending a shooting pain through the back of my skull and this time I do yell out.

‘Yeah he’s alive,’ someone chuckles.

‘Stupid cunt,’ I feel a slap round my face, jerking my head over and my body shuts down again.

When I awake the pain has abated slightly and I feel more alert, by letting my body have the rest it needed I’ve managed to heal enough to have some idea of what happened.

I was in Tessa’s house, in the bathroom.  My memory floods with the bitter tasting images of what she did.  How she acted during those final few moments, turning into a power crazy slut and then crying while she begged me to tell her I loved her.  Jesus, she is one mixed up cookie that one.  I suddenly remember seeing her jumping onto one of the back of the men beating me, she was screaming.  She used me; she used me and led me into this trap but despite all that I can still see the look of tortured emotions in her eyes when she said she loved me.  She meant it and for all the beauty of the last week I hope they haven’t hurt her.

My joints are hurting from being pinned in the same position for so long, especially my knees; they’re screaming for my legs to be stretched out.  Got to keep the blood pumping so I flex my fingers and wriggle my feet as much as the binding will allow.  It feels like tape has been used, thick industrial adhesive tape.  Good stuff this, much better than rope which can be eased off with enough time and motion.  The chair is wooden by the feel of it, I try to stand up but it doesn’t shift so it must be bolted or fixed to the floor.  At least I’m not gagged.

What a mess.  This week has been bloody awful and I wish it could have stayed with me getting drunk and wondering if I was going mad or if there was a ghost pissing around.  How did they know to come for me? What happened that triggered that reaction?  When I heard them talking at Cooper’s house they said I was right where they wanted me and that she was happy to keep going.  It must have been me and my big mouth at Tessa’s house, whispering in her ear and trying to tell her she could trust me, she panicked and must have said something that was a signal to come and get her.  What did she say? The only conversation we really had was in the bedroom when she was chatting about take-away places she used to know in London.  That must have been the trigger words.  Then she kept me busy in the bathroom until they arrived.  I should be hating her but for some reason I just feel really sorry for her instead.  Sorry that she got tangled up with this mess.  I think she did have genuine feelings for me which is why she was so upset at the end.

‘Well Humber, you’re in a right mess this time,’ muttering to myself quietly and staring into the pitch black.

Without light I have no idea what time it is.  If it’s hours passing me by or just long minutes. No sound other than my breathing, no light either.  In fact the only sense I really have remaining is smell and I detect a scent of detergent which tells me this room is cleaned.  That doesn’t bode well, that I’m tied to a chair bolted to a floor that smells of cleaning chemicals.

Noise filters to my ears, muffled sounds.  Voices, getting closer but very faint.  Then a rattling noise of something metallic which comes from directly in front of me.  The noise seems to drop down lower, indicating multiple locks are being unfastened.  A creaking sound commences and a bright light is shone directly into my eyes blinding my already dilated pupils.  I react instinctively and squeeze my eyes closed.  I was hoping to pretend I was still out of it but that plan is gone now.

‘He’s awake then,’ a voice says, I recognise it from outside Cooper’s house and earlier when I was slapped across the face.  Footsteps indicate more than one person entering the room and then the sound of the door closing and a bolt being rammed home.  Opening my eyes gradually I see the torch is facing my direction but not aimed directly at my eyes.  The people stay behind the light, safe in the knowledge that I can’t see them.

‘Hello Michael, my name is Jason and my colleague here is Carl’ the same voice says with a flat tone, ‘we met earlier when you hit me over the head.’ I remain silent.

‘How are you feeling?’ I keep my gaze steady and my mouth shut.

‘Fair enough, I can’t say as I blame you for being sulky Michael.’ The torch bobs closer as the man holding it steps towards the chair, ‘you don’t look so good Michael.’ He says.  I keep my eyes looking down away from the light and try to keep my breathing even.

‘Michael, I have a question for you.  We know you took the computer from Cooper’s house.  Where is it?’ I let a confused look cross my face but I remain silent.  They don’t know that I’ve got it; they simply can’t find it and assume I must have taken it.

‘Michael, where is it?’ he asks again, ‘I’m not a patient man so I will not keep asking.  Where is it?’ Again I let a look of confusion come onto my face but I remain quiet and otherwise don’t react.  It’s too far gone for them to let me go.

‘Okay Michael, now I could start torturing you but you’re a tough man and although I know I’d make you tell me eventually…Well I think we have a better way, turn the lights on.’  I hear a switch being flicked and bright fluorescent strip lights blink on and I have to close my eyes and slowly open them to avoid the pain after being in the dark for so long.  With my eyes fixed down I take in the bonds holding my legs to the chair; as I thought they are bound with thick adhesive tape.  The ground is bare concrete and as I lift my gaze I see I’m in a large room with concrete walls.  As my head rises up I see Tessa held in the grip of another man with a strip of adhesive tape over her mouth and a knife pressed to her throat.  This was something I was expecting.  They know how much I like Tessa so she’s the obvious choice to use against me.  What I don’t understand is why they’re trying to trick me into thinking they will hurt her.  She’s obviously in on it.

‘You’re thinking that were bluffing, that we won’t hurt her.  Believe me I will slit her throat if you do not tell me where the computer is.’ Jason speaks calmly which tells me he has done this before.  The torch is held steady so no sign of adrenalin and the knife held in the other man’s hand is also steady.  These men were street thugs, working through the gangs and ranks until they land a cushy role doing the dirty work for some rich fat bloke.  Tess however is shaking like a leaf.  Her legs are trembling and her eyes look wide with fear.  Her nostrils flare as she breathes in and out.  She’s still dressed in the same clothes she had on when I got to her house, that is before she stripped off and kept me busy until the bad guys arrived.  Bloody women.

Her eyes are locked on mine but I look away with disgust and continue to stare down at the ground.

‘Have it your way Michael,’ I look up to see Jason nodding at the man holding Tessa.  Carl holds the knife pressed hard against her throat, a long blade with one sharp side and a deadly looking point.  He keeps the blunt side pressed under her jaw, holding her head up and the sharpened edge tilted slightly out.  He moves his hand round to her front and grabs one of her breasts and starts squeezing hard.  Tessa whimpers in pain but can’t move for fear of the blade.  I show no reaction and look down at the ground again, after what she’s done to me she can suffer.  Any remorse or forgiveness I felt for her a minute ago has vanished as I watch her stood there play acting.

The sound of fabric ripping and I look up to see her blouse torn apart exposing her black bra underneath.  Carl grabs again and squeezes, smiling at me with malice.   I keep my face passive but I can feel anger bubbling away inside.  If I show it they’ll keep going so I drop my head down and stare at the floor.

‘He’s a hard one,’ Jason says.  I hear him take a step and rip the tape from Tessa’s mouth.  She gasps and sucks air in before crying my name.  Looking up I watch the first man grab her hair and drag her away from the man with the knife.  He checks to make sure I’m watching then punches Tessa hard in the stomach, she bends double as he swings her round to slam her head against the wall.  She bounces off with a sickening crunch, he catches her hair and slaps her face, again and again, harder and harder.  She tries dropping down but he holds her hair so hard she has no choice but to stay on her feet being dragged as he slaps and punches at her.  The sudden explosion of violence is shocking.  I was expecting them to rough her up but he’s beating the shit out of her.  Tessa screams and cries, begging for him to stop and all the while he grins and keeps glancing at me.

‘Are you watching Michael?’ He shouts.  If I tell them where the computer is they will check and then kill me.  If Tessa is in on this then she deserves this beating, if not then there is nothing I can do to help her or me.

‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ I shout suddenly, ‘what computer?’

‘Ah, he speaks,’ Jason says.  He drops Tessa who falls to the floor and curls up into a little ball.  He steps closer to me and stares down at me with a ruthless expression.

‘Where is it?’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about, I don’t own a computer.’

‘You took it from Coopers house, now where is it?’ He speaks fast and I can see pleasure in his face.

‘What?...When?...What the fuck?’

‘Nice try Michael, where is it?’

‘Mate I have no idea what you’re on about, carry on and beat the shit out of the fucking slag but it won’t make a difference.  I don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘Oh thank you Michael, I might just do that.  She’s a pretty one isn’t she,’ Jason crouches down and lifts her head up, turning her so she faces me.  He grips the sides of her mouth and squeezes to make her pucker.  She scrabbles against him but he grips hard and I can see tears of pain falling down her cheeks.  ‘Oh she is very pretty this one, but you already know that don’t you Michael? You’ve seen her naked lots of times,’ he looks up at the other man stood there smiling like a sick fuck, ‘have we seen her naked yet?’

‘No we haven’t,’ Carl replies and I watch his eyes travelling along Tessa’s body on the floor in front of him.

‘Michael has, he’s seen it lots of times…and we all know what he’s been doing to it too.’

‘Lucky bastard,’ Carl sneers.

‘Maybe we should take a turn? I’m sure she won’t mind,’ the first man asks in a light tone.

‘She’d love it, dirty fucking slag.’

‘What do you think Michael? Is it worth it?’ Sick bastards.

‘Mate I really don’t know anything about any computer, how would I?’

‘I’m not asking that Michael? I’m asking if she’s worth a go,’ his hand drops down to grab at her arse and she whimpers, desperately trying to curl up into a ball.

‘This is some sick game, I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about.  I only met her last week.’

‘Yeah but what a week Michael, we had to take it in turns listening.  Sounded like fun and we said we wanted to have a go didn’t we?’ He looks up at Carl.

‘Fucking right we did, dirty fucking slag.’

‘Oh look what’s behind you Michael.’

‘I try to crane my head round but I can’t see anything.’

‘Oh dear Michael, you can’t see can you.  Here let me show you.’ He stands up and moves past me and I listen as he lifts something and starts dragging it.  An old brass framed double bed with a filthy stained bare mattress comes into view.  He drags it round and drops it down a couple of feet in front of me.

‘Well Michael…we have a bed and a woman…what do you think we should do?’

‘I don’t know, please I don’t know anything about any computer.’

‘Michael, if you tell me where it is I promise to kill you quickly and let her go.  Now I can’t say fairer than that can I?’ I’ve met people like him before.  Sick bastards that get off on torture and suffering.  He won’t kill me quickly, he’ll do it slowly and then her too probably, if she’s not still in on it.  But one thing stays in my mind; Lord Huntington is the boss.  That means these two will have to report back and I bet he has to do that before he kills me or Tessa.  Unfortunately that means that no matter what they do, I have to just sit and wait.

‘Listen, if I knew anything about a computer I would tell you I promise, I don’t want to be tortured or anything, but I don’t know, I swear I don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘Well if you say so,’ Jason replies gently, smiling at me with a soft expression.  His face changes abruptly and he reaches down to grab Tessa by the hair, he pulls her roughly across the floor and forces her onto the bed.  She fights, oh she fights well; kicking and lashing out but that just seems to excite them even more.  They laugh as they get hit and take it in turns to try and pacify her.  Tessa begs and screams, cycling her legs and trying to scrabble away.  Each time she looks like she will make it one of them grabs her by the ankle and pulls her back.  Eventually Jason snaps and slaps her hard across the face, then grabbing the knife from Carl he pushes the point against her cheek.  She freezes in fear as he starts undoing her jeans.

‘Please…I did what you asked…please stop….’ Tessa whimpers and I can feel my heart breaking and tears pouring down my face.  This is isn’t play acting.  This is real.

‘Stop….please I did what you told me to do…please don’t do this,’ she begs, her voice cracking with fear and I screw my eyes closed.  If I tell them where it is they will kill me and her.  I have to hold out.

Sounds of clothing being ripped and torn reach my ears and the second man giggles with sadistic pleasure.  Grunting noises, heavy breathing then the sound of a zip being undone.  Tessa suddenly screams in agonising pain.

‘No, stop, please stop…’she screams and I listen as she is slapped across the face again.  More grunting noises but I keep my head down and feel the sobs heaving out of my chest.  I’m screaming inside to tell them so they stop but now I know they will kill us both if I do.

Long minutes go by until he finishes with a grunt. I sob desperately and strain at the tape securing my wrists and ankles.  I run my wrists up and down then round and round in tiny circles, pain searing as the tape cuts into my skin but this is nothing to what Tessa must be feeling so I keep on.

‘Your turn,’ the first man says and I rub my hands harder until I feel my flesh tearing and blood pouring down.  Blood is good; it will reduce the adhesiveness of the tape.  I cycle my wrists, trying in vain to get the thick blood into the material.

I hear clothing being taken off again and more heavy breathing.  Fresh tears surge from my eyes and pour down my cheeks.  I can’t look up; I can’t see what they’re doing

‘Go on give it to her,’ Jason chuckles.  I will kill these men.  If I ever get free from this I swear I won’t stop until they are both dead.

‘Stop your crying Michael, you can have a go next,’ they both laugh at this and a fresh surge of strength surges into my wrists and I keep rubbing them, the pain is excruciating and I feel my flesh tearing open as the skin is rubbed away.  Slowly, the bonds loosen and I gain more leverage.  Think Humber, your legs are still tied.  You have to look up and see what you can use.  The tape around my wrists loosens and I force myself to glance up and look at the bed.  Tessa is lying on her back; her face is turned towards me staring at me with tears pouring out.  The second man is kneeling between her legs.  One hand rubs himself as he looks down at her semi naked body.  Bile comes into my throat but I force it down.  The first man is stood at the end of the bed, staring down with a sickening look of interest.  The knife! They’ve left the knife on the bed.

I close my eyes again and pray he doesn’t start raping her, just a few more seconds.  Please god just a few more seconds.  I hold my breath for fear of making noises with the strain of cycling my wrists and the pain searing through me.

The bonds weaken and I pull my hands free.  I look up and fix my eyes on the knife then on the man between her legs gleefully staring at Tessa with a sickening look on his face.

‘Hurry up, I want to go again,’ Jason urges.

‘Stop rushing me!’ Carl whines.  He lowers himself down getting ready to penetrate.   I surge forward, stretching my arms out.  My chest hits the side of the bed.  The tape around my ankles is strong and I’m held in place to the chair but the tape stretches just enough to allow me to reach out and grasp the knife handle.  With my other hand I grab at Carl’s hair and pull him viciously towards me.  He screams out as he is dragged and I force my arm under his neck, bringing the knife round to hold it against his neck.  Jason stands there motionless for a second, but that second was enough and now he’s too late to react.

‘I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM…’ I scream out, ‘Tessa! Tessa! Untie my feet, do it now.’ She stirs and slowly slides over to drop down on my side just Jason lunges at her.  He misses and I dig the point of the knife into Carl’s cheek.

‘ONE MORE STEP AND I’LL KILL HM.’ I scream at Jason.  Then to show him how serious I am I push the point of the blade into the man’s cheek and slice though to his mouth.  Slowly drawing the blade back out he screams and gurgles as the fresh blood pumps into his throat.

‘Stop,’ Jason shouts, his voice panicked and strained.  ‘There’s no way out of here.’

‘Tessa! My fucking feet!’ Finally I feel her fingers plucking weakly at the tape round my ankles.  I adjust my grip so both my arms are round the seconds man’s neck.

‘Take the knife…Tessa! Use the knife!’ She reaches up, dazed and confused.  Her movements are slow and awkward.  ‘I’ll snap his fucking neck,’ I scream at Jason and squeeze my arms together, cutting off the man’s air.  He gasps and taps weakly at my arms.

‘Stop it! You’re strangling him,’ Jason pleads as he leans with his hands resting on the other side of the bed.  Carl is stretched out naked in front of me with his legs now dangling next to Jason.

‘Tessa! For fucks sake hurry up,’ I bellow out loudly.

‘Michael, she set you up.  She’s in on the whole thing.  This was her plan and you’re trusting her with a knife?’ Jason starts pleading at me, ‘she’ll cut you open Michael, she’ll stab you.  Let Carl go and we’ll talk about this.’

‘TESSA!’ Finally she fumbles the blade against my leg and for one horrifying second I think she’s about to stab me.  Then I feel the blade work down between the tape and shestart hacking away.  She stabs me accidentally in the foot a couple of times but I let her carry on until my leg comes free.

‘The other side, do the other side.’

‘Michael you have no idea where you are or what’s going on here.  You will never escape this house.’

‘You stupid fuck! You just told me I’m in the house. I’m in the room at the back of the cellar with the three padlocks on the door.’ Jason starts edging towards the door so I increase the pressure on Carl’s neck, ‘don’t move Jason, I swear I’ll kill him….’

Jason suddenly darts forward and grabs Carl’s legs and trying to pull him off the bed and out of my grip.  I squeeze with every ounce of strength and hang on to his neck.

‘TESSA QUICK.’ She fumbles the knife at my other leg, sawing away and it comes free.  Finally I go to stand but my legs feel numb from being in the same position for so long and I stagger slightly, falling to the side but still holding onto Carl’s neck.  Jason pulls harder until Carl’s body is physically lifted off the bed and being slowly strangled by my arms gripping his throat.  Tessa claws her way up the side of the bed and pushes the knife into my hand.  I extend it down and push the point against Carl’s stretched out chest.  I dig the knife in until a slow trickle of blood slides down and Jason releases him.

I scrabble backwards with one arm round Carl’s throat and pull down to the floor.  He barely squirms now having so much oxygen cut off from his head.

‘Jason, I’m an undercover police officer, I’ve got units on their way here now,’ I shout the lie out, desperate to keep him away from the door.  Forcing my legs to work I push myself up onto my feet, every muscle in my body screaming out in agony.  Carl is made to stand up with me, slowly coming back to life now the blood and air can flow again.

‘Think about it Jason, if Lord Huntington has made you do these things you can turn states evidence and get a reduced sentence.  A very reduced sentence.  It’s not you we’re after, listen to me Jason, it’s not you we want…’ He stares at me with panic as I move round the end of the bed and over towards the door.

‘Jason, we just want to take Lord Huntington down… not you and not Carl…’ I have no idea what’ going but I do know that there is no such thing as turning states evidence, not in this country but I keep talking, buying time.  I reach the door and feel instantly relieved now that Jason can’t get past me and lock us back in.

‘They said you got sacked,’ Jason snaps back to reality, suddenly aware I’ve cut his escape route off.

‘Did they say what I got sacked for?’

‘For beating up some rapist.’

‘Yeah that’s right Jason.  I did get sacked and I did beat up a rapist…’

‘But…’

‘Sit in that chair Jason…move now before I slice his throat open.’ He responds slowly, a look of shock on his face.  This should have been so easy, torture the ex-detective and find out where the computer is but they fucked it up and now the power balance has shifted almightily.

He sits down in the chair meekly looking up and staring at me still holding the knife to Carl’s throat.  I edge closer and see Tessa slumped down on the floor.

‘Tessa, I need you Tessa, you have to tie him up.’ She slowly lifts up and I feel a fresh surge of anger at the sight of her naked body and her battered face.

‘Jason, take your belt off,’ I crab forward until I’m stood next to the chair, then gripping Carl round the throat with one arm I extend the knife out and push the tip into Jason’s windpipe.

‘Take your belt off.’ Jason quickly unbuckles the material belt and slides it free from the loops.  Holding the knife against his throat and still squeezing Carl’s neck I instruct Tessa to secure his wrists to the back of the chair.  She responds slowly but seems to be coming more to life as she works.  She looks up at me, docile and ready for the next order.

‘Tessa, get dressed love,’ she nods once and moves like a robot over to the bed, picking her jeans up and pulling the legs through so they’re the right way out.  With my shoulders aching like crazy I drag Carl round to the back of the chair and glance down to see Tessa has done a good job of securing Jason.  Next I use my knee to strike into the back of Carl’s legs; he buckles and drops down just in time before my shoulders gave out.  The torch is still on the floor, a long heavy Maglite like we used to use in the police before the modern LED torches were around.  With a vicious strike I slam the torch down on the back of Carl’s head, rendering him unconscious.  I hit him again for good measure, then again just to be double sure.  Rage explodes out of me and I batter his head to a pulp before finally standing up and looking at the body of the man I just killed.  Tessa staring at me with dull eyes, flicking her gaze between me and the bleeding corpse.

Breathing hard I step in close to Jason and push the knife point into his windpipe again, watching as the dark stain spreads across his crutch.

‘You tell me right now what this is all about and maybe I’ll leave you alive for the police to find.’ I speak in a quiet malevolent voice, staring directly into his eyes.

‘The Huntington’s killed some of those girls,’ Tessa says woodenly, ‘they got some pregnant and killed the others.  They’ve been doing it for years like some family tradition.’ She speaks as though in a trance, sat on the edge of the bed and staring down at the floor.

‘What?

‘I didn’t know,’ she shrugs, clearly still in shock, ‘they told me the girls were all sent away pregnant and paid off… then a couple made claims against the estate when the old Lord died.  They tried to cover it up and pay them off but the girls got the claims lodged into the courts.  They knew questions would be asked about where the other girls went…’

‘And? I prompt her quietly.

‘So they put an advert in for a security man knowing they wanted an ex-detective.  My job was to get him helping me on my book and find out how the police would start looking for them.’

‘Is that why you asked me all those questions? How I would trace them with a team working with me? How I would do it alone? How long it would take?’ Her head nods gently.

‘They said you were perfect because you weren’t connected to anyone, because you were disgraced and you wouldn’t have anyone to turn too when I told you my story.’

‘So the whole thing was a set up?’

‘They watched you for a few days and said you were a sad loser with no connections.’ At least that bit is right. ‘They got a few pregnant and sent them away.’ She adds, ‘others tried to blackmail them so they had them killed.  Some were raped and killed in here.’

‘You knew this? You fucking knew this?’ My tone becomes incensed.

‘No Mike I didn’t,’ her tone stays flat,‘I was told there were more girls who were paid off and they didn’t know where they were so they wanted to see how you would trace them and what steps you would take.  I was told it was so they could find the girls and offer them more money for their silence.’

‘Then how did you know the rest of it?’

‘They just told me.’

‘Who did? Who told you Tessa?’

‘They did,’ she nods at Carl and Jason, ‘and Huntington,’ she spits the last word out.

‘He’s upstairs now?’ I look to the door and the intent is clear on my face.

‘It’s Saturday night, the parties just starting; you’ve been down here for hours. They kept me upstairs all day finding out what you’d said away from my house and how much I’d told you.  Cooper knew Mike, he knew about the whole thing.  He was trying to warn you to get out.’

‘I figured that out. How does he fit into it?’

‘I don’t know, but when you went back to the house on Friday they came to my place and threatened me.  They said I was getting too involved.  I told them I wanted out and I had done what they asked but they said bad things happen when people don’t do as they’re told.  They told me I’d see what they were capable off,’ she shrugs again, ‘then when you came back and said Cooper had committed suicide I knew it was them.’

‘So why did you warn them?’ She’s been through hell but I can’t help but ask the question.

‘I panicked…I just panicked.’ She looks up at me and I have to look away, a sudden reminder of the look in her eyes when Carl was on her.  The anger starts thrumming away, at how these people have played with the lives of so many, just so a couple of spoiled rich boys could do what they wanted.  Bribed and killed whoever got in their way just so they don’t face any shame in the press.

‘Your turn,’ I turn to Jason, ‘where did Cooper fit into all this?’

‘I don’t know,’ he mutters quietly, trying to play me at my own game.  Keep them guessing and pray that someone will come to his rescue.  I lean forward and draw the blade quickly across his knee cap pressing down and slitting the flesh open down to the bone.  He screams in agony and I sit there watching him for a few minutes until he quietens down.

‘Try again,’ I keep my eyes fixed on his face, ‘lie to me and I’ll cut your dick off.’

‘Listen…please I swear…’ he starts begging so I use the knife to make more slits in his flesh.  Down his thighs, his forearms and across his chest.  He screams and thrashes until I press the point against his eyeball.

‘I won’t stop…’ I whisper in his ear.

‘Cooper knew for a long time, but then he went and fell for one of the girls but Huntington got there first and got her pregnant.  She cried rape to Cooper so Huntington had her done in.  He told Cooper she’d been paid off but she was killed.  Cooper kept trying to find her so he was threatened and we told him we’d kill his entire family if he ever said anything.  Huntington even arranged for the brother to get a new job in the next town so Cooper would be left alone in the house.’

‘The computer?’

‘Cooper knew who you were, he knew what you did to that rapist and he said he wouldn’t stand by and let you be killed too.  He couldn’t say anything to you so he kept leaving those stupid signs round the house trying to scare you off.  Then you went and blabbed everything to her and we knew exactly what he was doing.’

‘I know that fuckhead, tell me about the computer and if you stall once more I’ll cut you in half,’ I jam the point of the knife into his groin and start pushing in.  He squirms and wriggles, begging me to stop.

‘We visited Cooper and he told us he had computer records of all the girls, the dates, where they were from, the numbers of the vehicles we used for fuck’s sake.  He’d been keeping tabs on us for years building evidence.  He wouldn’t say where it was so we killed him and put his body in the car.’

‘Don’t you know what century this is? That will come out in the post mortem and you put him in a well-ventilated diesel Landrover with hardly any fuel!’

‘Huntington said it just had to look like an accident and he would take care of the rest.’

‘What about his brother?’ Jason squirms, too afraid to answer the question so I prod deeper with the knife, feeling the point sinking into soft flesh.

‘We made him write a note and we hung him,’ he speaks quickly, desperate to show that he’s compliant and willing to help me.

‘Jason, look at me,’ he lifts his head up slowly and looks at me with red eyes, ‘I’ve got the computer safe and tucked up, do you hear me.  I’ve got it.’

‘Go to the police, tell them what happened, Huntington is sick, he’s fucking sick.’

‘He’s sick?’ I’m back in front of his face and the rage is threatening to explode out of me, ‘what about you Jason? What did you just do?’

‘He told us to do that, he told us exactly what to do.  He knew it would make you talk.’

‘It wasn’t about me talking Jason.  You knew what you wanted to do you sick fucker.’

‘But…’ his words cut off with a gurgling sound bubbling in his throat as I slam the knife deep into his chest.  His eyes fix on mine with a look of disbelief. ‘Bye Jason,’ with a vicious twist I turn the knife in his chest, he convulses and deep red blood spurts out from his mouth as he starts choking.

I have the sense to use my top and wipe the knife handle free from my prints.  Looking round I see Tessa staring at Jason with a hardened look.

‘Come on, we’ve got to go,’ Stepping over I go to help her to her feet but she flinches from my touch, ‘Tess, I’m not going to hurt you love but we need to get out of here, can you walk?’ She tries standing but the pain doubles her over, I can’t help but reach an arm down to support her and thankfully this time she doesn’t recoil but takes my hand as she gets to her feet.  As she hobbles past Jason she spits in his dead face and I quickly use my sleeve to wipe it off, ‘No DNA,’ I say then suddenly remember what she’s just been through on the bed and how much DNA there will be.

‘Come on,’ I lead her to the door and pull the bolt back.  The door swings open with a screech of the hinges and we pass through into the room I had seen before.  We pause for a few seconds, listening for any sound before proceeding slowly and painfully out into the main cellar.

‘Wait here,’ I scoot over to the cleaning cupboards and go through them until I find some nice flammable liquid, then I rush back into the room and douse the liquid over the bed and both the bodies and leaving a trail back to the door. Patting my pockets down I realise they must have emptied them before they left me so I drop down and go through their pockets, finding my own wallet, lighter and Landrover key in Carl’s pockets.

‘Cheeky bugger,’ I mutter before striking the lighter against the mattress.  The flames take hold quickly and I rush back to close the door and put the padlocks on, twisting the dials round to delay anybody trying to get in and put it out.  Back in the cellar I see Tessa stood where I left her, shaking from head to toe.  Leading her up the stairs I find the cellar door locked and curse the stupid door and its stupid locking mechanism.  Then I see the twisted coat hanger left on the top step and give a wry smile as I drop down and force it through the gap in the bottom.  One hard pull and the door pops open but I use the coat hanger to prevent it swinging and hold it closed until I’m up on my feet and glancing through the gap.

‘It’s clear; we’re going straight into the kitchen out the back door and to the garage, got it?’ She nods weakly, still staring off into space. ‘Tess, I need you to focus okay, just stay with me.’

‘Okay Mike,’ her voice sounds meek but at least she’s responding.  She needs a hospital but we’ve got to get out of here first.  I push the door open gradually and hear music and voices coming from the downstairs rooms.  Pulling Tess behind me we head across the hallway and into the kitchen.  The room is filled with staff preparing food and drinks for the guests, but in for a penny in for a pound so pulling Tess behind me we simply walk through quickly and straight out of the open back door.  No one pays us the least bit of attention as they rush around shouting orders at each other.

The clear air revives us both and I feel Tess moving faster behind me.  We reach the garage and I thank god when I try the handle and find the door is unlocked.  I hesitate on what to do next.  My natural thinking is to get the laptop, get Tessa into the Landrover and drive away quickly.  But there’s unfinished business here and I’m not sure I trust Tessa enough to hand her the laptop bag and let her drive away on her own.  In the end I shove Tessa into the driver’s seat and get the engine running before I run round and open the double doors.

‘Listen to me, wait here for me okay, I’ll be ten minutes but I need you to wait here for me.  Keep the engine running, if I’m not back in ten minutes then go without me and keep driving until you get to London.  Go straight to Scotland Yard and tell them everything, do you understand?’

‘Where are you going? I want to go now Mike,’ she pleads with fresh tears pouring down her face.

‘Just ten minutes Tessa, please just wait.’ I feel an urge to bend in and kiss her but I don’t think that will go down very well right now so I resist and just turn to walk back into the courtyard.

Back in the kitchen and none of the staff notice me again even though I weave through them back into the entrance hall.  I move quickly and try to look like I belong here, despite the blood stained clothes and the mess I must be in.  Running up the stairs I head right to the top and into my room, luckily my belongings are still here so I scoop them into my bag and head over into the bathroom.  I don’t want any trace that I was ever here so I take a couple of seconds to remove all my things, shoving them into my bag.  Searching round for my toothbrush I find it once again in the bathtub and I smile as I bend down to pick it up.

‘Going somewhere Mike?’ The voice cuts through my thoughts as my hand stretches down into the bathtub.

‘That’s it Mike, stand up nice and slow for me there’s a good chap,’ I do as I’m told and see Lord Fatty himself stood in the bathroom doorway wearing a black suit, tuxedo and bow tie, looking like a fat James Bond as he holds the old style short barrelled revolver in his hand pointing directly at me.  He looks flushed and his chest is heaving, the fat bastard must have sprinted up those stairs.  His hand looks steady enough though.

‘Where are Jason and Carl Mike?’ He says after recovering his breath for a few seconds.

‘Dead.  I killed them.’

‘Oh that’s wonderful! I was planning on having a staff shake-up anyway,’ his chin wobbles as he chortles to himself.

‘I guess I saved you the trouble.’

‘Yes! How wonderful!’ why is he still using this pompous act now? ‘And Tessa? Where is she?’ He sounds like he’s asking after my grandmother.

‘Gone.  With the computer.’ That wipes the smile off his fat face.

‘Where has she gone?’ He asks in a hard tone, the jovial fool instantly replaced by the ruthless businessman again.

‘I don’t know you fat piece of shit.  After she was raped and beaten by your sick fucking friends she didn’t feel like hanging around to tell me.’

‘Oh did they,’ he smirks, ‘tut tut, boys will be boys,’ he says shaking his head slightly and rolling his eyes.

‘What’s wrong Lord Fatty, didn’t get a chance to rape her yourself and get her pregnant then kill her off before she can say anything?’

‘Oh now now,’ he smiles at me with an evil look in his eye, ‘I didn’t need to rape her Mike.  Oh no, she was willing enough.’

‘Fuck off, with a fat ginger prick like you?’

‘Indeed with a fat ginger prick like me, she came round the night before you arrived.  We had a bottle of red wine and well you know… one thing led to another.’ He raises one eyebrow suggestively and I remember the two wine glasses in the kitchen.  My heart sinks at the thought of Tessa giving herself willingly to him.

‘Voracious appetite that young lady, but then you know that don’t you Mike.  Oh I don’t have your brutal charm but I have money and power and to most women they are equally as alluring.’

‘You sick fucking…’ I bite down the anger coursing through me and the torrent of abuse about to spew from my mouth. ‘Is that how you got those girls was it fatty? You offered them money? But what happened with the ones that said no? You took it anyway.  You raped them.  Then you killed them.’

‘Wonderful! Oh that’s wonderful!’

‘You’re a rapist and a murderer.’

‘Wonderful!’ He laughs, clearly delighted with the insults.

‘Can’t get women any other way can you?  A fat piece of shit like you has to use his money and power, and when someone says no you just take it.’

‘Yes!’ He laughs again, ‘that’s what money and power are all about.  We get what we want when we want it.  If we can’t buy it we take it.  That’s what peasants are for.’

‘Peasants?’

‘Peasants Mike, those little people with no hope.  They’re here to please us.  We give them houses and food, jobs, security and in exchange they serve us.’

‘What fucking century are you from?’

‘Mike…’ he draws the sound like he’s chastising a child, ‘this isn’t the city old chap. We have different rules here, different ways of doing things.’

‘Not really, you’re a rapist and a bully.  A fat piece of shit that probably got bummed senseless at private school.  Without this you’re nothing,’ I motion the room around me, ‘without this you’re just a fat bloke.’

‘Okay Mike.  Now you will tell me where she is or I will shoot you right here and now.  I’ll say I caught you trying to steal from me, you had a gun we had a struggle and the gun went off.  Who do you think they’ll believe? You’ll be dead so it will only be my side of the story they will hear.  Disgraced former detective Humber stealing from the wealthy Huntington’s, tut tut.’

‘And the two dead bodies in the cellar?’

‘Oh they won’t know anything about those,’ he grins, showing his dirty yellow teeth.

‘They might do, I set them on fire.’ I say bluntly.  His face shows alarm just for a second before he grins again.

‘Of course you did! How wonderful!’

‘Go ahead fatty, shoot me.  Shoot me dead right now because within a few hours that computer will be with the police and they’ll be coming for you Charlie.  Do you hear me Charlie; they’ll be coming for you.’

‘Now Mike…’

‘They like fat boys like you in prison Charlie.  The big boys love a soft fatty on those long stretches…on those lonely wings…in those lonely cells.’ Now I don’t know exactly what happened next.  I don’t believe in ghosts but what I did see is something move behind Lord Fatty.  I say something because it was see through, like a silhouette.  It moved right behind him and the next thing was my bedroom door slammed shut causing Lord Fatty to spin round thinking someone was behind him.  It was all the advantage I needed and I pressed it home by first throwing my heavy bag at his head which knocked him into the hallway.  If the application of force is needed it should be sudden and explosive and the very split second I felt that surge of adrenalin I was on him.  Moving faster and hitting harder than I have ever done before in my life.  He was disarmed within seconds and then pummelled with punches up and down the hallway, hard well-aimed blows to his fat face and the back of his head.  I didn’t hit him hard enough to knock him down, not yet.

Instead I beat the shit out of him.  And instead of last time when I let red mist take over, this time I kept my cool and enjoyed every second of it.  Within minutes his jaw was broken, his nose was broken and a few of his ribs too.  Then I started on the main limbs, breaking elbow joints and snapping fingers.  He screamed at first but I kept covering his mouth until he quietened enough for me to continue.  Then, once he was down and unable to get up I started on his bollocks.  Stamping down repeatedly and making it so he would never be able to use his tackle again.  Making it so he would definitely be taking and not giving in prison.

Unconscious and bleeding heavily I left him slumped in the hallway as I walked over and calmly picked my bag up.  Then I went back and pulled his wallet from his pocket and removed the disgustingly thick wad of fifty pounds notes.  I’m not a thief but he owes me wages, and maybe a little extra for all the driving around I’ve had to do.  Walking down the hallway I notice the pistol and think how nice it will be when the police find it with his prints all over it.  I kicked it into the bathroom and shut the door before heading down the stairs and back out through the busy kitchen.

Opening the garage door I paused at the empty spot where the Landy should be.  Tessa obviously couldn’t wait for me.  Shaking my head I move over to the shelves and pull the laptop bag down.

‘Penny for them?’ I smile as I turn slowly round and see Tessa stood in the doorway.  She looks like shit, but at least she’s trying with a weak smile.

‘I was getting worried,’ she says, the smile disappearing.

‘Sorry, I had to have last minute chat with Lord Fatty.’

‘Oh how did it go?’ She asks as we walk the few steps over to the Landrover.

‘Well I handed my notice in and said I wasn’t happy with the terms of employment.  He gave me my wages and we said our goodbyes.’

‘Is that why your knuckles are bleeding again?’

‘Oh them, they’re just dry,’ I take the driver’s seat and pull away just as the fire alarm starts sounding in the house.  As we drive past the front we see guests pouring out the front of the house.  I keep the speed down, closely examining the house in the large wing mirror.  Within a few seconds smoke is billowing out from the front door and I give a big smile.

‘Did you do that by any chance?’ She asks in a quiet voice.

‘Yes.  Yes I did.’

Chapter Thirty Three

Once out of the driveway we keep our pace steady and it’s only a few minutes before the first blue flashing lights are screaming past us.  Several police cars and eventually a fire engine go whizzing by.

‘What will happen now?’ Tessa asks in muted tones.

‘Several things.  They’ll get to the house and try to put the fire out.  They’ll realise Lord Fatty is inside and hopefully they’ll get him out.  Either way he’s fucked because if he survives then he can face trial if Cooper’s records are good enough.  If not then fuck him, he can roast to death for all I care.’

‘What about us? What do we do?’

‘You need to clear your house.  Get rid of any trace of you.  They’ll piece it together soon so you need to move quickly.  I don’t know if Tessa is your real name or not, but either way you need to clear out and move on quickly.’

‘But…’

‘No buts Tessa, if they connect you then you’re facing prison time for what you did.  You can try and claim innocence or mitigate it by telling them you didn’t know the full story but you’ve still committed serious offences and if they prove you’re complicit to any of this…well you’re fucked too.’ She goes silent, staring out the windscreen at the dark hedges flashing away.

‘And you need a hospital too,’ I add.

‘Okay,’ she says quietly.

‘You can’t go to a hospital round here.  Sort the house out first and then head for a city hospital, they’ll ask less questions.’

‘Tessa is my first name,’ she turns to me, ‘I didn’t give you my real surname, it’s…’

‘I don’t want to know,’ I hold my hand up and speak firmly.

‘Mike I’m so sorry,’ she breaks down crying harder, ‘I had no idea it was this serious…’

‘What did you fucking think it was about?’

‘I don’t know…I don’t know, it all seemed so easy and the money they offered was huge.  They just said I had to find out how the police would investigate it.’

‘Well you fucking…’ I cut my words off, suddenly remembering what she’s just been through.  I put my hand out to touch her shoulder.  She reaches up to place her hand over mine.

‘Tess, I’m sorry what you went through.  That was fucking horrific and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

‘It was my fault.’

‘NO, no it wasn’t your fault.  They deceived both of us.’ We arrive outside her house and I bring the Landy to a halt. We sit in shocked silence for a long time.  Neither of us speaks or moves.

‘I’ll go,’ she opens the door and slides down, closing it quietly without looking at me.  She takes a few steps but falters at the gate.  She starts sobbing and I can see her body heaving visually, her hands clutch at her face and I’m out the Landy and rushing over to her.  As soon as my outstretched hand touches her back she spins and sinks into my arms.  Her legs go out from beneath her and she slumps down.  I go down with her and rub her back as she sobs, clutching at my clothes and burying her head into my chest.

We stay like that for a long time as she sobs and cries.  They ease up after a while and I realise she must be deeply shocked and in a great deal of pain too.  I lift her head back and go to smooth her tear wet hair plastered to her face.  The still wet blood on my hands and wrists smear across her cheeks but she looks up at me and I feel my heart breaking at the state she’s in.  I can’t leave her like this.  I don’t care what she did to me, that she got me into this mess.  I was already dead really, the way I was living my life for the last two years.   But Tessa made me feel life again, she made me connect to the world and realise there are things worth living for.  These sick fuckers were that determined they would have found a way of getting what they wanted.  Tessa and I are both just casualties of their power corrupted greed.

I carry Tessa into the house and lay her down on the sofa, as I go to leave she clutches at me begging not to leave her.  I whisper gently and stroke her face, promising I won’t leave.  She sinks back down and I rush into the kitchen and fill a large glass with water.  Back in the lounge I press two of my sleeping pills into her hand and make her swallow them and drink the water down.  While I gently stroke her face she relaxes as the medication takes hold and drifts of gently.  I wait for another half hour until I’m sure she’s deeply sleeping.

After that I work like a demon.  First gathering all her paperwork, files and folders and stacking them into a pile wither laptop computer.  Then into her bedroom, I find a suitcase and bags and empty wardrobes and drawers into them.  Stuffing them with her clothes, make up, underwear and anything else I can find.  Taking trips out to shove them into the back of the Landy then going back in.  The sheets are stripped from the bed and shoved on a boil wash in the washing machine.  Then I find a spray bottle of bleach from the kitchen and set about wiping every surface and door handle, anything that could hold a fingerprint.  The place will be full of hairs but I can at least try my best.  In the bathroom all of her possessions are removed and bagged up, and then I clean that too.

Working my way through the house I keep going back to the lounge and making sure she’s okay.  She breathes heavily and I give thanks that she can escape having to go through this.  Eventually I’m done, sweating heavily and breathing hard.  Every muscle in my body hurts like crazy and I feel weak and dizzy.  I drink lots of water and keep going, finally finished off with finding her hoover and working through every room.  Trying desperately to remove any trace of either of us.  The contents of the hoover are emptied into a bag then the cylinder is washed with bleach.

At last I get back into the lounge with a bowl of warm water and some shower gel.  I gently sponge Tessa off, taking care to clean her hands, arms and face as thoroughly as possible.  I strip her down and wash her legs, stomach and breasts.  Then re-dress her in clean clothes put aside from her wardrobe.  The dirty filthy garments are put into the bag with the hoover contents.  She hardly murmurs as she’s gently manhandled and it makes me realise just how out of it I must have been when I was dosed up on them.

Tessa is carried out and shoved into the passenger seat of the Landy then covered with a warm blanket.  I rush back into the house and pile all the papers and computer up in the middle of the lounge floor.  One final check round and once satisfied I pour flammable liquid over the pile and over the lounge too.  Flick a lit match and watch for a second as the pile ignites and within seconds thick black smoke is starting to plume up.

Running back out, I close the door behind me and get into the Landy.  The local emergency services are going to be stretched tonight but at least it’ll delay and investigation for a while and give us a chance to make distance.

I drive away into the darkness of the country lanes and start working my way along miles of unmarked roads until I get my bearings and start heading south.  I avoid motorways for fear of being clocked on the Automatic Number Plate Recognition camera’s they use.  Despite the tiredness I press on until I find a large town and a twenty four hour garage.  The Landy is filled with fuel and I grab some strong instant coffee from a vending machine, chocolate bars and a packet of normal cigarettes.

I keep the heating on full in the Landy and watch as Tessa sleeps fitfully.  She goes through periods of deep untroubled sleep then starts twitching and murmuring before settling back down.  Sugar, caffeine and nicotine take the place of sleep.  My head hurts like hell.  My body aches more than I have ever known but I push on, slapping my own face whenever I feel the tiredness threatening to take over.

As first tendrils of light start breaking the darkened night sky, Tessa slowly wakes.  Yawning and rubbing her eyes.

‘Where are we?’ She says and her voice hoarse and groggy.

‘Not far from London.’  She looks about quietly then down at the fresh clothes she’s wearing.  Realisation shows on her face.  She looks at me and I glance over and stretch my arm out to pull the blanket up over her more.  She reaches out and holds my hand.  Our fingers entwine and she sinks back into the seat.

‘I’ll wake you when we get there.’

‘Okay,’ she says quietly and closes her eyes.  Her fingers squeeze mine for a second and that’s enough for me.  Enough to know she will be okay.

The city slowly comes into view and I breathe a sigh of relief that I’m back in the place I know so well.  We’ve both been through hell and I know I’ll have to ditch the Landy somewhere and burn it out which is a shame as I rather like it.  Tessa will have to deal with what happened and she may never recover.  Some people pull through quickly but most remain scarred for years after an ordeal like that.

Whatever happens I know two things.  Rich people are weird and maybe ghosts do exist after all.

This started out as a short story for my series The Undead.  However, within a few pages I realised that Mike Humber was a great character and worth exploring.  The end result is worlds apart from anything I initially intended, or have written before for that matter.

I really enjoyed writing this story and I love the brutal manner that Mike displays.  He is a hard character shaped by the events of his life and it was interesting watching how he would react to the situations I put him into.

If you have read through to the end then I want to say thank you for taking the time to read my book.  I really hope you enjoyed it.

For now I will get back to another one of The Undead stories but I’ve got a strong suspicion that Mike Humber will make a return.

Assess the facts.  Assess the facts and make an informed decision…

RR Haywood

Table of Contents

- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty One
- Chapter Twenty Two
- Chapter Twenty Three
- Chapter Twenty Four
- Chapter Twenty Five
- Chapter Twenty Six
- Chapter Twenty Seven
- Chapter Twenty Eight
- Chapter Twenty Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty Two
- Chapter Thirty Three