The Death of the Elver Man (20 page)

If he thought all the fight had been sucked out of the pike, he was mistaken for it began to thrash in the net, flinging itself around in an attempt to get back in the water. Derek leaned back trying to keep his hands away from the
snapping
jaws with their rows of wickedly sharp teeth. The long battle finally began to take its toll and the thrashing became squirming and then flopping as the pike struggled to survive out of the water. Derek experienced a sense of admiration, almost respect for such a fierce adversary. He felt suddenly that he didn’t want to let it just suffocate, to die minute by slow minute in the air and he felt for his fishing knife. Taking a firm grip of the back of the pike’s neck through the net he felt for the gills and cut. The pike gave a final heave and
collapsed
in a rush of blood from the sacs behind its head.
Cautiously
, Derek lifted it up from the bank, aware once more of time passing. He was exhausted, his body stiff and aching, and, despite all his care, one of his fingers was bleeding badly. But he had what he’d come for. The pike lay on the river bank, smooth and shining in the glittering sunlight, a fine and well-fed specimen. Serve the bitch right, Derek thought, as he carried it into the kitchen and removed the head – the bitch and her pathetic excuse for a son. Maybe he would drop them a note when he was on his way out of the Levels, let them in on the secret of the pike’s diet. He packed the head carefully and put it in the boot of his car before setting off for Ada’s cottage across the Levels.

Sue hummed softly to herself as she bumbled around the
garden
. On a tiny patch of cleared ground she had planted
flowers
, the brightest and boldest she could find, and they were bursting into a technicolour mat around the steps leading to the back gate. She was especially pleased with the sunflowers, carefully staked to support their weight as they stretched up towards the sky. The packet had contained a mix of types, she discovered, and the plants ranged from some only about
three feet high to an extraordinary single bloom that towered over her. It was already nearly eight feet and still growing and she was giving serious consideration to entering it in the local ‘tallest sunflower’ competition. The garden was a sun-trap in the late afternoon and evening and she settled on the steps contentedly, blinking in the golden light and feeling utterly at peace.

Her good mood was shattered by Alex, who stormed through the house and into the garden snarling, ‘What the bloody hell are you doing? Are you taking the piss or what?’

Sue peered at her, screwing her eyes up against the glare.

‘What are you shouting about Alex? I’ve just got in myself and I’ve been sitting out here. What’s the matter with you?’

‘The curtains,’ said Alex. ‘I’m talking about the front
curtains
.’ She pulled at Sue’s arm but Sue stood up and shook her off.

‘Oh for God’s sake – I know you like the curtains pulled but it’s still light. This is taking paranoia too far,’ she said crossly. Reluctantly she followed Alex into the house and through to the front room.

‘I didn’t do that,’ she said, looking at the bare window. The net curtain was pulled right back and the interior of the room was visible to all who passed by, just a few feet away on the main street. Alex was tugging at the curtain but it was stuck on the end of the bar.

‘Well, I didn’t do it,’ she muttered, ‘so how do you think it got back here then?’

Sue nudged her out of the way and with her extra height managed to free the tangled net.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but there, all fixed. I’m not a total idiot you know, I wouldn’t do something like that. Who wants the neighbours peering in while we’re at work anyway?’

Alex shook her head, still upset. ‘Anyway, it’s very odd. Was the door locked when you got home?’

Sue sighed. ‘You know it was. You went out after me and I think your head would explode if you didn’t double check 
everything. It was locked and so was the back door.’ She held up her hand. ‘And so were the windows.’

Alex stood for a moment, gazing at the window and then turned and headed upstairs. ‘I’m going to get changed,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Can you put the milk in the fridge? I’ll be down and start on dinner in a minute.’

‘Right – oh, what’s on the menu for tonight?’ Sue shouted as she carried the carton through to the kitchen.

‘Surprise!’ yelled Alex.

Sue opened the fridge and gave a shriek, dropping the milk all over the floor. Alex came running at the sound, ‘What is it – what’s the matter?’

Sue stood in the back room, her face screwed up in disgust.

‘I don’t know what you’ve got planned for tonight but you can count me out,’ she said. ‘I’m off to the chippy.’

‘It’s only a rabbit,’ said Alex in disgust. ‘Look at this mess – how did this happen!’

Sue went to the fridge and tugged at the door. ‘Believe me,’ she said, ‘I know what a rabbit looks like.’

Inside, on the centre shelf, its jaws prised open to display the fearsome teeth, was the head of a pike.

Alex was in court the day Kevin appeared before the
magistrates
for poaching, having fought hard to keep him as her
client
through several allocation meetings. She argued she had already built a rapport with the family, no easy task where Ada was concerned, and had managed to gain Kevin’s trust. Garry had been grudging and suggested she needed a wider case-load if she intended to progress in her career. He seemed anxious to move Alex on to more difficult clients with more complex needs despite the fact she was still in her first year. After the meeting Gordon had taken her aside, looking at her anxiously.

‘You are getting too involved,’ he said. ‘I know you feel a responsibility for this family but you can’t do this for every client. It will wear you out, Alex. You need to step back and let others do their bit too.’

Alex knew he was right and she could feel the strain
beginning
to affect her work with other probationers, but she could not let Kevin down now, not after all he had gone through in the past months.

In the court she sat through the usual small-town litany of drunk and disorderly, driving whilst intoxicated, actual bodily harm (fighting whilst drunk on the pavement at
closing
time) and one case of attempted burglary where the perpetrator had made off with a record player and had to go back the next night because he couldn’t carry the speakers in one trip. The court was half empty for most of the day, the public gallery hosting an ever-changing cast of family members and friends all watching helplessly as their loved ones were accused, chastised and sometimes taken away from them. Kevin’s case was listed last on the day’s order sheet and, as the hour approached, people began to drift into the courtroom. For the first time there was a crowd on the press bench instead of the lonely figure of the
junior
reporter who, sitting day after day, tried to make news from the procession of misguided misery that passed before her. Alex watched as she was boosted out of the front row by jovial men with spiral-topped notebooks and flashy ties – ‘real’ reporters who would write the only ‘real’ story of the week.

There was a ripple of expectation as Kevin was led into the court looking pale but surprisingly smart in his one decent suit. He’d put on a bit of weight, she noticed, and the suit no longer hung limply on him. His shoes were shined, his hair was lying fairly flat and generally he looked quite
respectable
. The only thing missing was a tie. She’d spoken to Ada about his clothes and Ada had shaken her head.

‘He won’t wear one,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t know why but he’s taken against ’um and there’s no shifting him.’

Kevin sat next to Smythe who kept up a whispered
commentary
in his ear until the magistrates entered and silence fell over the room. It was over all very fast. The charges were read, Kevin’s guilty plea was entered and suddenly every eye was on Alex as the magistrates turned to the social enquiry report. Alex had worked very hard on it and was quite pleased with her assessments, her brief but lucid analysis of Kevin’s situation and her recommendations. After
consulting
with Ada and Kevin she had asked for a probation order with attendance at the fledgling day centre, one of the first compulsory orders in the county. She tried not to stare at the bench as the three figures flipped through the sheets in front of them, leaning over to check a point of law with the clerk before returning to the report.

Alex had made sure it was delivered a few days in advance, hoping they would have taken their copies home and read them, but at least one magistrate, a portly man in a suit that was slightly too tight, acted as if he’d never seen any social enquiry report before, let alone this one. After a few minutes the clerk called out to the room and they all sprang to their feet as the magistrates tripped off to discuss the report in private. The clerk returned after a minute or so and hurried over to her.

‘Sorry about this,’ he muttered, ‘only two of them didn’t make the last liaison meeting, so this day centre stuff is new to them. They want to know what it involves – classes or community work or whatever.’

‘Yes,’ said Alex. ‘Yes, classes, a bit of community work sometimes, learning skills in the workshop, some specialist groups for driving offenders or alcohol issues – whatever seems the most appropriate for the client.’

‘Do you have anything specific in mind here,’ the clerk said. ‘I know it’s putting you on the spot but it would really make it easier to sell it to them …’

‘I hope we can get some literacy classes for Mr Mallory,’ said Alex. ‘He’s finding it very hard to get regular
employment
because he can’t read or write. He would like to learn to drive and that would help him find employment, but he’ll struggle to pass the test unless he can read. We’re also
offering
metalwork and woodwork classes at present and vehicle maintenance comes on line soon.’

Alex hoped she’d sounded convincing because at the moment they were struggling to find instructors willing to work for the low wages and also had a chronic lack of space and funding. They’d been promised another building and
several new staff posts but with the continuing squeeze on all government funded departments, giving a helping hand to young criminals came a very long way down the agenda. The clerk seemed convinced, however, nodding his head before hurrying off to share the information with the magistrates. Alex glanced over at Kevin, who looked terrified, and tried to catch his eye, smiling in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. Smythe saw her looking at them and hurried over, an anxious frown on his face.

‘What do you think?’ he asked, leaning a bit too close and putting his hands on the table in front of her. She knew it was just her imagination but she always thought he gave off a slight smell of mothballs and she had to resist an urge to shift away from him.

‘The clerk seemed happy enough,’ she said. ‘I don’t think there’s much danger they’ll send him back to prison is there? After all, he was there all that time and they had to drop the charges. Surely they’ll take that into consideration.’

Smythe pulled at his earlobe and gazed over her head into the dim recesses of the courtroom ceiling.

‘One would certainly hope so,’ he mused, ‘in the interests of justice. I’m not sure about this day centre idea though. If they decide it’s a soft option they might decide to make an example of him, what with the concern about young men hanging around in gangs, not to mention the dramatic impact on elver stocks in the last few years.’

Alex felt her stomach clench at the thought of Kevin
returning
to jail. Smythe sounded more like a prosecutor than the voice for the defence and she wondered, not for the first time, if he really believed in his work.

‘It’s not a soft option,’ she insisted, ‘it’s a higher tariff than an ordinary probation order. He’d have to attend every week or he’d be in breach and he’ll hopefully learn some skills to make him able to earn a living some way other than
poaching
. Anyway, he doesn’t belong to a ‘gang’; he lives out on the Levels with his mother.’

‘Ah yes, the redoubtable Ada,’ Smythe murmured, but Alex
was saved his opinions on the Mallory family by the return of the clerk.

‘All rise,’ he called, as the magistrates trooped back and took their places on the bench. Kevin was white, visibly shaking as he remained standing to hear his fate with Smythe standing next to him. The press bench leaned forwards, their pens poised and their eyes darting from the bench to Kevin and back again, hoping for drama or despair. In the event, it was an anti-climax as the senior magistrate summed up his recent time on remand, set his guilty plea against his
criminal
activities and sentenced him to two years’ probation with forty days attendance at the day centre. The only drama came as the clerk called the court to its feet. The magistrates stood up and headed for their room, the press turned to the door ready to head back to their respective desks and Kevin closed his eyes and collapsed in a dead faint.

Derek didn’t feel safe in the cottage any more. Every time there was a car on the track he jumped, peering out of the window to see if it was Alex-bloody-probation or the police dropping by to check on Frank. He didn’t worry about Iris. She wouldn’t say anything about his return as long as he stayed away from the house. Well, that was fine by him, though he longed for the comforts of home some evenings as he sat in the almost empty front room reading the paper by the evening light. He used a couple of lanterns in the back room at night but the smell was pretty awful now and he was giving serious consideration to just dumping what was left in the freezer in a bog somewhere and taking off. There were a couple of bits of unfinished business he needed to take care of first however. It was all so much harder than he’d imagined as he lay on his bunk in prison, dreaming of his revenge. It had all seemed so easy when he planned it out, but now it was dirty and messy and nothing was going to plan. Derek was sick and tired of the whole business, but the anger at his son’s death still burned in him, warping his outlook on life and
disrupting
his thinking. When he was done, he thought, when it
was finished, he’d feel better. He’d be able to sleep properly, he’d go away for a while until all the fuss died down and he’d come back and patch things up with Iris and Newt. Just another few weeks and everything would be okay.

It was time for another little run out and he waited until it was dark before he slipped out to the car, now hidden past the sluice gate in an abandoned barn. He had dressed with care, all in black except for a navy balaclava stuffed in his trouser pocket. His trusty fishing knife was clipped to the back of his belt and he felt more confident this time. He’d planned it all out carefully and practised the moves in his front room over and over until he could do it with his eyes shut. The roads were empty until he hit the edge of town and he drove carefully, keeping an eye out for the police. But, as he rounded a corner on the approach to his turning, he
suddenly
came upon a figure, a young man, trotting down the middle of the road and had to swerve violently in order to miss him. His heart was pounding with the shock – if he’d hit him, well it didn’t bear thinking about. He slammed his brakes on and flung himself out of the car, banging the door behind him.

Simon was still shuffling along, making engine noises and turning his imaginary steering-wheel, seemingly oblivious to his brush with death. Derek grabbed him by the throat as the lad made to pull out around him.

‘You bloody little freak!’ he snarled, shaking him like a terrier with a rat. ‘You nearly got killed, do you know that? Can you even hear me?’

He dropped Simon on to the pavement where the boy rolled into a ball making little squeaking noises. Derek kicked at him before turning away in disgust.

‘Stay off the road!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Freak.’ On an impulse he turned back and landed several more kicks before he got back into his car and drove off, his calm
self-control
shattered.

He took the back road again, slowing as he drove past Alex’s house. The front curtains were drawn tight as usual,
but there was a light on in an upstairs room. He must pay her another visit, he thought, and unconsciously licked his lips in anticipation. Not tonight though. He had other fish to fry tonight. He gave a tiny, high-pitched giggle as he
accelerated
down the street. Other fish to fry – that was funny. He giggled again as he drove over the bridge heading for the car park behind the Iron Beehive. It was almost deserted and he took up position in a dark corner where he could watch the car he was interested in. After a moment he slid out and
wandered
over to it, checked he was alone and swiftly punctured the two front tyres with his knife. Back in the shelter of his own vehicle he waited until the back doors opened and the few remaining drinkers were ejected into the night.
Exchanging
farewells and friendly insults they wandered off into the darkness, leaving one burly figure bringing up the rear. Derek hunched forwards over the steering wheel and grinned as the figure spotted the first flat tyre. Cursing and stumbling round the vehicle, the driver flung open the boot and leaned in searching for the tools to change the wheel. Derek pulled on the balaclava and checked his knife was loose in the sheath at his back before opening the door. Too late he realized his mistake as the interior light flashed on and the figure turned to face him. He closed the door and darkness fell once more as a voice called out to him.

‘Hey, give us a hand mate. Some bastard’s done one of me tyres.’

The man turned back to the boot, rummaging through boxes and the usual litter found in cars as he hunted for the jack. Derek moved up to stand behind him and pulled the knife from his belt, but at that moment the man straightened up and turned towards him, pulling a face.

‘Phew, where you been then? Sorry mate but you smell …’

He saw the knife coming towards him and raised his hands instinctively. Derek lunged, but the knife hit an upraised arm. He pulled it back as the man shrieked in agony, then slashed at him once more as the man fell to his knees. The
razor-sharp
blade sliced through the hand and a spurt of blood hit
Derek in the chest, soaking his jumper and shirt. He stepped back in disgust.

‘That’s what you deserve,’ he snarled. ‘Maybe help you keep awake on duty!’ He hurried back to his car, dropping the knife on the seat as he tried to wipe the sticky blood from his hands.

Behind him the man rolled on to his back clutching his ruined hand and moaning as he struggled to raise himself up off the ground. The sound of the car engine faded away in the distance and he fought for breath. However hard he tried he couldn’t raise his voice above a squeak after that one great scream. It was so quiet he could hear the water lapping against the canal banks just on the other side of the pub. He was bleeding badly, he realized. He was going to die here, the victim of an unknown madman. His colleagues would be called and they’d all stand around staring down at his body. He didn’t want to die here like this, alone and unnoticed in a pub car park. He gritted his teeth and struggled to his feet, the blood seeping through the fingers of his other hand as he tried to apply some pressure. There was a ringing in his ears and he thought he was going to pass out when suddenly the back door opened and a head poked out.