The Death of the Elver Man (21 page)

‘You okay there?’ said the barman’s voice. There was the sound of approaching footsteps and the yard light came on again, harsh and white.

‘Oh hell …’ the barman stopped short as he got a good look at the gore-splashed figure leaning on the car.

‘Call the police!’ he yelled over his shoulder. ‘Quick – police and ambulance. Sergeant Michaels has been attacked in the car park.’

The sirens and blue lights across the river woke Alex, and she stood at the back window watching the comings and goings with some concern. She’d thought about reporting the
incidents
of last week to the police but kept putting it off. As she’d said to Sue, when it came down to facts, her curtains were moved and there was a fish head in the fridge. Put like
that it seemed more like a sick joke than a serious threat. Sue was not convinced and they had spent the evening arguing, parting on bad terms for the first time.

‘It was a pike for heaven’s sake!’ said Sue, ‘a big, mean ugly vicious bugger. And how did it get in there then? Maybe it swam in.’

Alex had been equally stubborn. She thought of all Garry’s little digs at her competence, all the snide remarks about her ability to cope with the rural population and decided to deal with it herself. She wasn’t going to run off scared to the police over a fish head. Hell, she’d once slipped a kipper down the back of her landlady’s electric fire on leaving some
particularly
horrible digs. Bleating to the police was the probation equivalent of having the head teacher come in to quiet your class for you. Besides she was fairly sure she knew where it had come from.

‘Suppose it was someone like Brian?’ she said. ‘What do you think would happen if I reported it then? I’d be a
laughing
stock amongst my clients but he’d never trust me again. Hell, none of them would. I’m going to ignore it and he’ll realize he’s wasting his time.’

Sue sighed heavily but could see her point. Running off to report to the police could mean the end of any authority an officer might have built up and some clients would see it as a breach of trust. In their eyes, ‘them’ meant the police and it was hard work getting accepted as part of ‘us’. Finally, Sue had given up, but not before extracting a promise that, if
anything
else happened, Alex would report everything.

Nonetheless, since the incident Alex had become
increasingly
obsessive about locking up the house, closing the
curtains
at night and had changed the telephone number.

On the morning after they found Sergeant Michaels there was a knock on the front door and she opened it to find young Constable Brown outside.

‘Oh, hello – I didn’t know you lived here,’ he said, blinking at her in surprise. ‘You’re from Probation aren’t you.’ Alex admitted she was and invited him inside.

‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked, but the policeman shook his head.

‘No thanks. I’ve got the whole street to get through and a lot of people are off to work – or settling down after the night shift. I don’t know which is worse. What do you think,
making
people late or waking them up?’

Alex smiled. ‘And I thought I had a crap job,’ she said. ‘Is this about what happened last night?’

‘Yes, did you see anything?’ Constable Brown asked eagerly. Alex shook her head. ‘Sorry, I just heard to sirens and then saw the lights. What happened anyway?’ The
Constable
looked nervous, ‘Well, I’m not supposed to say
anything
, but someone was attacked with a knife in the car park of the Iron Beehive, just after closing time.’

‘Who was it?’ asked Alex. ‘Is he alright?’

‘Do you know Sergeant Michaels – the custody sergeant at our station? It was him. How did you know it was a man?’ he added suspiciously. Alex laughed. ‘Only a man would drink at the Iron Beehive on his own,’ she said. ‘It’s not terribly welcoming at the best of times and late at night it’s a
horrible
, dark place. I know because I’ve had to drag a client out of there when he was drinking underage. Not my choice of venue for a quiet evening.’ Constable Brown nodded and slipped his notebook back into his pocket.

‘Well, yes it does have a bit of a reputation. It certainly lived up to it last night. Sergeant Michaels came out and found his front tyres had been slashed and as he was looking for his jack someone jumped him from behind and tried to cut his throat, they reckon. Was a terribly sharp knife anyway – almost cut clear through his fingers. If the barman hadn’t come out he’d have bled to death. Are you okay?’

Alex sat very still, her mind racing over the words ‘front tyres slashed’. ‘It’s probably a coincidence but someone slashed my front tyres too, about a month ago,’ she said quietly.

Constable Brown had his notebook out again in a flash.

‘Where were you parked?’ he asked.

‘Just outside the house. I was away and forgot to move the car. Came back to that and a parking ticket,’ she added bitterly.

‘I don’t suppose you can remember what sort of damage it was? Were there a lot of cuts or just one, for example?’

Alex rose and went to the front door.

‘I can show you if you like,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t afford to get both fixed so I paid for one and I’ve been using the spare. The other tyre’s still in the boot.’

The pathologist peered through his microscope at the
photographs
, made some tiny adjustments and looked again.

‘Well,’ he said after a moment, ‘it is certainly the same type of knife. The wounds match, both were inflicted by a
right-handed
assailant; this blow was almost certainly aimed at the throat. Sergeant Michaels is a very lucky man,’ he mused.

The Action Group Inspector cleared his throat. ‘What about the tyres?’ he asked. The pathologist picked up a
sample
slide and slid it into place.

‘Ah, yes, the tyres … interesting. Single cut in each, more of a stab than a slash actually, and made with a single edged knife – either the same as the weapon used in the assault or one very similar.’ There was a pause as he swapped samples. ‘You say one of these comes from a second tyre incident?’

The Inspector nodded. ‘Just over the river from the pub, but done a while ago – couple of weeks or so.’

‘Well, the damage certainly seems to be remarkably
similar
. Was it both front tyres, do you know?’

The Inspector glanced questioningly at the corner where his sergeant stood consulting a notebook before nodding.

‘Both front tyres,’ he confirmed.

‘So we do seem to have a pattern, albeit a rather unusual one,’ said the pathologist, swivelling round to face the police. ‘Three attacks with a fishing knife, a Normark if Constable Brown is correct, and I believe he is. Two of these were
fatalities
, both from slashed throats, both members of the
criminal
fraternity. The third, an attempted murder, is on a police
sergeant. In the same area as this attack we have two tyre slashings, one on the intended victim and one on a member of the public.’

‘A probation officer,’ the Sergeant interjected.

‘I didn’t know it was a probation officer,’ said the
Inspector
. ‘Is that relevant do you think?’

The pathologist smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s not my job to put it all together,’ he said. ‘I can tell you all these people almost certainly suffered at the hands of the same person and the tyres are very interesting. One stab to each tyre speaks of deliberation and control, not drunken vandalism. Whoever is doing this, they’re following some plan. You might want to keep an eye on this probation officer or at least warn him.’

‘Her,’ said the Sergeant, ‘warn her.’

‘Ah,’ said the pathologist. ‘Now that
is
interesting.’

Alex was fretting, pacing her room and glancing out of the window every few minutes. She had very few clients who attended regularly without being constantly chivvied and reminded, and even fewer who attended regularly and on time, so the unexplained absence of Simon, the ‘lorry boy’ from Petherton, was a cause for some anxiety. After about fifteen minutes she gave in and rang down to Alison in the office.

‘Oh, no, he’s not down here,’ said Alison brightly. ‘Hang on though, I’ll just check.’

There was a clunk as she dropped the phone on the counter and Alex waited, gritting her teeth in frustration. The
waiting
area was an open space, fully visible from the reception desk. There was nowhere for Simon to be unless he’d secreted himself under one of the chairs. She had a momentary vision of Alison lifting seat cushions and peering behind them and, despite herself, cracked a little smile. The phone was lifted again and she heard Alison’s adenoidal tones.

‘No, he’s not here. There’s a policeman to see you though.’

Slightly alarmed, Alex said, ‘Did he say what he wants?’

The phone went down again, jarring through Alex’s head, and after a brief pause she heard the faint tones of PC Brown. Maybe some news about the tyres, she thought.

‘Send him up will you?’ she said before Alison could
convey
her interpretation of events. ‘And call me the moment you hear anything about Simon. It’s not like him to be late.’

There was a knock on her office door and Constable Brown walked in looking unusually sombre. Alex waved him to a seat and offered him a cup of tea but he shook his head.

‘No thanks. I’m just on my way out to Taunton, to the
Saggers
, but I wanted to have a word with you first.

‘Saggers?’ asked Alex frowning.

‘Oh, sorry, Special Action Group HQ. I’d be in trouble if anyone heard me calling them ‘Saggers’, especially to a
civilian
, but to be honest they’re so full of themselves and strut around – they’ve really pissed a lot of us off. You won’t tell anyone will you?’ he added.

Alex assured him his secret was safe with her.

‘So, what brings you here?’ she said. ‘Is it to do with the tyres?’

The young PC nodded. ‘Well, yes but it’s a bit more than that.’ He explained about the knife wounds and the match between the tyre damage and a blade used in two murders and one attempted killing of a police officer. Alex was
horrified
and intrigued in almost equal measure. ‘So whoever cut my tyres killed William Boyd?’

‘Yeah, Big Bill,’ said PC Brown.

‘And they also killed another man and attacked the custody sergeant at the pub.’ Alex had a thought. ‘The other man wouldn’t happen to be this mysterious Elver Man, would he, the one Kevin Mallory was charged with?’

PC Brown looked uncomfortable. ‘I can’t confirm that,’ he said. ‘That’s not supposed to be common knowledge – always saying it is the case, of course, which I’m not,’ he added hastily.

Alex thought for a moment. ‘Why would whoever killed the Elver Man mess about with my car?’ she asked finally.

‘We don’t know yet,’ said Constable Brown, ‘but when we catch him I promise you we’ll find out.’

Alex nodded, not much comforted by this. She opened her mouth to tell him about the curtains and the pike’s head in the fridge but hesitated remembering her conversation with Sue. At that moment the phone rang. She snatched it up, expecting news of Simon, but instead it was Garry asking if she had a moment to spare some time that afternoon.
Disappointed
and a little apprehensive she replaced the receiver with a muttered apology.

‘I’m waiting for a client,’ she said. ‘He’s never late even though he walks all the way from Petherton. Well, runs really. He’s amazingly fit – puts me to shame.’

‘That wouldn’t be Simon Adams, the lorry boy?’ asked Constable Brown. Alex gave him a sharp look, ‘Why?’

‘Someone attacked him last night. Gave him a right good kicking by all accounts and left him on the pavement. He was lucky a passing motorist spotted him or he might have been out all night. I’m on my way over there later this afternoon to interview him.’

Kevin was looking out of the top window, wondering if he could get out of going with his mother to meet Alex at the day centre, when he saw a figure striding along the footpath, coming from the direction of Middlezoy. There was
something
familiar about him and Kevin leaned forward, pressing his nose to the glass to get a better look. The figure turned in to the front yard and Kevin jumped back out of sight as he recognized the florid features of Derek Johns. He slid across to the bedroom door and hurried down the stairs to warn his mother, but a hammering on the front door made him freeze like a trapped rabbit. He stood halfway down the staircase in his socks and boxers, afraid to move in either direction. There was silence for a moment and then the knocking began again, a steady pounding on the door which trembled in its reinforced frame but did not give way.

There was the sound of footsteps from the direction of the 
kitchen and Ada appeared, hurrying over to the foot of the stairs, looking up at Kevin with disapproval.

‘’Tis Derek Johns,’ he whispered, his voice coming out as a squeak. ‘I seen him, coming down the path but you was out back.’

Ada flapped her hand at him, waving him up the stairs. ‘What’d I tell you, parading around like that? You go put some clothes on now and leave this to me.’ She turned her back on her son who retreated up the stairs to peer down at Derek Johns’ head from the top window. Ada moved towards the door, running her eye over the bolts and locks as she did so. Everything was in place, just as she’d left it before going out into the garden. She stepped closer to the end of the hall and spoke calmly. ‘You just leave us be now Derek. We is nothing to do with you so you go back home.’

There was a pause in the knocking. ‘That you then Ada? You skulking and sneaking and hiding in there with that little runt of a son? Reckon you must be scared to show your face amongst decent folk.’

Ada stood very still, trying to make sense of all this. She had no idea what Derek Johns was talking about but she had worked out he was trying to rile her, to make her lose her temper and open the door. An angry, hostile man outside – that she could cope with. An angry, hostile man inside her house was another matter entirely and Ada wasn’t about to let that happen. There was a scuffling from above and Kevin peered round the landing rails.