The Reckoning (12 page)

TWENTY-TWO

Justin walked slowly up the road, aware, from
what he had discovered, that he was retracing the last steps of the girls who
had been attacked in the sleepy village. He had been at the scenes of several
murders, and even an abduction, but it felt different on that occasion. He
supposed it was because the village was so peaceful, and not the kind of place
where people would expect a series of brutal murders to take place.

The other crime scenes he had been to were
all in more urban settings, where they didn’t seem so out of place.

He reached the short row of three houses that
was his destination and stopped to look around. He moved off again after a few
moments, then stopped once more just past the last house of the trio. Barely
visible, about half a mile distant, was the farmhouse that belonged to the
Davis family; Michael Davis had attacked both his sisters there, Justin knew.

On his left was a dirt path, a drive of
sorts, which led, if Google maps was accurate, to the farm where Jessica Davis
and Melanie Nelson were found. He wanted to visit both farms, to give the story
he was researching some atmosphere, but first there was something else for him
to do.

Justin retraced his steps for a short
distance, and then left the stretch of pavement to walk up the drive to the
front door of Jason Denton’s house. He had been able to find out a reasonable
amount about the author, thanks to the internet, but nothing that he thought
was particularly useful at that time. He realised that the former detective
inspector was almost certainly used to dealing with reporters, so he was
unlikely to be willing to talk to him. He hoped that the most recent
information he had been given would change his mind, however.

Pushing aside the jealousy inspired by the
gleaming sports car in the drive, Justin rang the doorbell. While he waited he
stepped back to look around him. With the exception of the Audi, nothing of
what he saw suggested that the house belonged to an author whose last four
books had all made it into the UK top ten, and whose latest release had been a
top five novel for more than two months.

There was barely enough time for him to take
in his surroundings before the front door of the house swung open. Instead of
the successful author, whose pictures he had seen in multiple places on the
internet, he was confronted by a young girl. She looked too old, by several
years, to be Jason Denton’s daughter, Pippa, which left him a little confused.

“Who are you?” the girl asked suspiciously.

“Hello.” Justin assumed the friendliest demeanour
he could, not wanting to frighten the girl, who, from his reading of her body
language, was ready to bolt at the slightest reason. “I’m Justin, is Mr Denton
in? I’d like to speak to him.”

“Was that the door, Lucy?” A female voice
called out from upstairs.

Since the information he had gathered on
Jason Denton indicated that he was divorced and currently single, Justin was
more than a little confused. He couldn’t help wondering if he had somehow ended
up at the wrong house. He didn’t see how that was possible, though.

“Uh huh,” Lucy answered. “It’s a man, he
wants to talk to Mr Denton,” she called up the stairs, one hand on the door to
prevent Justin entering.

Footsteps sounded in response to the girl’s
announcement, and in just a few seconds a woman appeared on the stairs. She
descended them briskly. “Go into the living room, Lucy,” she told the girl
before turning her attention to Justin. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Justin, Justin Over,” he introduced
himself. “I’d like to speak to Mr Denton, is he home?”

Lily ran a shrewd eye over the man on the
doorstep. “What newspaper do you work for?” she asked; he didn’t look like a
cop - having known Jason for so long, she’d met enough cops to recognise one.
The only other type of person who would want to speak to Jason just then was a
journalist.

“I’m freelance,” Justin said with a smile, he
had no problem with admitting what he was; though he had on occasion used
subterfuge to get a story, he preferred to be open and honest where possible.

Lily wasn’t impressed by the news that he was
a freelance journalist, they were all the same in her opinion. “Jason isn’t
home,” she told him. “You’ll have to come back later.” Not that she thought it
would do him any good to come back later. She didn’t imagine Jason would be all
that willing to talk to him - the only times Jason had had anything to do with
the press, in her experience, was when it would help the case he was working
on.

“No worries,” Justin said equably. Though
he’d have preferred to speak to the retired DI cum author then, he knew he was
ahead of his rivals when it came to compiling a story on what had happened in
the village. Thanks to his contacts, he was also up to date on the hunt for
Michael Davis. “Is that Lucy Davis in there?” he asked, gesturing down the
passage to where the young girl who had opened the door to him had disappeared.
“Do you think I could speak to her for a moment?” He pre-empted the answer from
the woman before him, who had made no attempt to introduce herself.

“Not a chance,” Lily said quickly. “She’s
been through quite enough recently, without someone like you making her relive
it all.”

“Okay; can you tell me when Mr Denton will be
back?” He was used to dealing with uncooperative, unfriendly, and even
downright impolite people, so wasn’t bothered by her tone. He did his best to
be polite and considerate with people in general, and especially the victims of
crime, but he knew that many of his fellow journalists didn’t. That was why so
many people disliked them, and preferred not to have anything to do with them.

“I have no idea,” Lily told him. It wasn’t
really a lie; she didn’t know when Jason was going to be back, though she
didn’t imagine he was going to be long since he’d only gone to the shop. She
had no intention of telling the journalist that that, however.

“Okay, well I’ll try and catch him later.
Thank you for your time.” With that, Justin turned away from the house to walk
down the short drive.

When he reached the road, he turned to his
left, and then made his way along the dirt drive toward the farmhouse where
Jessica Davis and Melanie Nelson had been found.

TWENTY-THREE

The drive of seventeen Privet Road was empty
as Donna pulled up in front of the house. Since there was no garage attached to
the house, in which the motorbike belonging to Joe Proud could be, she guessed
he was out. Despite that, she got out of her car and made her way up to the
front door so she could ring the bell.

There was no answer, which didn’t surprise
her, but she rang again. She was about to return to her car and head back to
the village when she heard a shout from within the house.

“I’M COMING, HOLD YOUR HORSES!”

It was another minute before she heard
footsteps approach the door, and then the sound of it being unlocked.

“Yeah? What d’ya want?” the young man who
opened the door wanted to know the moment he saw Donna on the doorstep in her
uniform.

“Is Mr Proud at home?” Donna asked, ignoring
the youth’s tone. She didn’t need to ask to know that he wasn’t who she was
there to see, he looked nothing like the young man in the photograph she had
been given.

“What d’ya want with Joe?”

“I need to talk to him about an incident at
the Dean Stables,” Donna told him. “Do you know where I can find him?” she
asked, now certain that her first assessment had been right, and the stable boy
wasn’t home.

“What’s that bitch accused him of now?”

Donna wondered at the anger displayed by the
youth before her, and his assumption that his friend had been accused of
something. “Why would you assume that Mr Proud has been accused of something?”
she asked curiously.

“Because that bitch, has it in for him; she’s
had it in for him ever since he turned her down.”

Donna guessed that the bitch referred to was
Claire Dean and filed that piece of information away; she wasn’t sure if it
would prove relevant at all, but figured it was worth knowing. “At this time,
he hasn’t been accused of anything, but I do need to talk to him. If you know
where he is, it would help me to clear the matter up quickly.”

“He’s at the pub, at least that’s where he
said he was going.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
She turned away so she could return to her car and head back to the village to
find her target.

*****

Jason could feel the eyes of those he passed
on him as he walked through the village. It became more obvious when he entered
the small shop that served the village; the lady behind the counter, as well as
the two who were picking up a few groceries, stared openly at him. The only one
who didn’t have his eyes on him was the six year old boy with his mother.

He ignored the stares as best he could while
making his way along the shelves, though it wasn’t easy. Since he didn’t know
how long Lucy Davis was going to be with him, and Lily had made it clear that
she was going to stay with him for as long as Lucy was there – to protect him
against gossip and accusations of improper behaviour – he needed to stock up.

It was no problem to shop for himself and
Lily, he knew what she liked to eat. Shopping for his houseguest, though was
more tricky; he didn’t know Lucy well enough – he didn’t know her at all really
– to know what food she liked and what she didn’t, or even what she might be
allergic to.

Since that was the case, he filled the basket
with an assortment of items. He grabbed things that he and Lily liked, as well
as foods his daughter enjoyed, and topped up the basket with a little of
everything else he came across – not that the shop stocked a fantastic range of
items.

He made sure to grab some juice and coke, as
well as biscuits and chocolate; he knew it was important for someone who had
been through the kind of experience that Lucy had to keep her blood sugar
levels up, and to be distracted. With that in mind he grabbed a few magazines,
hoping they were the sort of thing Lucy enjoyed.

When he was finished, and the basket was
piled as high as he could manage to get it, without losing half of what he’d
picked out, he limped to the counter. The dull throb in his ankle, and the
occasional sharp twinge in his back, reminded him that he was due for another
dose of painkillers.

“Good afternoon, Mrs Roper,” he greeted the
middle-aged woman who owned the shop with her husband. He received a grunt in
response, which he took to mean that Michael Davis’ arrest that morning, for
the crimes he had been accused of, hadn’t helped how he was viewed in the
village.

While Mrs Roper rang up the goods he had
selected, Jason bagged them. When they were done he paid, picked up his bags,
and limped for the door.

He was just reaching for the handle when the
door flew open in his face, catching him by surprise; it was only his quick
reactions that stopped the door smashing him in the face.

“Sorry, Mr Denton,” Donna apologised when she
saw what she had almost done.

“Jason, please,” he told her, “and don’t
worry about it, just bad timing. I seem to be suffering a lot of that recently.
How are things?” he asked her.

“Not bad,” she answered with a smile. “I’m
just off to the pub to try and find an ex stable-hand, who might have decided
to get revenge for being fired with some vandalism,” she said. “I need some
chocolate or something first, though. It feels like I haven’t stopped all day,
and certainly not for long enough to eat. My stomach thinks my throat’s been
cut, it’s been grumbling for hours.” As if on cue, a loud rumble sounded,
prompting her to go bright red in embarrassment.

“It sounds like I shouldn’t delay you,” Jason
remarked with an amused grin. “If your stomach protests any louder you’ll have
to cite yourself for noise pollution. Tell you what, why don’t you pop round to
my place later; you can check on Lucy and make sure she’s alright, and I’ll
make sure you get a good meal. I can pay you back for the biscuits and
chocolate you were kind enough to supply me with the other day.”

Donna smiled in appreciation. “That sounds
great, thanks. I don’t know what time I can get there, though. The way things
are going I could be working until late.”

“Don’t worry about that, come round whenever
you’re able to.”

“Thanks.”

A second rumble from Donna’s stomach
encouraged Jason to step aside so she could enter the shop. As he walked down
the road he thought about what Donna had said. He was sure she was more than
capable of taking care of herself, as she had evidenced just that morning when
arresting Michael Davis. The thought of her attempting to question or possibly
arrest a suspect without backup available didn’t sit well with him, however.

By the time he reached the pub, which didn’t
take long, he had made a decision.

He turned away from the road and crossed the
car park, with its occupying news vans, to enter the pub. The pub wasn’t very
full, which didn’t surprise him since it was mid-afternoon, and he set his
carrier bags down under a table not far from the door with a view of the whole
pub. He made his way over to the bar then to order himself a drink.

*****

Donna was surprised when she entered the pub
and saw Jason at a table near the door, half a pint of cider in a pint glass on
the table in front of him. She’d expected him to go straight home with his
shopping. Though it was unexpected, his presence didn’t really matter to her
just then; beyond a nod of acknowledgement, she paid him no mind.

Standing just inside the pub she looked
around until she found her target in the back corner, where he was playing pool
with a friend. Even bent over the table, Donna no problem recognising Joe Proud
from the photograph Claire Dean had given her.

“Mr Proud,” Donna said when she reached the
table.

“Yeah, what d’ya want?” Joe asked, glancing
up from where he was lining up a shot to see who wanted him.

If he was troubled by a uniformed officer
wanting to talk to him, Donna saw no sign of it, either on his face or in his
body language. “I need to talk to you,” she told him.

“What about?” As he asked the question, Joe
took his shot, sending the cue ball rocketing up the table to strike a pair of
reds, one of which dropped into the top right corner pocket, while the other
bounced off the cushion and rolled down the table to the middle.

“The Dean Stables,” Donna said, watching the
young man closely for any reaction, there was none, at least none that she
considered an indication of guilt.

Joe sighed and straightened up. He leaned the
cue he had been using against the wall and collected his pint from a table a
short distance away, he then walked past the constable and into the main area
of the pub.

“So, why d’ya want to talk to me about the
Dean Stables?” he wanted to know when they were both seated in one of the
booths against the wall of the pub.

Donna was silent for a few moments, as she considered
the best way to start, and how to handle the situation. “You were recently
sacked from the stables, is that correct?” she asked finally.

“Yeah.” Joe nodded after taking a long
swallow of his beer. “What of it? Is that bitch trying to cause more trouble
for me?” he wanted to know.

“I assume you’re referring to Mrs Dean; why
would you think she’s trying to cause trouble for you?”

“Because she’s a vindictive bitch, and she’s
got it in for me,” Joe answered, a bite to his voice. “She’s made my life hell
ever since I turned her down. I swear, I’d have been better off sleeping with
her, it would have saved me a load of grief.”

“Are you suggesting that Mrs Dean has some
kind of vendetta against you?”

“Damn straight!”

“Why is that?” Donna asked, curious to know
what he was on about, at the same time, she wondered if it had any bearing on
the vandalism she was investigating.

“I told you, I turned her down. She wanted me
to sleep with her and I wasn’t interested. There was a series of thefts from
the students, and after I turned her down I was caught with a phone that
belonged to one of the students. I found it, and was taking it to the office to
put it in lost property, but of course, she didn’t want to believe me. She used
it as an excuse to sack me,” Joe said. “Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she
put the phone where she knew I’d find it so she could get rid of me.”

“That seems a bit extreme, just because you
didn’t want to sleep with her,” Donna remarked.

“Yeah, well, so is calling every stables in
the county to tell them I’m a thief, and that I was sacked for trying it on
with the female students. That didn’t stop her, though. All I know is horses,
but I don’t have a hope in hell of getting a job anywhere worth bothering with
thanks to that vindictive bitch.”

His voice was filled with bitterness, which
only served to make Donna think that Claire Dean was right, and he was
responsible for the vandalism. If what he had said was true, then he definitely
had a reason for wanting to get revenge on his former employer; that didn’t
mean she could let him get away with it, however.

“What about the incident with the other
stable-hand?” Donna asked, deciding to find out everything she could before she
brought up the real reason for her wanting to talk to him. “I was told that in
addition to suspicion of theft, you were accused of an act of sabotage that
resulted in a fellow stable hand being seriously injured; a stable hand that
you reportedly had a dispute with.”

“Oh for god’s sake!” Joe exclaimed in
frustration. “That was a total bollocks. Mickey Porter is a mediocre rider, at
best. He didn’t have what it took to be in that race, let alone win it, but he
entered anyway, and ended up taking a tumble when he got boxed in. He got hurt,
but couldn’t admit it was an accident, and one that could have been avoided if
he’d had the sense to stay out of the race.

“Not only that but he wanted to get his own
back for me sleeping with his girlfriend, so he accused me of sabotaging his
tackle. He was hoping he could get me sacked. There was no evidence, because I
hadn’t done anything, so the matter was dropped. What’s this all about?” he
wanted to know.

“There was a case of vandalism at the Dean
Stables during the night,” Donna told him. “Several vehicles were damaged and
decorated with graffiti. Can you tell me where you were last night, Mr Proud?”

Joe was silent for several long moments,
during which time he finished the last of his pint. “Claire told you I was
responsible, didn’t she,” he said finally. “Well, she’s full of shit!” he
declared.

“Where were you last night?” Donna asked.

“At home,” Joe answered.

“Can you prove that?” She saw his eyes move
from his now empty glass to the bar, and knew he wanted to get another drink.
She was glad when he stayed where he was; she didn’t fancy having her limited
authority challenged, especially for a pint.

“Yes,” Joe said with a nod and a satisfied
smile. “So that bitch can get stuffed; there’s no way I’m responsible for what
happened at the stables. I was in bed with…” he hesitated.