Hot Blood (Bloodwords Book 1) (6 page)

‘How do you know that he is gay?’ responded
Bradshaw, edging further into her van.

‘Well, he came to view the park on his own,
there was no woman with him, so he must be mustn’t he? I don’t think that
that’s the sort we want on here is it? Mrs Bradshaw. Mrs Bradshaw. Mrs
Bradshaw. Are you alright Mrs Bradshaw?’

Enough was enough. Gays indeed. What exactly
did the woman know about the newcomer. Exactly nothing. Not even his name.
‘Sorry Mrs Weston, I really have to go. Pop around for a chat again if you want
when I have more time.’

The snub went unnoticed. Turning the handlebars
and pressing the throttle lever, she lurched off into the roadway. Screeching
to a stop, the pickup swerved and just missed her.

‘Just watch where you are going,’ she shouted
at the driver, raising her hand and wagging her finger. ‘There’s a speed limit
on this park. You could have crashed into me going that fast. I’ll report you
to the management.’

Slowly, the vehicle door opened and the driver
jumped down. ‘Mrs Weston. I didn’t mean to surprise you. But you set off so
quickly and drove right in-front of me. One minute you were talking to Angela
and the next you were in the middle of the road. You really must look where you
are going.’

‘Don’t you talk to me like that young man. You
should pay more respect to your elders. I was drawing my pension when you were
still reading Thomas the Tank books. Anyway, you were speeding, so you were.
You were driving faster than one of those grand pricks fellows.’

Smiling and not really offended by the old
dear, he looked her straight in the eye. ‘It’s Grand Prix Mrs Weston. The ex is
silent. But I wasn’t going more than fifteen miles an hour anyway. We are only
a few yards in from the gate so I couldn’t have been going any faster. Now,
take care Mrs Weston. Goodbye.’

……….

‘That bloody Weston woman caught me again
Fred.’

From the smirk on his face, her husband
obviously thought it funny. ‘I know, I wondered who you were talking to but
when I peeked out and saw her electric roller skate I decided to stay hidden
inside. It was funny when she caught you. The look on your face when you were
half in the door and half out was an absolute picture.’

‘Oh my God – just look at that!’ she
said.

‘What is it Angela?’

‘Phyllis turned her scooter right in front of
the truck, then she wagged her finger at young Kevin. She really is
unbelievable.’

‘Yes dear. Unbelievably nosey, unbelievably
boring, and on that scooter thing, unbelievably bloody dangerous.’

……….

Putting the beakers down, Kevin looked around
the cabin. He couldn’t remember when it had last been decorated but from the
look of things it must have been when he was a kid at school. A long time ago
anyway. The paint on the walls was discoloured from years of cigarette smoke,
the built in seats around the outside of the room showed signs of heavy wear and
countless sticky fingers, ice cream and knocked over cola, and the floor no
longer shone no matter how hard it was mopped and polished. Not exactly the
Ritz was it?

Not that it had bothered him much before. But
since he had been up to the marina with the lads for a pint or two in that nice
new restaurant they had up there, the Green Fields reception area had suddenly
lost its friendly home from home feel and taken on a shabby appearance. Some
changes were long overdue.

‘This place is a dump,’ he said, taking a slurp
from his coffee. ‘I mean, just look at it Dad, it’s worse than the old scout
hut was and they knocked that down three years ago. We went up to
Lockside
the other night and it looks great. They’ve a new
building up there with fancy décor, a lovely restaurant and a licensed bar. But
all we’ve got is a tatty old portable pre-fab
tarted
up to look like a timber cabin. And we’ve not even got a vending machine never
mind a restaurant or bar.’

‘You can thank your bloody aunt and uncle for
that.’ Peter Archer was well aware of the shortcomings at Green Fields, but not
used to having them highlighted by his son. ‘In any case, doing it all up
wouldn’t make much difference to this lot we’ve got on-site at the moment. They
wouldn’t spend any more money come what may. It’s hard keeping site fees steady
from year to year without asking them for any more to cover upgrades they
aren’t interested in.’

‘But they might if we had a decent place for
them to come to. All the big sites make a fortune from their snack bars, cafés
and clubrooms but unless I put the kettle on we can’t offer so much as a drink
– even our beakers are all old and chipped.’

‘It’s all in the pipeline son. We don’t have
enough tenants to support a café at the moment but when we add the new plots
there will be more than we actually need. My plan includes a nice stone
building with not just a restaurant and bar but a club room and games hall as
well. If my bitch of a sister hadn’t cheated me out of my money I could have
done it long before
Lockside
was built, but at long
last it’s looking like I will have the money to make it happen. I’ve a couple
of tricks up my sleeve and while it’s not actually there yet, it will be in a
couple of weeks.’

‘I’m not so sure Dad. David Preston is their
new solicitor and from what the lads say he’s quite a whiz with the legal stuff
– he did Sylvia’s divorce and really took her ex for a ride. You might
not get as much as you think from Uncle Mike.’

‘Oh, I don’t think it’s a real problem. Mike’s
hurting bad now and I’m thinking that I might get more than we expected.
There’s more at stake here than either my pride or a legacy of a few grand. I
just thank my lucky stars that old Joseph was Granddad’s solicitor and knows
how it was all done. Now that he’s my solicitor I can have a go at getting it
back. We all have to meet to agree the figures and then I can put it all behind
me. That was supposed to happen next week but I got Joseph to delay it a bit
because I have a few other irons in the fire. I’ve a meeting with a bloke over
in
Skem
and I’m also going to see Arthur Jarvis.’

‘And who’s he then?’

‘Before your time son. Or when you were small
anyway. He’s the bloke my dad bought the farm from. First he moved to a house
in the village, then about three years ago went down south to be near his
family. It took me a while but I tracked him down to a place just outside
London. I’m going to see him next week, and while I am down there I am dropping
in on a couple of caravan parks to see if I can pick up some tips. If my hunch
is right and it all comes together, we should soon have the funds we need to
make this place sing and I’ll also be able to take my bloody sister and her
perverted husband to the cleaners, get my inheritance back and secure all our
futures. It’s worth a week in the smoke for that.’

Five

Friday. The best day of the week. Unless
something major happened to screw up the weekend, only a few hours remained
before two full days with no paperwork to complete, no drunken yobbos to haul
in and no ‘yes sir no sir three bags full sir’ to the inspector either.

‘How did you get on then?’

Oh well, just a few more yes sirs to go.
‘Nothing much to report really sir. Mike Johnson seems to be quite the star. I
couldn’t find a single shopkeeper with a bad word against him. The blokes
either said he was an OK guy or that they didn’t know much about him other than
what gets printed in the local rag – which is all about his artwork
anyway – but he certainly seems to be a hit with the ladies. Most of the
women seemed to have a crush on him and one of them in the café across from The
Palette has definitely got the
hots
for him. I
casually said that there was a resemblance to her in one of the pictures in the
art shop and she blushed bright red then admitted that she did go for art
lessons occasionally.’

‘So what’s there to be embarrassed about in
taking the odd art lesson?’

‘Well Guv, I don’t know about having art
lessons but if that was her in the sketch then she wasn’t painting, she was
modelling. And she certainly wasn’t ashamed of anything or reluctant to show it
all off either – that sketch is a cracking nude picture.’

‘Sounds like she might be the best person to
give us some insight into what goes on at Johnson’s art classes then Kyle, help
us dismiss the suggestions that our local artist got worked over by a jealous
partner, though with Peter Archer in the clear, a love based attack might
actually be the most logical trail to follow.’

……….

Peering into the shops like a couple of window
gazing sightseers, the two detectives sauntered down the street as
inconspicuously as they could, giving them the opportunity to pause at The
Palette before moving on.

Intrigued, Radcliffe looked eagerly for the
picture, but without success until the sergeant pointed to a small framed
sketch tucked away at the back.

‘Well, if that picture is anything to go by,
our friendly artist certainly knows how to pick his models,’ he said. ‘Come on
Kyle, let’s see what she looks like with her clothes on.’

A recreation of a tea shop in years gone by,
the Windsor Tea Rooms encapsulated life in a more genteel age, enticing day
trippers with its promise of fleeing the pace of 21st century living, even if
only for half an hour over relaxing refreshments. Waitresses in Victorian style
white aprons over black dresses brought cakes and sandwiches to its tables on
three tier cake stands, with leaf tea in china pots and twee little china tea
cups in which to drink it. Outside, more tables under umbrellas were arranged
in the roadway of the
pedestrianised
street, taking
the concept a little towards a French pavement café and confusing the issue
somewhat. Modern essentials like
WiFi
Internet access
and rubbery burgers on tasteless buns had not been invented in the days that
the Windsor attempted to emulate, though the softly playing piano emanated from
a decidedly up to date audio system rather than a real grand piano.

A jangling bell announced the entry of the two
detectives, drawing a smile from the assistant manageress and a welcoming ‘a
table for two is it?’

‘Yes please, though we would like you to join
us please,’ responded the senior officer, introducing them and reminding her of
his sergeant’s earlier visit.

‘Oh dear,’ she replied, ‘I hope that I didn’t
say something that I shouldn’t have. I would hate to get anybody into trouble.’

‘No, not at all. Actually, you were very
helpful and we just thought that perhaps you could help us a little more.’ Keep
it all friendly thought the inspector. If she had been embarrassed at having
modelled for the picture there would be no point in putting the poor girl on
the defensive right from the start.

Clearly not at ease, she spoke in short bursts,
as if she was searching for some gem of a statement that would placate the
policemen and send them on their way but couldn’t think of one. ‘If I can. Of
course. But in what way? It’s pretty ordinary around here. Nothing much
happens. People come in for tea and a cake. That’s all. What else do you want
to know?’

‘Now now love, don’t get upset. We are just
trying to piece together some loose ends and since we don’t know much about
this street and those working here we thought that perhaps you could help us.
Local knowledge and all that.’

After instructing a young waitress to take over
her duties she sat with them at their table. What could all this mean? The
police didn’t just turn up asking questions if you hadn’t done anything did
they? Well the nice young sergeant had done yesterday, but that was different
because he was checking out the burglary at the electronics shop further up the
street. Now there were two of them – and one of them an inspector no
less. It couldn’t be the parking ticket she had got when she overstayed her
time in
Tulketh
Street, that wouldn’t warrant an
inspector would it?

‘Don’t worry Miss, you won’t get anyone into
trouble. And if you do tell us something that helps us we won’t be telling
anyone where we got the information either.’

He was a nice one that sergeant. A little old
for her of course, but nice all the same. More like a father figure, but not
old enough for that either. Only the second time they had met but he understood
her. That was more than Jack did. What in heaven’s name should she do about
Jack?

‘Right Miss.’ The sergeant brought her out of
her reverie. ‘How well do you know the people at the electronics shop?’

She didn’t know them all that well actually.
Nor did she know the owners of the travel agent, the cake shop, the butcher,
the instant print shop or the Christian book shop.

‘Ah, but you know the art shop man pretty well
don’t you.’

‘No, not really. Just to say hello to now and
again’ She said.

‘But I heard that you knew him well enough to
take your clothes off for him.’

In an instant she had blushed redder than a
lobster. And she was fidgeting with a napkin on her knees. Embarrassment was an
understatement. ‘No I don’t know him well. I just modelled for the life
painting class. And I only did it the once. Lifting her head to look at
Radcliffe she fixed her eyes rigidly on his and emphasised her point. ‘Just the
once inspector,’ pausing before continuing. ‘Actually I was supposed to be in
the painting class but the model didn’t turn up. I wouldn’t have done it
normally but because it was only for the painting class they said that nobody
else would see me. I couldn’t just strip off anywhere for anybody inspector.’
What a cheek! Fancy making such a suggestion. He didn’t have the tact or the
charm of his sergeant that was for sure.

‘Well the sergeant recognised you from the
picture, so no doubt others have as well.’

‘Yes, that sketch has been a problem.’

‘Doesn’t look like a problem to me miss, in
fact, it’s a lovely picture. I would go in and buy it myself but I don’t think
that my wife would approve when I got it home,’ he said with a grin.

‘No inspector, I don’t suppose she would. I
asked Mike to take it out of the window because we had blokes peering into the
tea shop and making rude gestures at me. That wasn’t the worst though. My
boyfriend went wild when he saw it.’

‘I would have thought that he would have been
pleased that others approved of his choice sufficiently to draw and paint her.’

‘No sergeant, he wasn’t. He saw the sketch when
he came to meet me after work and when he realised that it was me he almost
dragged me out of the shop.’

‘So what happened then? Did he shout at you?
Did he go and remonstrate in the art shop? Did he hurt you?’

The blush returned. Did that indicate something
or just more embarrassment?

‘Well, actually inspector, he did.’

‘Did what?’

‘What you said. I was serving a customer
outside and he shouted at me out there in the road. Showed me up something
shocking he did. Called me a little slut and said that he had heard all about
Mike Johnson’s after work exploits and that he would make him regret
propositioning his girlfriend.’ But I wasn’t propositioned and nothing went on
– well, not that sort of thing anyway. It was awful. Everyone was looking
at us and he dragged me up the street. He said I was not to come back and that
he would make sure that I didn’t strip off for Mike again. He called him a
bloody pervert. But he isn’t. He isn’t inspector – it’s just art.’

‘I suppose that he was surprised and his anger
got the better of him love. Has he got over it now?’

‘My name is Helen inspector, not Love. And I
don’t know whether Jack has got over it. I don’t care either.’

‘Meaning, Helen?’

……….

‘This isn’t up to the tea they serve at the
Windsor, Kyle,’ said the inspector, ‘this tastes like you got the tea bags from
the pound shop.’

‘I did actually. You complained so often about
being asked for your contribution that we looked for a cheaper brand.’

‘And the WPC isn’t up to the standards of Helen
Weston either, although since we’ve not seen her without her clothes on,
perhaps I am making an unfair comparison,’ adding with a wink, ‘or do you know
something that I don’t Kyle?’

Joking apart, the session in the tea shop had
thrown up more than Radcliffe had expected. Hoping to find out just a little
about the evening art classes at The Palette, they had in actual fact come away
with a possible suspect for Johnson’s attack who had both motive and
opportunity. The boyfriend lived near Johnson, knew him by sight and bore a
grudge. When they had tracked him down he had reacted instantly to the name of
Mike Johnson, calling him a pervert and claiming that he had drawn vulnerable
women into his web, luring them with art classes then leading them through
modelling for the classes to modelling just for him – and then on to
sexual exploits. Wasn’t that what the artist had tried with Helen until he had
been stopped in his tracks?

Challenged as to whether he had spoken to
Johnson or argued with him, the lad had become tongue-tied. He had said that he
had dragged Helen away and told her not to go to any more art classes at The
Palette. And no, he didn’t know if she had actually gone again because yes, she
had finished with him. And yes, he did blame Johnson for that. But no, he had
not seen Johnson or gone to his house – although if the dirty bastard
hadn’t been worked over then perhaps he might have gone into the shop and told
him what he thought of him.

Well, motive in bucket loads then. And there
was no corroboration for the evening of the attack either. Watching TV wasn’t
the strongest of alibis but he had to give it to the lad, watching a recording
that he had made before was a smart way of covering the fact that he did not
know what was actually on the TV that night.

‘We are going to need more than a hunch and a
lack of an alibi to pin the bugger down,’ he said to the sergeant. ‘Run a check
on him and see if his temper has got him into trouble before. It’s a long shot
but worth trying. Then get back to the girlfriend and see if she has a photo of
him and take it up to see if any of the Johnson’s neighbours recognise him.
Perhaps he’s been hanging around spying his chance. I have a feeling about this
guy and it takes Archer out of the frame.’