Beck le Street

By Tony McHale

When the law of the land fails to deliver justice, justice can become brutal and … fatal. 
Sixteen years ago after an argument with his father, sixteen-year-old Charlie Ashton left Beck le Street, vowing never to return. 
Now sixteen years later he is reluctantly drawn back into this incestuous community when his estranged father is charged with the murder of his mother. Charlie’s need to catch the killer destroys the thin veneer of 21st Century normality that masquerades as village life, revealing the raw violence that lurks just beneath the surface. 
Does he run, fight or join them? Whatever - he learns there are vigilantes and then there is Beck le Street.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Jan 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789019612

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 Tony McHale

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

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-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

She never heard him approach. Her head was so full of the argument they’d just had that she wasn’t aware of anything. She wasn’t even aware there was another person on the road. She wasn’t aware that a light rain had just started to fall. And she wasn’t aware that the moon was in its third quarter and was bright enough to light her way home. Her feet crunched on the gravel path that led off the road and through the small wooded area that edged the stone brick cottage. But he didn’t even wait for her to enter the woods, where the foliage would have hidden his actions. If she was mad, he was madder. He grabbed her by her hair, yanking her backwards. She felt the jarring as her neck snapped back and the pain on her scalp as the roots of her hair strained with the force of his grasp. He’d pulled her hair before, he’d hurt her before, but this was a new degree of viciousness. This action was designed to hurt, designed to make her suffer. She fell trying to grasp at his hand that held tightly onto her hair, her body turning, twisting, arching, trying to break free. But he didn’t loosen his grip until she hit the ground, hard, winding her. Before she could regain her breath he was on her, kneeling on her, his knees on her shoulders, pinning her to the ground, his right hand wrapped round her throat. Only a week ago a policeman had come to their school and given them instructions about what to do if they were attacked. They had to scream at the top of their voice and continue to make as much noise as possible. But Belinda didn’t seem to be able to utter a sound. She just looked up at his face, her eyes pleading with him to stop, but deep inside she knew he’d crossed a line, a line he couldn’t return from. There was no stopping him.

She managed to utter two words before he viciously raped her: Please … don’t.

* * * * *

He knew he had no choice. Once he’d crossed the line, there was no going back. Once he’d raped her … but he didn’t like that word – ‘rape’ … it made it sound sordid. It wasn’t sordid. He was in love with her and he knew deep inside, she was in love with him. Once he’d consummated their relationship, then that was it, he knew nothing would ever be the same again. She lay on the ground; her face turned away from him, not looking at him, the tears of humiliation clearly visible on her cheeks. Her shirt had been torn open and her small white bra yanked up under her chin. Her school skirt was bunched round her waist and her white knickers down round her ankles. He stood up and she in some vain effort, tried to cover herself. For a moment he turned away from her and looked at the village lights not that far away. He could try and explain. After all everybody knew how close they were. He could say that she was compliant and complicit in the act; some of them would believe him … surely. It would be his word against hers. Or he could ask her not to say anything, not tell anybody, let it be their secret. Now that was a plan. In time she would realise that she had enjoyed the experience and would more than probably want to experience it again. Then they’d be as he’d always wanted them to be – together as one.

Can this be our secret, he heard himself saying.

Belinda looked at him as she haltingly pulled up her knickers, then she gave a little nod. But he knew she was lying. He knew so easily when she was lying. Occasionally she could get away with it, but not this time, this was never going to be their secret. So he still had a problem.

Belinda started to sit up. He looked down at her and smiled.

Sorry, he said as he picked up a large stone that was lying there and brought it down on the front of her skull just above her left eye. The forehead split open like an eggshell being hit with a hammer. He stared at the gaping wound as it oozed blood and matter that dribbled into her eye. She flopped backwards and he hit her again and again and again … Afterwards he told himself that this was just to make sure she was dead, but in his more truthful moments he knew he’d done it out of anger. Why didn’t she want to share the moment with him? Why didn’t she just accept what she’d known was inevitable? It could have been great. But she had to pretend that she wouldn’t say anything, she had to pretend she would keep quiet and worst of all she had to pretend that she didn’t enjoy it. What a bitch! What a lying bitch!

The river dropped away steeply once it had run through the village and there was a section where the water got sucked down as it swirled over the rocks, creating a surging whirlpool … locals called it Dark Waters. Nobody claimed to know for sure how deep the river was at Dark Waters, but in the past various dare devils had tried to cross at this point, lost their footing and been swiftly sucked under only to surface weeks later way down river. He stood over the Dark Waters holding Belinda in his arms. In death she was quite heavy, she was a dead weight … He even smiled for a second at his own thought. But the smile soon faded and gave way to the conflicted feeling he was trying to hold in check. He felt betrayed, he felt angry, he felt annoyed and he felt disappointed. What he didn’t feel was guilty.

He tossed her body into the Dark Waters and watched as the water seemed to play with her, whirling her round and round like a defiant spider being washed down the drain of a kitchen sink. Dark Waters wasn’t going to perform. She was going to be just lodged there in perpetual motion. She was going to remain there forever, for all to see. Then with an almost crude regurgitation noise, Dark Waters just took the body and sucked it into its vortex. In seconds she was gone.

He stood staring for a few moments and then scratching his head he turned to leave.

CHAPTER ONE

This isn’t necessary. The body’s already been identified.

Charlie didn’t really take in what the woman had just said. He knew she’d spoken, but they were just sounds. Without replying he kept walking down the tiled corridor. He knew she was a woman, but that’s all he knew. A woman who was talking.

He wasn’t even sure why he wanted to see the body, just something inside him said he had to.

At the end of the corridor was a wooden door and beside it was a man who obviously knew they were coming. Dark suit, neat hair, pallid complexion, funny how he noticed the man’s complexion … A mortician - must be.

The mortician man pushed the door open as Charlie and the woman approached. For a moment Charlie hesitated, then taking an involuntary breath he stepped into the room. He expected there’d be some sort of putrid smell, but there wasn’t. There was no smell at all … just air. The mortician man ushered the woman in closing the door silently behind them. Charlie stared straight ahead at a plain wall with purple drapes in the centre.

Are you ready? asked the woman.

Ready? Could anybody ever be ready for this?

Still, despite his thoughts, Charlie nodded and the woman in turn nodded to the Mortician Man who moved to the purple drapes, slid his hand behind them, grasped the sash that was hidden there and slowly opened the curtains.

The reveal was unhurried and accompanied only by the sound of the curtain runners moving along the track. Charlie wasn’t sure what to expect, but he thought it would be something dramatic … something overwhelming. The reality was like looking at some weird work of art. There was a window and behind that window laid out, was the dead body of his mother. His mother whom he hadn’t seen for sixteen years. And despite the remoteness of the experience he wanted to scream out that he was sorry … he wanted to wind back time … he wanted to be anywhere but there. Then instinctively he started to speak, almost inaudibly, I want to know what happened … I need to know what happened.

Then he turned and stared straight into the brown eyes of the dark haired, pale-faced policewoman.

* * * * *

Three hours earlier Charlie Ashton had driven his Range Rover into Beck le Street, a small village nestled in the North Yorkshire moors. It was sixteen years since he’d last visited this hamlet, which also happened to be his birthplace and the place where his parents had remained. His intention was to make his visit as short as was respectably possible. The reason for his trip he believed was pretty straightforward, if unpleasant. Charlie’s girlfriend, Devika, had woken him the previous morning by thrusting a cordless phone in his face and making the shock announcement, It’s your father.

Who? was Charlie’s groggy reply.

Your father, Devika repeated, remember - the man you told me was dead.

Charlie’s struggle to engage with the day suddenly gained momentum. She was right. He had told her his father was dead, he remembered doing it over some alcohol-fuelled supper, but he hadn’t meant it literally. He was meaning that their relationship was dead, their friendship was dead, their father and son bond was dead. But as he’d never explained it to her in so many words, he understood why she had taken it on face value.

Charlie took the phone from her and watched as Devika walked away wearing nothing but one of his tee shirts. It was a habit of hers, wearing his tee shirts or shirts and nothing else. He never objected - he just enjoyed the view.

Hello …? Charlie spoke tentatively into the phone. This could easily be some weird caller. He got them pretty regularly. It came with the job. People don’t trust paparazzi photographers; some would go so far as to say they despised and hated paparazzi photographers.

How dare they go around invading people’s privacy … look what happened to Diana … They’re the scum of the earth, was a pretty typical reaction when someone discovered what Charlie did for a living.

Of course they all knew his photos and even though they would rarely admit it, they all liked to get a snap shot of the rich and famous caught in compromising situations or even just liked to see which nipple revealing dress they’d managed to scrounge off some famous designer for some unheard of awards ceremony. The Western world hypocrisy was Charlie’s take on these priests of moral justice. They didn’t worry him - he thrived off of them. Without these hypocrites he would be out of a job.

In truth Charlie didn’t actually class himself as a ‘pap photographer.’ He didn’t go chasing around on a scooter, he wore Armani suits, not a grubby anorak, he was often paid to take photographs of celebs and he always prided himself in the composition of his subjects. He occupied a unique position in the world of celebrity photographers; he was an opportunist who was often invited in. He liked his position.

It’s me … your dad.

It wasn’t a weirdo; it was his father. Charlie recognised Jed’s Northern accent from the first syllable. He’d grown up with that voice telling him what he could and couldn’t do, how he should or shouldn’t behave and what he was doing right and what he was doing wrong. He didn’t dislike the accent or the quality of the voice; he just wasn’t keen on the person that owned it.

Is something wrong? Charlie knew there must be, otherwise why would he have rung.

It’s your mum … it’s … she’s dead. Then as if he wanted to make sure his son understood, he reiterated: She’s dead.

Charlie thought he detected a slight break in his father’s voice.

I thought you should know, his father continued with a bluntness that Charlie recognised instantly, even after sixteen years. It meant that although something had definitely gone wrong, it wasn’t going to affect Jed. Jed would continue as if nothing had happened – that’s how you got through, or more accurately that’s how he got through.

It was Devika, after Charlie had explained to her what he meant when he told her his father was dead, that persuaded him to go up to Beck le Street. His father had given him no details of his mother’s death, which didn’t surprise Charlie, he was never very forthcoming on any subject and on personal matters he was practically mute. But as Devika said, This is your mother … you have to go.

On the long drive from his luxury apartment in St George’s Wharf where he could constantly see Battersea Power Station and on a clear day have a perfect view of Tower Bridge, his mind ran through various possibilities for his mother’s sudden demise. He assumed it was sudden, he couldn’t believe his mother wouldn’t have told him if she had known she had a terminal illness. Although they spoke rarely, their relationship was nowhere near as fractured as his and his father’s.

By the time Charlie pulled into Beck le Street’s main thoroughfare with its one general store, its dozen or so houses, its 16th Century Church and its one pub, it was after three in the afternoon. All he wanted to do was to offer up a few platitudes and then hit the road back, probably grabbing a few hours sleep at a Travelodge on the return journey. If Devika had have been with him he would have chosen some nice country hotel, but by himself there was no point. What he wasn’t going to do was stay in Beck le Street, because the only possible lodgings was the Black Dog, his parents pub, the place where he spent the first sixteen years of his life and he’d vowed he’d never spend another night.

Nostalgia is a peculiar feeling. Part warm, part chilling and part frustrating. As he approached The Black Dog he was struck with a sensation that he had when he left sixteen years ago. This gnawing sensation would have been the same for him if he’d been stuck in some ghettoised tower block or some chic city suburb. This wasn’t just about Beck le Street, it was about people’s inertia, their desire to remain static and safe. Not wanting to move out of their comfort zone and Beck le Street epitomised that malingering torpor. From a very early age Charlie knew there was a bigger and more exciting world out there. Something that needed to be explored. He loathed the lack of aspiration, the small mindedness and the desire to stifle any progress on a social, mental or occupational level. He didn’t despise the small population of Beck le Street, but he didn’t want to be like them and he didn’t want to spend time with them. But here he was and there was no turning back.

As he climbed out of his Range Rover one of just three cars parked in the pub car park, it was immediately evident he’d attracted quite a bit of attention already. A passing couple, which he sort of recognised couldn’t hide their curiosity and from behind various curtains eyes were seen peering at the new stranger in the village. The other thing he couldn’t fail to notice was the police car parked outside the front of The Black Dog. Certainly as a kid, police on the streets of Beck le Street was a rare sight. Perhaps things had changed. Charlie took a deep breath and pushed open the large, well-worn, verging on shabby pub door.

The first person he saw was Farrah Gregory pulling pints behind the bar. Charlie looked at her for a few moments. She’d worn well and still looked good. He worked out she must be in her forties now and she’d been a barmaid at The Black Dog for as long as he could remember. The drinks she was pulling were for Lucas Kenyon and Amos Mann, both locals and both instantly recognisable to Charlie. Lucas was one of those kids who were always big for his age and he’d carried that size with him all the way. Now at thirty-six he was an odd job man around the village, turning his hand to anything and everything. Amos Mann was a year older than his best mate, but nothing like his size. He was small, wiry and shrewder. He had one of those metabolisms that seemed to attack everything Amos consumed, from alcohol to food, in such a way that he never put on weight. He trained as an electrician, but was known as unreliable, so it was only as a last resort that any of locals hired him. Both men were born and bred in Beck le Street and were well known as a couple who were not averse to the odd illegal dealing here and there, illegal dealings that were quite often beneficial to other village inhabitants.

The pub itself hadn’t changed. It had the same large patterned flock paper adorning the walls and the same padded benches and well-worn tables and chairs. Even the till was still the same and the only thing that showed any leaning towards modernity was a Packard Bell laptop on the end of the bar and a mobile phone, laying on the bar in front of Lucas.

Farrah was the first to spot Charlie and she clearly couldn’t quite believe what or more to the point, who she was seeing.

Charlie….? Although it was a question, she knew the answer. Lucas and Amos turned to look at the prodigal son.

Hi Farrah, replied Charlie. Sixteen years and it was like yesterday. He liked Farrah. She’d been such an agreeable feature of his early life, that he couldn’t hide his feelings. Then with the eyes of Lucas and Amos still on him, he continued, Lucas … Amos …

Both of them were as surprised as Farrah to see him and in their moment of shock were unable to say anything.

Your dad never mentioned anything about you coming, Farrah went on forgetting completely about the pint she was pulling.

I tried ringing, got no answer.

He gave up answering the phone. Didn’t want to speak to anyone. Then suddenly wondering, she spewed out, You do know … about your mum?

Charlie nodded.

I just … for a minute … thought this might be a coincidence.

No … no coincidence, said Charlie, putting her at ease.

Really sorry Charlie.

Again Charlie just nodded, not knowing what to say.

He’s upstairs … your dad … with the police.

The police? Charlie wondered why the police were there.

Yeah … they needed to talk to him. Go on up, continued Farrah naturally.

Charlie faltered for a moment. His hope had been to walk into the bar and discover his father there. What he didn’t want to do was climb the stairs to the living quarters. This seemed somehow to be wrong, too invasive. This was no longer his home, he didn’t belong here and he had no right to wander around the place as if he did.

Will you tell him I’m here?

I’d go up. He’ll probably he glad of the interruption. Farrah, leaving the half filled pint glass on the bar, moved to lift the hatch on the bar.

Lucas and Amos still hadn’t said anything, but hadn’t taken their eyes off the intruder in their midst. Charlie started to head tentatively towards the back of the bar, which would take him to the living quarters.

No celebs here Charlie lad, Lucas piped up unprompted. Charlie didn’t know what to say, so he just gave Lucas a smile.

Unless you wanted to take photos of Amos and me, Lucas continued.

Charlie felt like pointing out that the statement made no sense, but he knew Lucas was just trying to provoke a reaction.

Who knows, Charlie replied, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. He continued towards the stairs.

Doing well Charlie boy. More power to your elbow. This time it was Amos joining in the barely disguised needling of the interloper. As for Charlie, for some reason he hated the phrase more power to your elbow; what the hell did it mean? Nothing …. You might as well say more power to your clavicle. Charlie again tried to get by with just a faint smile.

Wouldn’t mind a job like his, eh Lucas? Must be easier than working for a living.

Charlie couldn’t resist, Oh it is … much easier. These days I don’t even have to take the shots myself. I have this group of school kids who just hang around celebs all day, pay them twenty quid a week each … I tell you I’m like Fagin.

Lucas and Amos looked at him, not sure if he was having them on or not. Farrah knew he was and let out a laugh.

Who’s Fagin when he’s at home? Lucas’s enquiry was genuine.

But Amos had realised that Farrah’s laugh was at their expense.

You taking the piss Charlie boy? Amos asked with a slightly threatening tone.

Course he is, said Farrah. How thick are you?

Got some balls have you, being the big man in London.

Again Charlie wondered what the statement meant.

Fucking fancy yourself do you? continued Amos sounding insidious without being full on threatening.

"No. Do you fancy me? I just thought now I’m a big shot in London … I might be turning you on."

Amos instinctively started off the barstool. In a place like The Black Dog ‘gay jokes’ are good fodder for amusement as long as they never refer to any one of the regulars. Charlie had just crossed that line …

When Charlie lived there he knew never to get smart with these two, but for some reason, he had failed to remember that crucial fact at this crucial point. Recently he’d been in a fight in Soho House, a private members club in London. He’d taken photos of a young ‘celeb’ snorting cocaine along with her boyfriend, a two-bit actor off Hollyoaks. The actor understandably had taken umbrage and threw a few accurate punches, which Charlie could still feel the effects of. But he was banking on the fact that Lucas Kenyon and Amos Mann wouldn’t dare touch him – not in The Black Dog. They wouldn’t risk being banned. This was their feeding ground. They spent more time here than they did in their domestic lairs. Nevertheless Amos squared up to Charlie.

Amos … Farrah sent out a warning. But that wasn’t what made Amos sit back down on his bar stool. His retreat was due to the appearance of Jed Ashton, Charlie’s father. He was preceded into the bar by DI Jack Wood. Their arrival on the scene motivated Amos to quit his aggressive stance and any residue of the confrontation quickly ebbed away when Jed saw his son standing at the bar. His reaction was one of bewilderment. He knew this was his son, but he couldn’t figure out what he was doing in his pub. It was Charlie who offered the olive branch.

Dad …

Charlie … what you …? Jed didn’t finish the question.

I had to come.

Right. Charlie realised his father’s grief wasn’t softening his personality.

There was a silence. Nobody really knowing what to say. Charlie again broke the moment.

How you feeling? Charlie asked his dad, knowing the question was lame to say the least.

Jed just looked at him as if to say …. Are you serious?

You’re his lad are you? interrupted Wood.

Yes.

We might need to talk to you at some point.

About what?

About …. Wood’s words dried up. He studied Charlie for a moment. It was clear the young man in front of him had no idea what had happened to his mother. You do know what’s happened, don’t you?

Are you talking about my mother’s death?

Aye. Your father has agreed to help us with our investigation … and we might need to talk to you.

Investigation … what investigation? What’s happened?

Anyone tell you how your mother … ? Wood looked round for help. He was sinking fast.

No.

Wood looked at Jed, his expression asking for an explanation.

I didn’t tell him, Jed said in a blunt monotone.

Right. I’m sorry … I just assumed … stuttered Wood.

Assumed what? Charlie’s mind was starting to race. What the hell is this about?

Farrah get me a large scotch and whatever the boy wants.

Charlie looked round for the boy, then realised he was the boy.

Charlie …? What’s your poison? asked Farrah.

Babyfuckingcham, Lucas said under his breath. Jed pretended not to hear, but he had and Charlie knew he had.

A bottle of something …

Ginger beer. Amos gave a little laugh.

Yeah – right, ginger beer. Good ‘un. Lucas was always at least two beats behind everyone else.

Got a Sol … as soon as he’d said it, Charlie wished he hadn’t.

A Sol …? No – sorry, said Farrah looking at Charlie as if to say … Come on dear, this is The Black Dog not some Chelsea wine bar. How about a bottle of Carlsberg?

Yeah … great.

I’ll bring them across.

Jed had already gone and sat in the corner of the pub and was waiting for Charlie to join him. This was familiar territory for Charlie. This was the corner his father always used to tell people things. He would use it to tell his punters they’d misbehaved, he’d use it to do deals with the bread man, he used it to tell his wife that she needed to call a halt to her ever expanding wardrobe – this was the telling table.

I’ll be back later, said Wood as he headed for the door and Lucas and Amos turned to carry on drinking.

Charlie sat down opposite his father. Jed didn’t seem to have changed that much in fifteen years.

He must be fifty-five … fifty-six, thought Charlie. He was grey, but he still had a full head of hair. He was a big man, just over six foot and still looked quite fit and healthy. Charlie remembered his father’s advice when he was about fourteen … You’re going to have to put some more meat on you, for when you take over this place. Scrawny landlords never get no respect and to keep order you need respect. Charlie knew even then that there was more chance of him inventing a car that ran on water than taking over the pub.

So what’s going on dad? What’s happened? Why are the police involved?

You didn’t have to come back. You know that.

No I don’t.

You walked out of here aged sixteen … without so much as a by your leave … You broke your mother’s heart. How do you think you being here now’s going to change that …eh? Ease your conscience will it? Make you feel better.

I made my peace with mum.

Like hell you did! Jed’s voice was raised, but none of the other three people in the bar seemed to notice. She let you think that.

I don’t want to argue dad …

Maybe I do. Maybe that’s exactly what I want. The last time you phoned her was two years ago … that’s making peace with her? She took her mobile with her all the time in case you called. You’re talking bull shit. Jed stared straight into Charlie’s eyes. Charlie just looked straight back him. The days of being intimidated by his father were well over. That being said the fact he hadn’t spoken to his mother since Devika moved in with him made him feel guilty. He hadn’t realised it was that long and now he could never make it up to her.

Just tell me how she died dad. That’s all I want to know.

For a moment it looked like his father wasn’t going to tell him, then he started to speak and Charlie quickly realised this wasn’t for his benefit, this was a cathartic exercise. He wanted to hear his own words.

When I woke she wasn’t there … I always wake first … she never wakes first. I go to bed first … I wake first, that’s the way it is. Then I get up and make us both a cup of tea … then we drink it in bed. We watch the news … on the telly … We’ve got a little one in the bedroom.

I remember you having a little twelve inch thing … is it still the same one? Charlie wasn’t sure why he asked the question, he just felt his father needed some help.

Yeah … that’s the one, continued Jed. With her not being there I didn’t switch it on … I just got my dressing gown on and went downstairs. She wasn’t in the kitchen … so I went into the bar and that’s when I saw it.

Saw what? asked Charlie.

Jed pointed at the dartboard on the wall across from where they were sitting. On the board … written in chalk …

What was?

"It said … ‘Peace at Last.’ Written in chalk … where they put the scores. The only words anybody puts on there are names … players names … They never write ‘owt else. Never."

Did you show the police?

No. I just rubbed it off.

Why did you do that?

I didn’t think it was important.

"She was missing and you didn’t think it was important?

Charlie couldn’t stop his eyes flicking away leaving Jed having no doubt what he was thinking.

Hey … anyone would have done that. I didn’t know she was dead … did I?

No I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to … apologised Charlie.

Yeah you did … Your eyes said it all … How stupid could I be? Well I was just trying to keep the place tidy … that’s all.

Sorry, Charlie apologised again. Please … go on.

You sure you don’t want to tell me how stupid I’ve been … sure you don’t want to do that?

Please dad …

Farrah arrived with the drinks and placed them on the table. Jed picked his up straight away and took a hefty slug.

Get me another will you …

Farrah just raised her hand indicating she’d do as asked.

"So after seeing the words ‘Peace at Last’ what happened?" Charlie was eager to move it on.

I noticed the door was open … This time Jed indicated the front door of the pub. We never leave it open … so I assumed she’d gone out. Gone to the shop. You got a car here?

The question came out of the blue and for a second threw Charlie.

Yeah … in the car park.

Come on. Jed got up and Charlie followed him obediently out of the pub, leaving Farrah pouring a large scotch, which she would keep for him for when he returned.

CHAPTER TWO

Jed didn’t comment on the Range Rover, didn’t ask any questions, he just gave directions as they headed onto the moors. Charlie hadn’t the foggiest what this was all about.

Eventually up ahead Charlie saw a couple of parked police cars and Charlie realised this was where they were headed.

Pull up just behind the cop cars.

As soon as Charlie pulled over to park, a Policeman was out of his car and headed towards them. There was a determination about the policeman’s step and Charlie knew he was going to move them on. He’d seen that look in security personnel’s eyes all over the world.

Sorry, started the policeman, you can’t stop here. Then he recognised Jed as he climbed out of the passenger seat. Oh Mr Ashton …didn’t realise it was you.

This is my son.

How do you do, the policeman uttered politely.

Charlie just nodded.

I wanted to show him … Jed said in way of explanation and the policeman understood without hesitation.

Sure. You can’t go past the tape though.

No.

Jed started walking on to the moors. Charlie was on one side of his father, the Policeman on the other. It was only a short walk before Charlie saw the reason for them being there. Before them like an oasis in the middle of the rugged coarse green terrain was a large area cordoned off with blue and white police tape. In the centre of the area was a tent. Charlie had seen them often enough on the news to know it was the type of tent forensic teams used to cover bodies.

That’s where they found her.