Green Hill

By Jonathan Paxton

Detective Inspector Frank Taylor was an experienced and established officer working out of the South-West Police Headquarters near Bristol, his methods are old school but, in his mind, still effective. Close to retirement, Frank looked to do his job and draw that well deserved pension, but on one cold late-Autumn morning he received a call that would change his perception of the world, people and the job that he does….On arrival at the crime scene, Frank is faced with a gruesome and shocking sight….never before had he witnessed such a disturbing, vicious attack as this. A cold, psychopathic killing, seemingly without motive, soon followed, in quick succession, by a string of further violent executions. The nature and profile of the killings draw the upper echelons of crime prevention and counter terrorism into Frank’s environment. Why were these people being killed? What was the link? Frank becomes entangled in a world of intense mystery, deception and murder. How many people will die? Who is behind this? Why is this happening? Can frank solve the puzzle?...Green Hill is a thriller that tackles questions we all ask at some point in our lives; what makes people behave in the way they do? What can we do to stop it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Jul 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669890201

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Saturday, October 27, 2007 Whetlow, England

Joyce Coombs wandered along the street with her head held high. She had gone through a lot of trouble this morning preening and making herself look as attractive as possible. She had chosen a navy blue wrap-around skirt that covered most of her legs but occasionally when the wind was right onlookers would be rewarded with a frontal flash of stockinged thigh. She wore a white blouse, which clung to her breast in the pressing breeze. She smiled as she approached RJ Mason, the local butchers, having already received several admiring and shocked glances from those that had caught a glimpse of her. Until a week or so ago Joyce wouldn’t have dreamed of donning such attire. She was always perceived as the typical shopkeeper’s wife. Homely, reserved, almost retiring. This appearance was not typical of her and a radical change that was receiving bemused and perplexed feedback from within the local community, albeit softly to begin with. It was a side of Joyce that had previously remained hidden beneath ill-fitting garments. The only make-up she wore was mascara and light red lipstick, which complemented her auburn locks. She was fortunate in that way too; most women of her age usually needed several layers of foundation to cover the telltale lines of maturity.

As she opened the door into the butcher’s shop, the tiny bell attached to the door made its sound to alert the staff to a customer. Bob appeared from behind the side door. He wiped his hands with a linen cloth. The shop was immaculately clean. The walls were coated with brilliant white tiles that seemed to sparkle under the combination of the shop lights and the throw of sunlight, which cut through the large glass windows.

Afternoon Robert! Joyce smiled, pushing out her chest to his welcoming and surprised eyes. He had known Joyce for a long time and even though he remembered her in her younger years, he couldn’t comprehend the change in appearance. Although she looked good, he didn’t understand the sudden reasoning behind it. It was uncharacteristic of her.

What can I do for you Joyce? Bob smiled uneasily.

Joyce returned the smile.

Now that is a leading question ... she pouted her lips and leant forward to peer into the glass panelled meat counter.

I fancy some sausage! she said matter-of-factly, albeit with a sparkle in her eye.

Bob gave an anxious grin.

How much would you like?

Joyce sucked in the air through her teeth.

How much have you got? She smiled and raised her eyebrows.

Bob was acutely aware that she was teasing him and it made him feel uncomfortable. This just wasn’t Joyce at all, not the Joyce he knew.

Bob was in his early forties and had developed a keen and productive business since he took over from his father almost 8 years ago. He was slightly overweight around the midriff, which one could account to his love of red meat but his shoulders, arms and chest were well defined and muscular from the exertions of his trade.

Bob shifted uneasily.

Although, usually, it was he who jokingly ushered the stereotypical butcher innuendoes with reference to meat at his lady customers, he couldn’t handle the boot being on the other foot.

He blushed slightly.

Bob was a single man. His divorce had been finalised almost three years ago and he was happy in his new life. He also had a fondness and a friendship for Joyce’s family.

Got any of those spicy pork ones left? She broke the thick silence.

Alan likes a bit of bite with his sausage she smiled looking across the display.

I don’t have any ready but I’m sure I could make some up for you Joyce if you want to pop back later... He stammered.

She smiled. Bob wasn’t sure if she was just being extraordinarily pleasant or if she was mocking him.

Ok, I’ll call back later then she smiled.

Another customer entered the shop and eased the atmosphere for a brief moment.

Bob’s forehead shone under perspiration.

Ok Joyce that’s fine ... Was it a pound of sausages? he asked.

She smiled again.

That would be lovely ... she whispered and winked.

Joyce turned slowly and briefly smiled at the old man still stood in the doorway before disappearing along the street. The old man wavered on his wooden stick slightly before he edged closer to the counter. Bob puffed out his cheeks in relief as he watched Joyce exit the shop.

Can I help you? Bob turned his attention to the old man. The old man averted his gaze from Bob down into the display. He pointed at the thin slivers of pigs’ liver congealed grotesquely in the corner of the furthest tray with a wavering outstretched finger. Bob followed the man’s indication until he said,

Liver? ... Yes? looking for confirmation.

The old man dropped his finger and gently nodded his head. Bob had served the man several times before but never really got to know him, although he had spoken with him on a number of occasions. Bob knew he had been a resident in Whetlow for around three or four years, at least that was the length of time that he had been using his shop. He seemed quite a lonely old man. He kept himself to himself and lived in the old mill house, down by the church at the quiet end of town. The mill house sat alone at the end of the graveyard surrounded under shadows from the giant yews that pierced the skies and populated the area. In fact, even when Bob was a child the house emitted a certain eeriness. It seemed the house had a perfect occupant, for indeed, Bob felt uncomfortable in the presence of the old man. They were obviously made for each other, the house and he. The old man never really spoke very much, although, his eyes said more than enough. Bob guessed that he must have been close to eighty years old. His grey hair matted and arranged in no particular style, in fact Bob doubted as to whether it had seen a brush or comb in many years or even hot water and soap for that matter. He always wore the same navy blazer with a crest emblazoned in gold on the left breast pocket. Bob didn’t recognise the crest or the writing under it, but it seemed to perhaps represent a wartime effort or regiment. He wore a navy blue tie and a discoloured white and light-blue pin-stripe shirt. His attire would have been considered respectable from a distance but as one drew closer the smell emanating from the clothes irritated the nostrils. It held that distinctly musty and stale odour of unaired garments. A smell when mixed with the bodily odours of an older man could not be tolerated with deep breaths. Bob found himself holding his breath as much as possible without drawing obvious attention to himself.

One or two pieces? Bob slightly choked as the smell drifted into his open mouth.

The old man looked deep into the back of Bob’s eyes. The stare penetrated like a red-hot poker singeing the nerve ends as it pushed deeper and deeper beyond. Bob could almost feel the sinew tearing.

He held up a solitary finger and smiled.

Bob found himself transfixed by the long finger. Wrinkled. Crusted with substances he dared not imagine. Long curved nails retaining almost a centimetre of dirt and grime. Nicotine stained.

Bob stared silently until the old man lowered his digit. He felt himself fight inside to prevent a trance-like state ensuing. His voice trembled.

Just one piece then!

He waited for confirmation for a second before lifting the offal from the tray. Bob wrapped the meat and rang the till.

Sixty-five pence please ... Bob issued, looking into the old man’s eyes again.

The old man had already produced the exact money and slid it gently along the glass counter.

Bob stared at the three coins.

Oh ... Thank you ... exactly right he smiled. He stared into the old man’s eyes.

Bob noticed the virility in the deep green pools that engulfed him. He felt odd. Almost numb. They were the eyes of a young man. A young, fit and intellectual man. Not of a pensioner who could barely tend for himself. The eyes seemed to smile, a knowing and haunting smile.

Bob’s eyes, without warning, began to uncontrollably stream with tears. He couldn’t help but paw at them with his hands. As his eyes regained the normal liquid levels, the old man had gone. The bell above the door still rippled in warning and the odorous smell still hung in the air but the man had gone. Bob felt the tingle trip along his spine. He shuddered to clear the unease from his stiff body and pondered in thought for a moment. He let out a short puff of breath and then muttered to himself ..." What a crazy old man!"

It made him feel better and the subject was forgotten. For the moment anyway.

CHAPTER 2

The Queens Arms was probably at its peak potential at 14:20. All the hardened drinkers such as Mike, Joe and Alan were still propping up the bar, as too, were several other social customers. These social customers were those that liked a couple of pints before dinner or a couple of pints after dinner. Joe was sipping the head off pint number six as the door to the lounge opened again. The three men simultaneously all turned their heads and saw the old fingers clasp around the door. The old man gently edged inside the doorway. He always appeared around this time. He slowly made his way up to the bar alongside Alan and firmly grasped the wooden pillar that separated them. He didn’t acknowledge the men beside him or even smile to acknowledge their existence. He stood silently and, looking straight through Jane, the wife of the landlord, nodded his order. Jane had served him before and knew his poison. Poison being the operative word for the first time she came up against him he had muttered the words..."Barrrleeey Wwwiiiine". It was a short rasping order that had all the slime and venom of a serpent. A gasping, wheezing and slurping request. Jane could still hear it in her head every time she laid eyes on him even though now he didn’t have to speak. She slowly placed the bottle and half-pint pot on the bar in front of him and met his eyes. Jane instantly fell cold. The hairs on her arms stood to attention. She couldn’t move. Her feet seemed glued to the spot. A huge pool of sticky venom clutching her feet tightly to the stone floor. The old man placed a pound coin on the bar. Jane felt her hand reach out and grasp the cold coin. Feeling it freeze into the palm of her hand. She stared into the green depths of his eyes. Eyes that danced in the light. Eyes that commanded respect. She felt his fingers scrape along the palm of her hand as he added a fifty pence piece to the pound coin. She was helpless to his touch even though it sickened her to the depths of her stomach.

Then her legs were free but weak. She slowly stepped away from the bar and quickly retreated through the side door into the other room-the games room. A cold sweat had ensued. She felt nauseous. What was that terrible smell spiraling inside her nostrils? Swirling round and round. She reached for a barstool and firmly placed herself down on it. Her mind was awash with imagery. Fluorescent lights danced and strobed at the back of her retinas. She felt her hands coarse on her cheeks. She lowered her head down to her knees and rocked gently on the stool. She was deathly pale and her eyes rolled in their sockets. She sensed she had been close to unconsciousness.

Then she felt the colour begin to flow back into her cheeks and the dizziness and nausea began to ebb away.

Ooh God ... she stuttered.

Even though she felt normal again, she was concerned about what had brought the dizziness on. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with another migraine so soon after the last one. She made her way out from behind the bar into the poolroom and began to open a few of the windows. There was a terrible smell in the air.

CHAPTER 3

Bob stared anxiously at his watch.

14:39.

Joyce was late.

Bob had made her a pound of fresh spicy pork sausages, as long and fat as he could afford, in fact she probably had got a good deal he thought. He stood behind the counter staring at the door with the sausages neatly wrapped on the counter before him. He had cleared out all the trays and placed the remains in storage. He had disinfected the trays and replaced them in the display. The clean smell was refreshing compared to the strange stench that had plagued him for the last couple of hours.

Bob sighed. His patience was wearing thin. He wanted to get home and run a hot bath. He was sure he was coming down with something. He decided he would wait a further five minutes and after that...well it would just be hard luck!

Bob went through to the back room of his shop and ensured everything was in order and tidy for Monday morning. He then came into the front of his shop and, checking his watch again, decided enough was enough. He flipped over the sign on the door to display ‘CLOSED’ to those on the street and, selecting the correct key from the bunch that he held in his right hand, engaged the lock. He then bent down and pushed across the lower bolt and then stretched up and did likewise with the upper bolt. The front of the shop was now secure and Joyce Coombs was too late.

He walked into the rear of the shop and locked the freeze-room with another key. He sighed again.

He walked behind the counter and took one last look out of the front window before picking up Joyce’s order and retreating into the backroom again. He placed the wrapped meat into one of the large refrigerators that guarded the rear door to the premises. Bob was just about to engage the alarm system and turn out the lights when he heard a knock. He paused and listened. The knock wasn’t a rasping knock but sort of a dull thud. He waited to hear the noise again but it didn’t happen. He peered out into the shop and stared at the front window. He half expected to see Joyce stood up to the door smiling apologetically at him. She wasn’t. Nobody was to be seen. Bob thought the noise was very odd nevertheless. As he moved back into the back room he heard the knock again, only this time it was slightly louder than before, and rather than a knock it was almost certainly a thud. Bob stood perfectly still again and listened intently.

Nothing.

He looked all around the back room with a careful eye, attempting to investigate the origin of the strange noise. He could see nothing that could have been associated with the disturbance.

Bob grew edgy. The noise hadn’t been like someone tapping on the window or kicking at the door or anything one could associate with a customer trying to grab his attention. The noise had been in his head. A dull thud that reverberated around the confines of his skull. A weird and ghostly thud.

Bob’s mind worked overtime trying to account for the occurrence. He felt ice cold.

His legs momentarily shook before he shouted to himself deep inside his head.

"Don’t be so BLOODY STUPID! ... Get a hold of yourself man ..."

He laughed aloud. A nervous but, partly comforting, laugh that relieved some of the mounting tension. He moved over to the alarm system and was just about to punch in the code when the smell hit him.

The pungent odour tore into his nostrils. Bob retched. The choking gently subsided and Bob was left motionless. The smell was now bearable but he knew that the stench engulfed him. Clouds of the colourless gas surrounded him; only, his senses had been struck numb to recognise the fact. He heard the voice in his head.

Echoing.

Demanding.

Bob tried to fight it but he was speechless. His mind couldn’t even reply to the requests. He began to shake.

The voice got louder. As the volume increased his nausea followed suit.

The words were unrecognisable at first. As the volume increased further the words became clear.

Take her!

Take her!

TAKE HER!

Over and over again those last two words became louder and clearer. The louder they became the more aggressive the request became. Bob attempted to silence the voice by covering his ears with his hands but this only made the voice echo louder. He felt himself attempt to scream. The pain inside his head was violent. The rhythmic request boomed like large artillery fire again and again. Then suddenly all fell silent.

Bob’s eyes slowly opened. He reached for the wooden chair beside the freezer and gently sat himself down.

He felt sick. He would sit here with the back door open and take in large gulps of cold air until he could work out exactly what all of this was about. He felt weak and void of all emotion. He couldn’t laugh or cry or even shout at the top of his voice. He could do nothing for the moment but look and stare at the space in front of him. His head felt empty and violated. Someone or something had got inside and danced around and had the time of its life at his expense.

Suddenly there was a knock on the back door. This time it was a knock and certainly not a thud. Joyce peered around the opening.

Oh good ... glad I caught you ... You ok? she enquired smiling.

Bob didn’t answer he just stared at her with wide eyes. This is just what he needed right now. Joyce moved into the back room and partly closed the door and leant opposite Bob up against his carving table. She let her skirt fall open to reveal a glimpse of her stockinged thighs.

I knew you would wait for me ... she smiled.

Bob remained speechless. His eyes remained focused on her face. He watched the movement of her lips oblivious to what she was trying to tempt him with below.

Is my sausage ready? ... she continued.

She leaned forward slightly and lowered her gaze to his trousers.

Bob heard every word but they didn’t register in his mind. His mind was pre-occupied.

She sighed and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. You ok Bob?

Bob became aware of the smell again.

That terrible smell.

The voice in the distance faint but clear, quietly coaxing him to do what it asked.

His eyes had filled with tears. The voice was loud and clear again.

Deafening.

The voice grew louder and louder.

The demands were more vehement.

Bob felt himself slipping out of control. Slowly losing his senses but it felt good. It relieved the pain and pressure of the voice.

He smiled briefly at Joyce. Certainly not a Bob smile but someone else’s smile. A mischievous smile.

She smiled back knowingly.

In the blink of an eye Bob had grabbed Joyce’s hand and forced her back flat on the table.

Anyone passing at that moment would have heard the muffled moans and the brief erratic slapping of flesh on flesh. The breathlessness.