The Hero's Apprentice

By Alfred Dyer

Eight-year-old Jennifer was the quintessential daddy’s girl until a tragic car accident claimed his life right beside her. Three years later, her life takes an unexpected turn when her new neighbour, John Smith, rescues her from a violent assault. Finding solace in John’s strength and inherent goodness, Jennifer feels an unparalleled sense of safety in his presence. Gradually, an unlikely friendship begins to blossom between them.

As time goes on, Jennifer starts to question the true identity of the man who saved her. John’s secretive professional life and frequent absences from home ignite Jennifer’s curiosity, leading her on a perilous quest to uncover his real identity. Her determination to understand John better draws her into a world fraught with espionage, survival tactics, and foreign intelligence.

The journey ahead is full of revelations that only John could foresee. However, Jennifer begins to wonder if there are deeper secrets that even John himself might not be aware of. This tale of mystery and discovery explores the lengths one will go to unravel the truth about those they hold dear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035822614

Alfred Dyer

Alfred Dyer was inspired to read by his mother which led to his reading a book every day and the desire to write one of his own. Following the publication of several articles, he commenced writing sci-fi novels. He later joined the coaching team at his daughter’s gymnastics club. Inspired by the enthusiasm, determination and bravery of the gymnasts, he is a strong promoter of young women’s empowerment and self-belief.

Book preview

About the Author

Alfred Dyer was inspired to read by his mother which led to his reading a book every day and the desire to write one of his own.

Following the publication of several articles, he commenced writing sci-fi novels.

He later joined the coaching team at his daughter’s gymnastics club. Inspired by the enthusiasm, determination and bravery of the gymnasts, he is a strong promoter of young women’s empowerment and self-belief.

Dedication

For my four fantastic granddaughters.

Copyright Information ©

Alfred Dyer 2024

The right of Alfred Dyer to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035822607 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035822614 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.co.uk

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

One

‘Who are you?’

The man put down the empty cardboard boxes beside the others at the end of the drive before he turned around. ‘My name’s John,’ he said with the barest hint of a hesitation in his reply.

The girl was wearing her school uniform with her school bag over one shoulder and stood in the drive of the bungalow next door. She looked about ten or eleven and he guessed she had just arrived home from school. He was surprised how quickly the time had gone.

‘What are you? What do you do?’

The questions were typical of the blunt questions children ask. The innocent directness of children had always appealed to him rather than the convoluted ways adults talked around subjects. He shrugged. ‘Odd jobs.’ Again, there was the barest hint of a hesitation in his reply but the girl did not seem to notice.

She looked at him for a long while, studying him intently with her dark brown, almond eyes. ‘Have you just moved in?’

‘Yes, but there’s still plenty to do.’

She continued to study him, looking deep into his eyes, and finally seemed satisfied. ‘I’m Jennifer. We live here.’ She turned from him, her long dark untidy hair brushing across her face, and walked away as if dismissing him.

The man smiled at her retreating back for a few moments; she had marked their territories—assessed the threat he posed. Then his expression became serious; he shouldn’t have hesitated before giving his new name. He walked thoughtfully back down his drive. He’d never had a problem giving any of his false names before; perhaps it had been her candour which had disarmed him. He went inside the house. As he had told her, there was a still lot to do.

The scream was abruptly cut short but not before his skin prickled and he tasted the bittersweet flavour of adrenaline. He put his mug of coffee on the worktop and ran from the house. The concrete drive was rough on his bare feet but he ignored the discomfort. Another scream came, less strident but at a higher pitch—two people. The second scream confirmed they came from next door—Jennifer’s bungalow. He vaulted the low fence which separated the two properties; the gravel on their drive was harder on his feet.

The front door was ajar with dim light spilling out; he pushed it wider and listened to the silence. Stepping inside, he saw the light was coming from a doorway at the end of the hall. He moved quickly yet silently towards it, pausing to peer into the open doorway beside him. Bathroom; empty.

He looked quickly into the lighted room then snapped his head back. Bedroom, bedside lamp, double bed with one prone occupant—a woman, covers thrown back, blood on one pillow, man in street clothes looking at the woman; scared. Woman—asleep, unconscious, dead?

Time seemed to speed up—as it always did with him at such times—and everything else seemed to slow down.

Silently, John slid around the doorjamb and stood in the corner of the room. The movement must have registered in the man’s peripheral vision. He whirled and raised his arm. Steel glinted in his hand.

John edged deeper into the room; his eyes fixed on the man, and flattened himself against the wall. There was fear in the man’s stance and wild eyes. He was ready for flight and John wanted him to go; he didn’t want to impede the man’s escape route to the door and didn’t want to tackle him physically.

‘Killed her, have you?’ he asked softly. ‘Better get going. I heard the scream; other neighbours will have too. They may have phoned the police.’

The man hesitated, his scared eyes switching from John to the woman and back. John saw his indecision. He waved an arm urgently towards the door. ‘Go on! Go!’

The action seemed to make up the man’s mind. With the knife held forward, threateningly, towards John, he slowly edged towards the door.

‘Go!’ John hissed.

Suddenly, the man turned and ran.

John crossed to the bed where the woman lay, blood seeping from a wound on her temple. He touched his fingertips to the side of her neck and felt the throb of her pulse; strong and steady—she would be OK.

He heard the crunch of gravel outside under running feet and he walked quickly and silently to the door. He peered out into the hall; clear. He stepped outside the bedroom and pulled the door closed behind him to plunge the hallway into darkness and listened again. Silence—but there had been two screams… He listened at the closed door next to him. Nothing. He moved forward; checked the bathroom was still clear as he passed the doorway. His eyes rapidly became adjusted to the darkness and he saw the light which seeped from beneath a door further down the hall.

He listened outside the room: Breathing sounds inside; fast, distressed. He took a deep breath himself then grasped the door handle. Twisting it sharply and pushing the door open with a single movement he stepped quickly into the room.

Bedroom, single bed, Jennifer—naked—cowering on the pillow with her back to the headboard, torn nightdress on the floor beside the bed, man—knife in his hand, trouser belt undone and moving slowly, threateningly, towards her with his free hand fumbling at his waistband. The images registered instantaneously as if on a photographic plate in his brain.

There was a crushing noise under John’s right foot and pain lanced in his heel. The man whirled at the sound, his knife-hand lifting. John continued to move slowly, edging along the wall past the window, once more not wanting to impede the route to the open door.

The man stepped back with his eyes fixed on John until his legs came up against the edge of the bed. He was still too close to Jennifer. John edged further along the wall; he needed to get almost three quarters of the way around the room to protect the girl.

‘Stand still!’ The man jerked the knife towards John while his other hand began to refasten the button at his waist.

John stopped. He edged his hands up to the buttons on his shirt as he studied the man’s face. This one wasn’t scared like the other had been. It would be more difficult to get him to leave and it was just possible he had the nerve to use the knife. John unbuttoned his shirt and glanced at Jennifer. Her terror-filled eyes were wide and fixed on the knife in the man’s hand, her face bloodless with her shock. She wouldn’t move—wouldn’t get in the way—he didn’t think she had even noticed him. He took another step to his right.

‘I said stand still!’

John slipped the shirt down his right arm and off his back wrapping it around his left forearm. ‘Why don’t you go before someone gets hurt?’ he said softly.

Again the man jabbed the knife forwards to emphasise that he was the one with the weapon, the one in command.

John took a further step to his right and the crunching sound came again from under his foot. The man dropped his eyes to the sound. Glass, red stained, glistened in the light and blood flowed freely from John’s right heel where a shard stood out from the flesh but he seemed not to notice. His eyes returned to John’s; there was no sign of pain in them. The man tensed and John spread his legs to take up a light even balance on the balls of his feet, his arms and hands stretched forward aggressively. The man took a step back, closer to the wall beside the door.

‘I’ve been trained in unarmed combat.’ The words were unnecessary; the man recognised John’s stance and his total lack of fear. ‘Your pal has scarpered. You’re on your own. Me and you.’ He stepped forward and the man took the anticipated half step away from the bed. One more half step and John could get between him and Jennifer.

‘Just you and me. I’ve been skewered with a bayonet.’ He raised a finger to the small yet deep jagged scar on his left shoulder. ‘It doesn’t stop you; the other man is dead. You ever stuck a knife into someone? That knife’s not much good; the blade’s too thick and wide. No blood grove. It’ll hit a bone or get stuck. This will give me enough protection.’ He lifted his left arm, wrapped in the checked shirt, threateningly at the man’s face causing him to take another step away from the bed. His back was now against the wall beside the open, beckoning door.

John feinted towards him again then reached towards the girl with his arm. ‘Jennifer!’

The urgent, strident call of her name broke the girl from her shock and her eyes turned onto her saviour. She recognised him.

‘Jennifer! Come here!’ His arm beckoned and she sprang from the bed and into his embrace, her arms wrapping around his neck and her legs around his waist. Her grasp threatened to dislocate his neck and for a moment he was acutely aware of her sex pressed against his bare side. He placed his arm, wrapped in his shirt, beneath her naked buttocks.

Damn! He hadn’t expected her reaction to have been so intense. She was hindering him.

‘The door’s beside you. Go.’ Still the man hesitated, twisting the knife nervously in his hand before he tightened his grip once more. ‘It’s me you’ve got to stop. Stick the girl and I’ll guarantee I’ll get the couple of seconds I need… Your mate’s gone. You’ve got no backup.’

‘Fuck you!’ Suddenly, the man turned and ran from the room.

John followed him to the door and listened to his running footsteps on the gravel drive. He switched on the hall light. A bloody trail led across the carpet from the girl’s room to where he stood. She clung to him; her muscles locked with her terror.

‘It’s OK, Jennifer. They’ve gone.’ He was sure there were only two of them; he’d said: Your mate has gone… and the man’s response had confirmed there had been only one other. ‘Your mummy’s been hurt. She needs an ambulance. Where’s your phone?’

He tried to ease her embrace but her arms and legs tightened further. He wouldn’t get any help from her for the time being. Phone… Hall, lounge, kitchen, bedroom? He hadn’t seen one in the woman’s bedroom and there wasn’t one in the hall. He opened another door and looked inside before reaching for the light switch. Good guess. Lounge, and the phone was on a table beside the settee. Nice room, tidy, tastefully decorated, good carpet. He stopped abruptly, about to enter the room. He didn’t want blood on the carpet. He crossed the hall to the bathroom and pulled a hand towel from the rail and carefully wrapped it around his foot avoiding the protruding shard of glass. The girl, still clinging tightly to him, made the task awkward but he managed to do it to his satisfaction before entering the lounge and dialling the triple nine number.

‘Emergency; which service do you require?’

‘Ambulance, please.’ He gave the details then hung up. He knew the police would follow; there was no way of preventing it.

‘Let’s see how Mummy is.’ He walked towards the bedroom with Jennifer clinging to him like a second skin.

He checked the woman. Her breathing was comfortable, her pulse was still strong and the blood oozing from the wound at her temple had begun to coagulate. ‘She’s OK, Jennifer. There’s blood but I don’t think she’s hurt too badly.’ He sat on the edge of the bed. His foot had begun to hurt and time had slowed to its usual speed. A wave of tiredness swept through him as the massive dose of adrenaline dissipated.

‘Come on, Jenny. We’re all OK. They’ve gone and Mummy’s going to be all right. The ambulance is on its way.’

Suddenly, the girl’s body went limp but her arms and legs remained locked around him. She began to sob into the hollow of his neck.

‘That’s good. You’ll feel better.’ He began to gently stroke her back while they waited and made soft comforting sounds.

He heard the siren and beyond the curtains the bright flashing blue light drew to a halt and the siren died with the familiar choked-off cough.

A voice called from the front door which John had left open. ‘Hello?’

‘In here,’ John responded.

The paramedic cautiously entered the bedroom, his eyes flicking about as he assessed the situation.

‘On the bed,’ John told him. ‘Female. Head injury. I don’t think it’s too bad.’

The man crossed to the bed and put his bag on the floor. He stooped over the woman and began a gentle examination with his eyes and fingers. ‘What’s her name?’

‘I don’t know. Jenny, what’s Mummy’s name?’

He shook his head helplessly to the man when the girl failed to respond through her silent sobbing.

‘Is the girl OK?’

The voice startled him and he turned to see the paramedic’s partner beside him. ‘Yes. Just shock.’

‘How about you?’

‘I’m OK.’

‘Your foot…’

He looked down. The towel was already soaked with his blood. ‘A cut. I stood on a broken vase or something.’

‘Let me take a look.’

‘The woman…’

‘She’s OK. Her breathing’s fine; pulse strong and steady. I can take care of her,’ the other paramedic reported.

John lifted his foot so the paramedic could unwrap the towel and examine the cut. He probed the wound and blood ran freely.

‘There’s glass still in there. I’ll put a dressing on until you get to hospital. They’ll probably want to put a couple of stitches in it too.’

John nodded resignedly.

Another siren sounded outside and John looked towards the closed curtains. More flashing blue lights appeared outside through the fabric. The police—he didn’t need them.

‘What happened?’

John knew the policewoman was talking to him. ‘A couple of young thugs broke in.’

‘And you are?’

‘I’m a neighbour—I heard screams.’

‘Your name, sir?’

This time there was no hesitation. ‘John Smith. The girl’s name’s Jennifer and that’s her mother. That’s all I know.’

‘Jennifer, would you like to come to me?’ The policewoman’s voice was gentle, coaxing, but the girl tightened her grip around John.

‘She’s OK apart from shock. Give her time. Have you got something I can wrap around her? She’s shivering.’

‘Here.’ The paramedic tending his foot broke off his task and held up a blanket they had brought in with them. ‘There you are, Jennifer.’

‘It’s all right, Jenny. Everything’s going to be OK,’ John said, wrapping the blanket around her. She was cold and clammy, typical shock reaction, and he could feel her cold sweat on his skin as it trickled down between them.

‘Your back, sir…?’ the policewoman asked.

Damn, they always asked. ‘An accident, years ago,’ he lied and knew she didn’t believe him; the scars were too livid, too pink and barely healed.

‘Right. That’s your foot dressed. You’ve lost a fair bit of blood,’ the paramedic reported.

‘Yeah.’ It was probably why he felt so tired.

‘I’ll help my partner get Jennifer’s mother on the stretcher then we’ll be ready to go. OK?’

John nodded.

‘Can you tell us exactly what happened, Mr Smith?’

He looked at the young WPC. He was tempted to be flippant but he was too tired and she had her job to do. ‘I live next door, moved in today. I met Jennifer when she came home from school. I was making a cup of coffee twenty minutes ago. I heard a scream, ran outside then heard another and ran around here. The light was on in this room. The woman was on the bed unconscious. There was a man, white, early twenties, six foot two, eleven stone, slim, short fair hair, blue eyes, stubble, blue denim jeans and jacket, black tee-shirt, trainers. He had a knife but was shit scared. When he saw me, he made a run for it.’

The two police officers exchanged glances.

‘I looked for Jennifer. She was in her bedroom with the other man. He’d stripped her and was undoing his pants. He was white, mid-twenties, five ten, twelve and a half stone, stocky, mid-length brown mousy hair, hazel eyes, faded blue denim jeans, American style silky blue bomber jacket with zero eight on the left breast over a purple tee-shirt, trainers. He had a knife, Bowie type. I told him his mate had scarpered and he left too.’

The policewoman seemed impressed but suspicious. ‘Your foot?’

‘I stood on some broken glass when I went into Jennifer’s room. They left; I phoned the ambulance, it came, you came. Story ends.’

‘We’re ready to move the woman,’ the paramedic announced.

Jennifer had stopped shivering in his arms and her grip had eased. ‘There, Mummy will be all right now,’ John told her. ‘You’re going to have to let me go…’ Her arms and legs tightened again. ‘OK, OK,’ he reassured her quickly, ‘you can come too.’

He stood up and began to follow the paramedics, moving gingerly on his bandaged foot but carrying the girl easily.

‘We’ll need a statement, Mr Smith.’

He slowly turned to face the WPC. She looked too young for all this. ‘You just had it. Didn’t you take it down?’

‘Come on, Jennifer. Let go of Mr Smith, we need to look at his foot,’ the nurse said gently.

The girl’s grip tightened around John’s neck and he raised his eyes to the nurse. ‘Leave us alone for a few minutes. Pull the curtain.’

The nurse hesitated then nodded before doing as he suggested.

‘Jenny, my love. We’re OK now. Come on, let go. You can stay in here with me while they look at my foot, if you like.’ He stroked her back and along her arms with gentle hands. ‘I’ll look after you. He won’t be back. Come on, my love, let go.’ He reached for her hands with his own, and, finger by finger, gently prized them from his neck, talking gently all the while. She allowed him to free her arms and he eased her back from her embrace so he could look into her tear-streaked face. She was pale and her dark brown eyes were still scared and shocked. Even so, she was a pretty child and impulsively he gently kissed her forehead.

‘You’re safe now. Unlock your legs.’

‘I can’t,’ she said, and he realised they were the first words she had spoken since all this had begun.

He laughed gently. ‘Cramp, eh? I’ll do it.’

She gave a small whimper of pain as he unlocked her crossed ankles and lowered her onto her back on the examination couch. She was pre-pubescent, thin—skinny—and small. He hadn’t really noticed before that she was totally asexual. He covered her with the blanket the para-medic had given him then took each leg and gently began to massage some feeling back into it. Her trusting eyes never left his and he gazed back into hers, trying to help her with her shock. The colour slowly began to return to her face and he knew the pain had eased and the shock was beginning to subside.

‘Come on, sit up, this isn’t a lady-like way to be seen with a strange man,’ he said lightly.

‘You’re not strange; you’re lovely.’

‘Come on; sit up,’ he repeated gently. He was embarrassed but moved by her words. ‘I’ll get that dressing gown for you.’ He turned his back as he stepped across to where it hung then helped her into the garment; it was too big but was better than nothing. ‘There, are you OK now?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘No problem.’

‘I mean for back there,’ she said.

‘No problem,’ he repeated. ‘I think I’d better get them to look at my foot now.’

‘What did you do?’ There was concern for him in her voice.

‘I stood on a broken vase in your room. It’s OK—nothing serious.’ He pulled back the cubicle curtain and beckoned to the nurse.

‘Your mummy’s awake and is asking for you,’ the nurse said with a warm friendly smile at Jennifer.

‘You’d better go and see her; she’ll be worried about you,’ John urged. ‘I’ll see you later.’

She looked back as she walked away holding the nurse’s hand. Nice kid. He was glad he’d been in time.

He sat on the edge of the examination couch and slowly unwrapped his shirt from around his left arm. He was tired. And he was angry that he had become involved in something that could undo all the hard work that had been done.

‘Right, Mr Smith, let’s take a look at your foot,’ the Casualty Officer said, pulling on his rubber gloves as he entered the cubicle.

Two

The police car was still outside the bungalow, its blue lights now dead, when John’s taxi pulled up outside his house. He paid the driver and limped down his drive. The concrete was still rough and cold. The dressing on his foot would get grubby, he thought irrelevantly, but there was nothing he could do about that; he’d declined the crutches they had offered to him at the hospital. His foot felt sore now with a deep bruised feeling.

He let himself in. The kitchen and lounge lights were still on and his mug of coffee had grown cold. He put it in the microwave oven and set the timer as the doorbell rang. He knew who it would be.

‘I’m sorry to bother you, sir…’ The WPC looked awkward.

‘Come in, I was expecting you,’ he said tiredly and swung the door wide. ‘Have a seat in the lounge. Would you like a coffee?’

‘No, thank you, sir.’ She stepped into the hall and followed the direction of his arm.

The ping came from the microwave oven. ‘I’ll just get my coffee.’

‘How’s your foot?’ she asked when he re-entered the lounge with his steaming mug.

‘Ten stitches but no problem.’ He sat down and waited; he had no intention of making it easy for her.

‘It was a very public-spirited action you took next door, Mr Smith.’

‘No; it was bloody stupidity.’

‘You may have saved their lives.’

‘But I may have lost my own too. The sensible thing to have done was to dial 999 and leave the police deal with it.’

‘Well, I think you should be recommended for a bravery award.’

‘No!’

The policewoman was surprised at the vehemence in his voice.

‘No,’ he repeated more softly. ‘No publicity. Now, how can I help?’

‘We’d like a statement.’

‘I gave you one.’

‘Yes, sir, but we need a formal, written and signed statement.’

‘I’ll come down the shop tomorrow and do it then.’

The policewoman hesitated but could see he meant what he said. She took out her notebook. ‘The descriptions you gave us—could you repeat them so I can note them down? You may forget tomorrow…’

‘I won’t forget.’

‘We could be looking for them now.’

‘They’ll be at home sleeping off a drinking session. You’re too late. You should have gone after them as soon as I told you.’ His words were weary rather than sounding critical.

‘I… We didn’t note down what you said, sir.’

‘Can’t you remember?’ John asked mildly.

‘Some, yes. But it’s important we don’t make a mistake.’

‘Yes. Anyway, it’s too late tonight,’ John said tiredly. ‘I’ll call down tomorrow.’

‘Is the little girl all right?’

‘Yes. She wasn’t harmed at all. She’s suffering from shock. They’ve given her a sedative and are keeping her in overnight for observation.’

‘Her mother?’

‘She’s conscious. The X-rays showed no skull damage but she’s concussed and they’re keeping her in for observation too. Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘No, not until tomorrow.’

‘Good. Now if you’ll allow me to finish my coffee, I think I’ll retire and take the weight off my foot, Constable Turner.’

‘How did you know my name?’

‘Police Constable Carol Turner. I read it on your notebook.’ John nodded towards the book in her hand.

‘You’re a very observant man, Mr Smith,’ Carol said warily.

‘Goodnight, Miss Turner.’

She looked at him sharply.

‘No wedding ring but an engagement ring,’ he explained before she could ask. ‘A reasonable guess.’

‘Very good, Mr Smith. We’ll see you tomorrow then…’ She stood up wanting to leave, afraid of what else he may observe.

He studied her, briefly, but intently. ‘What time does your shift end?’

‘Seven a.m.’

‘You’ll be next door all night?’

‘Probably. We’ll keep an eye on it until Scenes of Crime and Forensic have done their bit and a new lock can be fitted.’

John led her to the door. ‘Call around before you go back to the station in the morning.’ He opened the door. ‘Good night.’

‘Good night, Mr Smith.’

He closed the door and stood looking thoughtful for a few moments. He had seen in her expression a respect for him despite his cavalier attitude towards her. She could be a useful ally and he thought he could win her over. The ‘Hearts and Minds’ strategy had worked well in Oman and Malaysia and he was sure he could successfully apply it in this case. Nodding to himself, he then crossed to the telephone and dialled a well-remembered number.

‘Put me through to the chief. Phoenix is rising.’

The wait was brief. ‘It’s John Smith. I need you to contact the Chief Constable and get him to put the lid on some action here.’ He went on to relate the events of the evening.

The doorbell rang and John swung the door wide. ‘Good morning, Constable. Won’t you come in?’ he invited amicably. He was fresh, alert and smiling.

‘Good morning, sir. Thank you,’ Carol said wary of his friendliness.

He led her through to the lounge and she took the seat he indicated. Taking three sheets of printed-paper from the sideboard, he handed them to the policewoman. She was beginning to look tired. ‘My statement—I have a computer upstairs in my study.’

She took the papers from him and scanned the pages. ‘Very impressive, Mr Smith. Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘Like a babe. Is it OK?’

She read the papers thoroughly. ‘It looks fine. Forensic may want to fingerprint you when you call into the station—for elimination.’

They wouldn’t; the chief would see to that but he wouldn’t try to explain. ‘Yes… By the way, the man in the girl’s room put his hand on the doorframe as he left the room. They should get a good set of prints of his left hand.’

Suddenly the policewoman decided she didn’t like the man standing across from her in spite of the strange fascination she felt for him. He seemed too confident, too self-assured. She would put his details through the computer. His statement could have been prepared days before; he could have been the assailant. His story had seemed so plausible she hadn’t considered questioning it. And she’d never met a witness who had been such an observant person—or could lie with such conviction.

‘I’d better go, sir. I don’t want to run into overtime and cost the taxpayer. Oh, by the way, what’s your job, Mr Smith?’

‘Mine? Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. Nothing terribly interesting,’ John said casually.

‘Well, I’d best be off.’

‘Sleep well,’ John said as she walked down the drive in the early morning light. He sounded sincere.

By mid-afternoon, he had almost finished tidying up all the rooms and unpacking his belongings. He was pleased with his progress and felt he had earned a tea break. The May afternoon was warm and sunny, inviting him to take his tea mug into the back garden.

There would be lots for him to do, he decided as he surveyed the garden. It was of average size but overgrown, the borders, trees and shrubs needing to be cut back hard and the lawn would need a great deal of work, with his toe he probed into the grass to expose a thick mat of moss. Still, it was ideal. They had told him to get plenty of fresh air and sunshine while he got his health and fitness back. Moreover, he needed to have something to keep him occupied.

He removed his tee-shirt and turned around at the sound of a footstep on the drive and waited.

‘Couldn’t you sleep?’ he asked as Carol Turner peered around the side of the house into the garden. She was in civilian clothes.

‘Like a babe,’ she said with a grin, repeating what he had said to her and he smiled back, remembering.

‘Is this unofficial or have you had promotion to the CID?’

‘Unofficial.’

‘Good. Would you like tea?’

‘No, thanks. I’ve only just had breakfast; we night-workers have a different meal schedule.’

She sounded much more at ease with him than she had earlier; perhaps it was being out of uniform, which had relaxed her. ‘Let’s sit down.’ He waved an arm to the bench seat.

‘I’ve come to apologise,’ she told him, suddenly sounding awkward.

‘I can’t think what for, but you can do that sitting down, surely?’

They sat in silence for several minutes, both gazing absently around the garden. ‘What’s been bothering you?’ he asked.

‘I misjudged you.’

‘In what way?’

‘When I got back to the station this morning, I ran a check on you…’

‘Why?’

‘You were too good to be true. Your description of the men was too perfect and there aren’t many people who would tackle a couple of men with knives who had already demonstrated they could be violent.’

‘I didn’t exactly tackle them; they just ran off when they saw me,’ John protested dismissively.

‘It crossed my mind that it could all have been made up—faked,’ she went on, determined to explain herself.

‘I think I would have considered that possibility too,’ John said nodding thoughtfully. ‘There was no evidence that anyone else had been there.’

‘No, but the statements of the woman—she’s a widow—and the girl substantiate your story…’

‘That’s good.’

‘So, I’ve come to apologise.’

‘Apology unnecessary. But thank you. It takes guts to come and admit your feelings. You didn’t have to say anything.’

She looked at him. Her dislike of him earlier seemed totally unjust in the warm afternoon sun and the computer check had been clear. ‘What happened to your back?’

He gazed deep into her eyes for a long while. It made her feel funny inside. ‘What did your checks on me come up with?’

‘Nothing.’

‘That’s good.’ He was silent for a long time before coming to a decision. Hearts and Minds; he would go ahead with it. ‘What I’m going to tell you is completely contrary to regulations. I am a Civil Servant—you can read into that whatever you like—and John Smith isn’t the name I was born with. I was on duty in the Middle East, was careless and got a few lashes for a trivial misdemeanour. I’ve got a spell of sick leave to give it time to heal fully. The idea was I should disappear for a couple of months until the political fuss has died down. That was why I was horrified when you said I should be put up for a bravery award.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So,’ he went on, ‘having told you all that I’d like to ask two favours: one you keep it to yourself and, two, if possible, divert any attention from the media or whoever away from me. If you can’t do that, tip me off. It could save my life sometime in the future.’

‘A trivial misdemeanour…?’

‘That’s the official line. Can I trust you?’ He knew he could.

‘Yes.’ She replied without hesitation.

‘Thank you.’

‘Did the Scenes of Crime crew come and take your fingerprints?’ she asked suddenly.

‘No, why?’

‘It may expose your real identity.’

He laughed softly. ‘Thank you. I phoned someone this morning and he had a word with your Chief Constable…’

‘I think I’d like to know more about you, Mr Smith,’ Carol said softly.

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ he assured her in a quiet yet serious voice. ‘It could be dangerous for you if you knew what I did and knowing me personally could be emotionally disturbing. I travel a great deal and road accidents are on the increase… One day I may not come home.’

She looked at him with a respectful expression.

‘I would really appreciate your being a kind of guardian angel of mine. Stay well away from me but tip me off if the press sniff around, if any of your colleagues get inquisitive or if any strangers come looking for me.’

‘Strangers?’

‘Anyone. Ring me.’

She looked blank.

‘I don’t want anybody to know I’m here. If anyone comes looking it means my cover has been blown and the political hoo-ha could start up again.’

‘I understand—I think.’ She looked around the garden. In the warm afternoon sunlight, it was hard to believe there could be dangers such as the man beside her was telling her. This was rural England; that sort of thing just did not happen here. Her gaze returned to his face. How could she have disliked him so this morning? He was compact, average build and average height, good-looking without being exactly handsome and there was a fitness about him which was neither athletic nor muscular. His blue eyes were a bit special… And his smile. He was quite beddable really. She felt her nipples harden at the thought and was dismayed at her infidelity; she was engaged to be married!

‘Deal?’ he was asking.

She nodded. ‘Deal.’

Suddenly his face was close and his lips were on hers. Her breath caught in her throat and her arms began to reach up to encircle his neck but he pulled back.

‘Sealed with a kiss; much more binding than a handshake.’ He was serious for a moment then smiled. ‘Come on, guardian angel, back to your heaven; watch over me. I’ll get you a couple of telephone numbers.’

She had been in heaven for a brief moment…but she knew he was determined nothing more should develop, and the moment was gone. Reluctantly she got to her feet to follow him into the house.

Three

John suddenly felt the familiar tingle down his spine and slowly straightened from his task, his senses heightening. He turned around casually. Jennifer stood at the corner of the house watching him and he felt the tension dissipate.

‘Hello, Jenny.’

She made no response. He walked towards her. She still had a shocked look about her, her face pale and her lips tight. There was an awkwardness about her too. He squatted down in front of her and looked into her troubled brown eyes. ‘Are you OK?’

She nodded and took a deep breath. ‘How’s your foot?’

‘My foot? Oh, it’s fine now. How’s your mum?’

‘She’s all right.’

‘Look. Why don’t you sit down on the seat over there and I’ll get us some lemonade. I could do with a break. It’s hot work, gardening.’

She nodded again and he stood up to let her pass.

When he came outside into the garden with their drinks and a small plate of biscuits on a tray, she was sitting on the bench seat, swinging one leg idly and staring blindly at the grass.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked after she had sipped her lemonade and returned her eyes to the grass beneath her feet.

She shrugged and he decided not to push the issue; perhaps she would be able to tell him later.

‘I was just clearing those bushes at the bottom there,’ he said conversationally to change the subject and put her at ease. ‘I’m not sure what I’m doing really but they’re all overgrown. They’ve got two choices—survive or die. I’m not sure what I should do with that corner though.’ He pointed to the mess of a heavily overgrown forsythia tree. ‘What do you think?’

‘Chop it down. Put some roses in.’

He was surprised she had made any response at all and even more surprised she had suggested what he had briefly considered himself. ‘Yes; that’s what I was thinking…’

‘Do you want me to help you?’

‘If you like…’

‘Yes.’ She stood up.

‘Finish your lemonade first.’

She walked over to the corner to size up the job. The awkwardness in her had lessened and the stunned look of two nights before had eased. He had no real experience of children—not since he had been one himself—but he suspected distraction and positive action would work with them just as it did with emotionally distressed adults. He got to his feet and walked over to her side. He had lied; his foot was still painful, beneath the cut it was bruised through to the bone, but sore feet were nothing new.

‘What do you reckon?’ he asked.

‘Have you got a saw?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think we should saw through the trunk first and that will clear most of it,’ she stated.

He was struck by her use of the word we and also her knowledge. As far as he was aware it was unusual for children to have any interest in gardening. ‘OK, boss, I’ll get my saw.’

Smiling he walked to the garden shed; she seemed to be loosening up. When he emerged, she was pulling her blue cotton dress over her head.

‘What are you doing?’

‘It’ll get caught up in the branches.’

Logical, John thought, but he was surprised at her lack of modesty. He guessed she was at the age when girls were becoming acutely aware of their bodies. ‘Haven’t you got a vest?’ She wore just her knickers and her trainers.

‘Vest?’ There was scornful laughter in her voice but no humour. ‘I don’t wear vests anymore.’ She abruptly became serious. ‘My father never wore a vest when he worked in the garden and you’re not. Besides, you saw me with nothing on the other night.’ A cloud passed over her face.

It was obviously still a raw wound and he would have to tread carefully. ‘I know. I meant, you’ll get your back scratched; sunburned maybe.’

The cloud lifted. ‘I’ll be careful.’

‘OK. Let’s see if we can get through to the trunk. Do you know how to use one of these?’ He held up the saw.

‘I think so.’

She wriggled through the over-growth to the trunk easily but he had to force his way through. Taking the saw from him she began sawing. She made a good attempt but she was unskilled and wasn’t strong enough.

‘Want me to spell you?’ he asked after watching her for a while. ‘Sawing wood with sap is pretty difficult and tiring.’ She was willing and determined but she was too small and her muscles were too under-developed to make much impression.

She passed the saw over to him and moved back; he made it look easy.

‘What shall we do with it?’ she asked a few minutes later, looking at the tree lying on the lawn where it had fallen.

‘Burn it. We’ll drag it over there onto that bald part of the lawn; I’ll have to re-seed it in the autumn anyway—and I’ll have lots more stuff to burn if you keep on helping me,’ he added with a grin but the observation was lost on her.

She worked hard, helping him for an hour, a thin patina of sweat coating her slim body, until the corner was finally clear.

‘OK, that’s it for today,’ he announced as they stood looking at their handiwork. ‘Thank you very much for your help, Jenny.’

‘You’re the only one to call me Jenny,’ she said softly, her voice sounding distant, reflective.

‘I’m sorry. I’ll call you Jennifer.’

‘No…I like it—from you,’ she added softly.

‘Thank you.’ Somehow it seemed as if she had awarded him some special privilege and he felt honoured. ‘Do you want to wash your hands? I’ll make us a cup of tea—do you drink tea?’ She nodded. ‘Then I guess you’d better see if your mum’s OK and I’ll have a shower… You look as if you could do with one too when you get home—you’re all sweaty.’

‘Can I have one here?’ she asked softly, nervously.

He was surprised. ‘If you want to… But why not at home?’

‘I… I don’t want to go home.’ Her voice was flat and devoid of emotion.

He looked hard at her. She stood with her head bowed, avoiding his eyes. The trauma was clearly very deep, buried only while she had worked hard beside him. It was something she would have to face eventually. He was uncomfortable with her request but made his decision. ‘OK, you can have a shower here if you want to.’

‘Yes, please.’ She picked up her dress and followed him inside.

‘Shower or bath?’ he asked, going along with her request—for the time being.

‘Shower.’

‘OK. Let me show you how it works.’

While he put the kettle on to make tea for them both, he could hear the hiss of water upstairs.

She appeared fifteen minutes later wearing only her knickers and carrying her trainers. Her dress was on one of the armchairs where she had put it when they came in but she made no move to put it on, and flopped onto the settee next to him. ‘Phew. I’m still hot.’

‘Sugar?’ He poured her tea.

‘Two please.’

‘Help yourself to biscuits. I’m going to have my shower now.’

There was a thoughtful frown on his face as he went up the stairs. He was worried about the way she was behaving. Perhaps it was the trauma—but he had no knowledge of how young girls normally behaved in front of strangers although she seemed at ease with him. Her reference to her father was significant, he thought—and the comparison to him. Nevertheless, he would have to be careful; he could not afford to have any accusations—made by anybody—destroy his carefully built cover.

She was still sitting where he had left her when he came down but her mug was empty and a couple of biscuits had gone. He sat beside her without speaking, wanting her to make the next move. A long while passed in silence before she did.

‘Can I stay here?’ she asked softly.

‘Here?’ he repeated. Her request surprised him but he did not let it show in his voice. He was a complete stranger to her—and a man.

‘I mean, tonight.’

‘Why?’ he asked cautiously.

‘I don’t want to go back there. I couldn’t sleep last night.’

‘What about your mother?’ He could understand how she must be feeling. ‘Will it be OK if I go and see her to see what she thinks of the idea?’ he asked after a little while when she failed to respond.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll go now. Feel free, wander around as you please. Will you be OK here on your own?’ he added.

She nodded and he stood up.

‘I won’t be long.’

He had to wait a while before the door was answered. The woman looked confused, as if she had just woken, but she looked much better than when John had seen her lying across the bed with blood covering her face. There was an adhesive dressing on her temple.

‘Hello. I’m John Smith—from next door.’

‘Yes?’ She still sounded confused.

‘Jenny—Jennifer is around my house.’

‘What’s she doing there?’

John could see the woman was still confused, perhaps from being woken or perhaps from the concussion. ‘She came around earlier this afternoon to see how I was and then helped me in the garden.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Recognition came and her face brightened. ‘You’re the man who came… You saved us. Come in, come in.’ Her memory had clicked into place.

He stepped into the hall. There were lighter patches on the carpet, still looking wet, where the blood from his foot had been cleared up. ‘I’m sorry about your carpets—I cut my foot on some glass.’

‘Oh, Christ; that’s nothing. I don’t know how we can possibly thank you enough. Come on through, sit down.’ She ushered him through into the lounge. ‘Can I get you some tea?’

‘No, thank you. I just had a cup with Jennifer.’

‘She hasn’t been a nuisance has she? She said she was going to go around and see if you were OK. I was going to come with her, you know, to thank you, but my head was throbbing.’ She touched the dressing. ‘I sat down for a few minutes and must have fallen asleep; I didn’t sleep too well last night or in hospital the night before—it was far too noisy.’

‘I know,’ he said with heart-felt sympathy. ‘Did they keep Jennifer in too?’

‘They had to. There’s nowhere for her to stay. I’m widowed and we’ve got no family around here. What happened the other night?’

‘What do you remember?’ John countered.

‘Not much. I went to bed just after nine to read. Then about half an hour later I heard a noise; I thought it was Jennifer and started to get out of bed when a man came into the bedroom. We just stared at each other. He seemed as surprised as me. Then he pulled out a knife and I screamed. Another man rushed in waving a knife. Shut her up, he shouted. The other man didn’t move so he jumped on the bed and hit me with something—the handle of his knife I think. That’s all I remember until I woke up in hospital.’

‘What did Jennifer tell you?’ John probed.

‘She said she woke up when I screamed and got out of bed. She started to come along the hall when a man came out of my room. She screamed and he put his hand over her mouth and showed her his knife. He told her to shut up or he’d cut her throat. The bastard… Sorry.’

‘No, I think you used the right word,’ John smiled. ‘What happened next?’

‘He pushed her back into her room and closed the door. He put the knife down the neck of her nightdress then pushed it down, cutting it right to the hem. It fell off her. She was petrified, poor love. He told her to get on the bed—the pervert. Couldn’t he see she’s only a child? My God, when I think of what could have happened. If I could get my hands on him…’ The woman’s voice rose with her anger.

‘Try not to upset yourself. It’s all over now. She’s all right and so are you,’ John said trying to calm her.

‘Thanks to you. If you hadn’t come around… I dread to think what might have happened.’ She shuddered.

‘What else did she tell you?’

‘Not much, really. She said she couldn’t take her eyes off his knife then suddenly you were there calling to her. I recognised him and just leapt at him, Mum, she said. She must have been terrified.’

‘Yes, she did too,’ John said with a laugh. ‘I couldn’t get her to let go of me until we were in the hospital. Did she say anything else?’

‘She said you chased the man off then the ambulance came and the police.’

‘Did they tell you anything?’

‘Just that you heard screams and came to our rescue. They said you told them the two men ran off and you cut your foot. There must have been more to it than that.’

‘No, honestly,’ John said, relieved the damage limitation wouldn’t be too difficult. ‘I was making coffee when I heard your scream so I ran around. Your front door was open and I came in. Your bedroom door was ajar and the light was on and I looked in. The tall man was there. He saw me and ran off. I checked you were OK then took a look around and opened Jennifer’s bedroom door. She was on her bed and the man was threatening her with his knife but when he saw me he backed off. I told him his pal had scarpered and other neighbours must have heard the screams and they had probably phoned for the police. He must have seen the sense in that and ran off. That’s it.’

She looked long and hard at him. ‘I’m not sure if I can believe it was quite that simple…’

John shrugged his shoulders and spread his arms. ‘It was. They were scared. I suspect they’d planned a quick in-and-out robbery that went wrong. They were surprised and decided to leg it.’

‘So why the knives?’

‘To bolster their confidence. If they really were murderers and rapists, they’d have stabbed you instead of hitting you over the head and they would have skewered me. I mean, I got a good eyeball of them both, I’m a key witness, and I’m not exactly built like a bouncer, am I?’

‘No, I suppose not…’ she agreed looking at his physique. He looked fairly fit but not someone who was likely to take on a couple of ruffians. His argument sounded plausible and entirely logical but a seed of doubt remained in her mind. ‘Why did he cut off Jennifer’s night-dress and tell her to get on the bed?’

John shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps to scare her and then get her out of the way. If he’d told her to lie on the floor, she’d have been in the way while he rifled the place and I didn’t see a chair in her room he could have tied her to. So, Get on the bed where I can keep an eye on you. With her being terrified, she would probably stay there. I think I might have said the same under the circumstances.’

The woman seemed finally convinced. ‘Well, thank you anyway.’

‘No problem; anyone would have done the same. Anyway I think we’ve got a very frightened young girl next door, Mrs…?’

‘Oh, Castle. Tina Castle.’

‘She’s scared to come home, she wants to stay with me for the night.’

‘If she wants to I guess it’ll be OK. I mean, if it’s all right with you,’ she added quickly.

John felt Tina Castle was just as traumatised as Jenny and, with the concussion and disorientation was probably not thinking clearly. ‘It’s not really a good idea, Mrs Castle. She’s going to have to face it sometime. She’s a young girl and I’m a complete stranger—neither of you know anything about me—and I sometimes get called away suddenly on business at any time of the day or night. Besides, you could do with some company yourself…’

‘Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m not thinking straight. I’ll come around and have a word with her.’

‘No, I’ll handle it.’ He paused. ‘You said you were widowed…’

‘Yes, three years ago.’ Her expression became sad, wistful. ‘A car accident. Jennifer was in the car with him. They were going to the supermarket for me when a car jumped the lights at high speed. It smashed into the driver’s door and Matt—my husband—was killed. The fire service said they didn’t know how Jennifer survived; she was trapped for nearly two hours sitting next to her father while they tried to save him, but they couldn’t. She had concussion but no other injuries. We miss him; Jennifer more than me sometimes, I think; she was there with him and saw him die. She was a proper Daddy’s Girl. Matt had to take her to bed, bath her, everything while I was ill. He used to read her books and cuddle her while she watched TV. She was the apple of his eye. She became very withdrawn after it happened in spite of the counselling—survivor’s guilt syndrome, or something, they called it—and she has only just started to pull out of it. God, this will set her back.’

‘No other children?’

‘No. I had a miscarriage when Jennifer was two; I couldn’t have any more. I was ill for a long while, physically and emotionally. That’s why Matt had to look after her on his own, that’s how they became so close and I’m afraid I rejected her after the miscarriage.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He sat for a little while in silence staring at the carpet then raised his eyes. ‘I’ll go and have a chat with her. I thought it may have been something like that. She was