Personal Security
by
Steven French
The large
pebbled-dashed house looked out of place, sat there among all the smaller ‘new
builds’ with their solar panels and electric-car charging ports. Where once it
had looked over fields and woodland, the house was now hemmed in on all sides,
except for a strip of grass and scrubby trees at the back. And if anyone had
bothered to look closely that way, they might have seen a darker shape within
the shadows, creeping towards the back door.
****************
“It’s an easy job,
I
tell yer,” Bill Hutton said, putting his pint down on the table. “Through the
back door into the kitchen, grab what you’re there for, straight out again,
quids in all round!”
Jack leaned across
the table, pausing to glance around the pub and keeping his voice low.
“If it’s so fuckin’
easy,” he said, “why don’t you do it then?”
Bill sat back and
held up his knobbly hands. “Got them twinges on m’hinges!” And he laughed.
Taking a swallow of
his beer, Jack frowned, then said, “Yeah, ok, fair enough. But a big house like
that, bound to be alarmed up.”
“It’s not as it
turns out. The old lady who used to live there never bothered with such things
and the new owners haven’t got round to installing one.”
When Jack still
didn’t look convinced, Bill leaned forward again.
“Thing is, from what
I’ve heard, the new people inherited more than just the house!”
Jack looked puzzled
as Bill continued,
“Look, the old
woman, she lived there for donkeys’ years – her family’s had it since when it
was all farmland round here. My dad said they always acted like they were a cut
above. They must’ve been rolling in it.”
“Must they?” Jack
asked.
“Stands to reason!”
Bill
told him. “And old folk like that, they don’t trust banks, do they? So all her
money must still be in there, somewhere!”
“Yeah, but where?”
Jack
asked.
“I don’t know! I
can’t do everything for you can I? You’ll just have to go in and look around. Trust
me, it’ll be the easiest of pickings.”
“And these new
owners will be away, y’say.”
“My Paula heard
they’re off to visit the in-laws with the kids for the weekend. Back Sunday
afternoon, is what they told her. You’ll have all the time you need.”
“I don’t know …
Doesn’t
seem right, stealing from a young family like this …”
“Yeah but it’s not
their money is it?” Bill hissed. “They got the house didn’t they?”
Jack took a long
drink then put down his glass and looked directly at the other man.
“Ok, I’ll do it
but
the split’s 70-30.”
“Fuck off! 50-50 I
said.”
“No fucking way,
mate! Who’s taking all the risk eh? 60-40 and I get to keep anything really tasty
for myself.”
“Ooh, like a new
watch do yer? Or a piece of fancy jewellery?! Ok, fine, 60-40 it is.”
****************
“So, what do we have
here, then?”
Detective Inspector
Clara Mirren stuck her head through the open back door and looked expectantly
at her right-hand woman. Nodding her thanks to one of the Scene of Crime
Officers, Detective Sergeant Jane Waterman gingerly stepped across the kitchen
in her white ‘noddy-suit’.
“Looks like a man,
boss … sliced and diced…”
“Any
idea as to the weapon used?” Mirren asked.
“Maybe a sword of
some kind. But incredibly sharp. The arms and legs look as if they were cut through
with one blow. So, whoever it was, they were also pretty strong. And
determined. No hesitation marks so far as we can see.”
“Jeeez!” The
Detective Inspector took another look at the scene before stepping back outside.
“Victim?”
“According to his
driving licence, we’re looking at the separated mortal remains of one Jack
Regan, formerly of the neighbouring manor, well-known there for his burglaring
tendencies.”
“So, someone caught him
in the act and decided to give him the chop? Seems a bit harsh, to be honest.
House owners?”
“Came back early
from visiting the husband’s parents with the kids. Said husband was first in
when they got back, went into the kitchen to drop off some groceries and, well,
the way he tells it, ‘Freaked the hell out’” Waterman replied.
“Which raises the
obvious question …”
“Well, it’s
certainly possible. But …”
“To take on a
reasonably hardened criminal armed only with, what? A kitchen knife? Possible
but not plausible.” Mirren finished for her.
“Yeah … Plus he
has
no blood spatter anywhere on him.” Waterman continued. “I guess he could’ve
scrubbed up afterwards but again …”
“Again, possible but
still not plausible. Still, he’s our only suspect right now so let’s take him
in … and question the wife and kids too.”
*************
Several hours later
and some miles away, in a windowless, fluorescent-lit room. Waterman stood by
the whiteboard, while Mirren perched on a desk near the front. The rest of the
team were standing and sitting around the room, some murmuring to the person
next to them, others looking to the front, notebooks out.
The room fell quiet
as, tapping a mugshot pinned to the board, Waterman cleared her throat and began,
“According to the
pathologist, our likely lad here was chopped into chunks by, and I quote, ‘a
very, very sharp-bladed instrument’.”
“Oh great, that’s
a
big help,” someone muttered from the back.
Mirren twisted
around and looked back over the small group.
“We’re talking
something completely outside the norm here. Maybe a samurai sword or something
equivalent.”
She turned back to
the board and the spread of crime scene photos which had prompted grimaces, even
among the old hands.
“And despite what
people seem to think, there aren’t that many crims running around with the
likes of those. So, Parminder,” she said, gesturing to the young woman on her
left, “I’d like you to start digging through the records and pulling out names
and addresses of anyone we know who owns that sort of thing ...”
“Ok, boss,” Parminder
replied, “but what are we saying here? Regan comes across from his home turf to
indulge in a spot of breaking and entering and has the misfortune to encounter
some maniac inside the house wielding ‘a very, very sharp-bladed instrument’,
is that right?”
“Something along
those lines.” Mirren answered, still staring at the board. “However, forensics
haven’t found a trace of anyone else at the scene.”
“So, it must’ve
been
the owners then. What do we have on them?” someone else asked.
“Nikki Alexander and
Sam Ryan.” Waterman answered this time, moving to one side to show another set
of photos. “She’s a clerical officer with the local council, he’s in IT at some
insurance company. They’ve both been forensically examined and came up squeaky.
Both have also been interviewed and are sticking to their original story. They
came back early after Alexander had some sort of falling-out with her
mother-in-law, usual nonsense … But, they both say the same thing, no
deviation, no hesitation. As things stand, and as far as we can tell, they had
nothing to do with what happened.”
“Admin person and IT
techie. I’m curious as to how they could afford such a nice house,” Mirren remarked.
Waterman looked down
at her notes. “Turns out Alexander recently inherited it from her aunt. Which
came as a surprise apparently since the two of them didn’t exactly get on, but
turns out she’s the last of the line … Anyway, it’s been in the family for
years, going back to when Boggart Hill was mostly countryside. And, although it
looks quite impressive from the street,” she continued, “… it doesn’t seem
there was actually much there worth stealing. Not that Regan actually made it
that far inside. All the indications are that he was attacked and butchered
shortly after entering the property via the back door.”
“So … anything seen
or
heard by the neighbours?”
“Doesn’t look like
it, boss. Uniforms have been canvassing up and down the street but no luck so
far …”
“Right,” Mirren
announced, standing up. “Let’s see if we can track our unfortunate miscreant’s prior
movements on CCTV. Kenny, that’s your job. Vera, I want you to look into what
he’s been up to lately, who he’s been hanging around with, that sort of thing.
Maybe this is some kind of revenge killing … Whatever, we need an answer to the
question ‘Who did this?’ and we need to make sure they bloody well don’t do it
again!”
************
In their modest
living room, with its dark grey carpet and a large flat-screen tv where the
fireplace used to be, Nikki and Sam sat close together on the sofa, their knees
touching.
“Why did you have to
do something so … so horrible as this?” Sam asked, in almost a whisper.
“He was an intruder.”
The squat, hairy figure standing in front of the couple opened wide its long
arms. As one, the couple reflexively jerked away from the six-inch long talons.
“So, I did what I have always done. What was expected of me.”
Sam glared at Nikki
who, shifting away slightly, looked down at the carpet.
“Did you know?”
he
demanded. When no answer was forthcoming, he raised his voice, exasperated: “When
the solicitor said you were your Aunty Mabs’ beneficiary, you turned to me and
told me to my face, it was our lucky day!”
“You said it yourself,”
Nikki replied, sharply. “‘No more mouldy flats, no more scummy landlords.’ You
were just as thrilled about the old woman’s inheritance as I was!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t
know anything about this place, about those old stories. The rumours. You never
told me about them,” he answered, accusingly.
“What
was there to say?” she shot back. “They
were just old folk tales, stories that she would come out with to scare us
kids, that’s all.”
“Stories!” Sam
exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa. “Well, whatever, we obviously can’t stay
here. I’ll find a couple of hotel rooms for us and the kids while we decide
what to do next …”
Nikki looked up at
him.
“What to do next? Ok,
I’ll tell you right now, I’m not bloody well going back to how we were before.
Not me, not the kids!”
“We don’t have a
choice!” Sam insisted.
“Look,”
Nikki said,
getting up and putting her hand on his arm. “Just think of it as our own
personal security system. No one will bother us after this and if they do …”
she inclined her head towards the boggart.
Sam stepped away
from her, aghast.
“I can’t live like
that,” he told her.
“Well, I can’t live
like we did before,” she replied, crossing her arms.
The boggart chose
that moment to step forward.
“The arrangement
with this house and its family stands,” it insisted. “As it has always done. As
it always will … And so,” it continued, “… in accordance with the original
agreement, the price must now be paid.”
Licking its thin,
pallid lips it looked at the couple then up to the ceiling from where the sound
of children playing could be heard.
“No,
wait!” Nikki cried.
She closed her eyes for a second then gave a curt nod towards Sam.
