Blind to the Bones

15

At 7 Waterloo Terrace, Ruby Wallwin had cooked lunch for herself — stewed beef with new potatoes and baby carrots. But she made no attempt to eat what she’d cooked. She put the food on a plate and sat at the table, but didn’t touch a thing. Instead, she stared at the wall and listened to the clock, until her meal time was over. Then she disposed of the uneaten food, poured a half-drunk cup of tea down the sink and washed the pots, taking comfort from the feel of the hot water on her hands and the lemony smell of the washing-up liquid.

Afterwards, Mrs Wallwin turned on both her radios and the television. She had a radio in the kitchen, and another upstairs in her bedroom, while the TV was in the sitting room. It meant there was something she could hear in every room. She didn’t know what the programmes were that they were broadcasting — she needed them only for the sound of the voices. Some of those voices had become familiar, and were like friends chatting in the next room, waiting for her to join them. There were other times when she found the voices inside her house only made things worse. Then she would turn them all off, until she could no longer stand the silence again.

When she went out of the house, Ruby Wallwin always left a few lights on and a radio playing quietly. She didn’t do it to deter burglars — she had nothing worth stealing, after all. She did it so that the house wouldn’t be quite so dark and silent when she came back to it.

Yesterday, she’d been to the morning service at St Asaph’s. She had sat on her own, surrounded by empty pews. There were a few people of her own age in church, but Mrs Wallwin hadn’t lived in the village very long, so she didn’t feel able to sit with them, though they said ‘hello’ when they saw her.

Ruby Wallwin had particularly wanted to speak to the vicar, the Reverend Alton. She didn’t know him all that well, but he seemed like a decent man. She had taken her time leaving the church after the service, hoping that he would notice her. But Mr Alton had seemed very distracted, and he had disappeared into the vestry before she could get his attention.

Mrs Wallwin would have spoken to the vicar. She didn’t want to speak to the police.

Ben Cooper stood in front of the black brick terrace, watching the grey shapes of the wood pigeons that were flying in a small flock now, out over the fields and back again. The sound of the chainsaw that was still operating somewhere behind the houses only seemed to accentuate the eerie silence. Waterloo Terrace stood below the road, sheltered by its screen of trees as if it lay in a cocoon, separate from the rest of the village.

‘Do the Oxleys own these houses?’ he asked.

‘No, they’re rented,’ said Tracy Udall.

‘Council property?’

‘A private landlord.’

‘They’re a bit run-down, aren’t they?’

‘I don’t suppose the Oxleys are ideal tenants.’

‘No.’

‘Where would you like to start, Ben?’

‘My choice, eh? Let’s see the list again.’

Udall’s list was very organized. Number 1 Waterloo Terrace was recorded as being occupied by Mr Lucas Oxley. Strangely, numbers 2 and 3 were listed the same way. Why would Lucas Oxley need three houses? But then his family was rather large, according to Derek Alton.

There were certainly more Oxleys nearby. The fourth house in the terrace was occupied by Mr Scott Oxley, and number 5 was Ms Frances Oxley. But 6 and 7 provided a bit of variety — their occupiers were Mr and Mrs Melvyn Tagg, and Mrs Ruby Wallwin respectively. The eighth house was said to be unoccupied.

‘Who should we tackle first?’ said Cooper to himself. ‘Eeny, meeny or mo? Oxley, Oxley or Oxley? I wonder if they’ve ever thought of starting a firm of solicitors?’

He looked at the terrace of houses again. Logic dictated that he should start at number 1 and see if Mr Lucas Oxley was home again. But he wasn’t feeling logical today, and something told him it might be helpful to approach the Oxleys at a tangent. Besides, he could still remember the dog.

‘Number 7 it is, then. Mrs Wallwin.’

Closer to, the bricks weren’t really black at all. They had an almost purplish tinge, as if they had been steeped in blackberry juice. Number 7 showed few signs of decoration. Its paintwork was a sort of chestnut brown, or had been at one time. The combination with the black bricks was somehow depressing. There were lace curtains in the windows, which gave it an old-fashioned air. It might have been part of a setting for one of those urban townscapes painted by L. S. Lowry. After all, the painter had lived for a number of years at Mottram, down the valley, so it was possible he had seen Waterloo Terrace.

To reach number 7, Cooper and Udall had to pass a fenced-off area where six green wheelie bins were stored. They reached the front walls of the row of gardens. All the gardens were long and narrow, and all were overgrown, despite the past efforts at growing vegetables. They walked up the path, avoiding the nettles that were spreading from the soil on to the stone flags. Cooper took a quick glance at number 8, which was on the other side of one of the dark brick passageways. Its windows were dirty and curtainless, and it had an air of neglect. There was nothing more depressing than a house that had been left empty for a long time, and in Waterloo Terrace it was more depressing than ever.

‘I haven’t complained to the police about anything,’ said Mrs Wallwin, when she found Ben Cooper and Tracy Udall on her doorstep.

Cooper was surprised at the defensive note in her voice. Though she was slight and rather frail looking, she stood right on the step, as if she hoped to block the doorway. Many old people were far too trusting about who they opened their doors to. But not in Withens, it seemed.

‘Mrs Wallwin? Good afternoon. We just want to ask you a few questions,’ said Udall in her pleasant est manner. With most elderly people, her charm would have worked perfectly.

‘What about?’ said Mrs Wallwin.

‘May we come in?’

‘What for?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Cooper. ‘Do you know a young man called Neil Granger?’

And Mrs Wallwin’s face softened a bit then.

‘Yes, of course I do. I know him and his brother. They used to live here.’

‘Here?’ said Cooper. ‘You mean here, in Waterloo Terrace?’

‘Next door. They were looked after by their uncle and aunt when they were teenagers. Their dad was sent to prison, and they never saw him again after he came out. Then their poor mother fell ill with cancer and couldn’t look after them herself.’

‘Their uncle and aunt would be Mr and Mrs Oxley?’

‘That’s right.’

‘They have quite a few children of their own, don’t they?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do they cause you any trouble, Mrs Wallwin?’

‘Not to speak of. They can be a bit noisy, but all kids are like that.’

Mrs Wallwin was wearing rather worn pink slippers, and her legs were painfully thin. Cooper could detect a musty smell, like old newspapers or clothes that hadn’t been aired properly.

‘When did you last see Neil Granger?’ he asked.

‘He was by here the other night.’

‘Which night?’

‘It would be Friday.’

‘Do you know what time?’

She shook her head. ‘He went off with the others. His uncle and his cousins. They went off up to the pub, I should think.’

‘Thank you.’

Beyond Mrs Wallwin, Cooper could see a small table in the hallway. There were a couple of familiar-looking envelopes on it, with red slogans on the outside. ‘You’re a winner!’ ‘Open now for some wonderful news!’ The usual junk mail, not yet thrown away.

‘Neil and Philip don’t live here any more,’ said Mrs Wallwin. ‘The house is empty now. I only got this one because my son works for the company.’

‘The company?’

‘The water company.’

‘Do you live alone, Mrs Wallwin?’ said Udall. She sounded genuinely concerned, but it didn’t wash.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘There have been a few problems in this area. A lot of houses have been broken into. We just want to be sure that you’re safe and secure.’

‘I’m safe, all right. Nobody comes here.’

‘Nobody?’

The old lady looked suddenly worried, as if she had given the wrong answer.

‘My son comes to see me,’ she said. ‘Of course he does. Why shouldn’t he?’

‘As long as you’re all right, love,’ said Udall.

And this time the sincerity of her concern seemed to get through.

‘I wouldn’t want to die here alone,’ said the old lady suddenly. ‘It might be days and days before anyone found me.’

‘I’m sure that wouldn’t happen, Mrs Wallwin. You’ve got neighbours here.’

‘Yes, I have,’ she said. ‘I’ll say goodbye now.’

And suddenly she began to close the door. But Cooper noticed that she left it on the chain and watched them through the narrow gap as they walked down the path.

‘Are you sure about that, Ben?’ said Udall as they reached the gate.

‘What?’

‘I attended an incident once when I was stationed in Chesterfield. Someone living in a block of flats reported to the housing office that she hadn’t seen an elderly neighbour in a while. I knew the man was dead before we even got the door open. The smell was on the landing — that smell you know is going to cling to your uniform for ages, until you wash it.’

‘I know the smell,’ said Cooper.

‘But, of course, I had to call for the doctor to certify death. The old man was lying on his bed. There was fungus growing around his eyes and dead maggots lying on the floor all around the bed. The doctor said he’d been dead for quite a long time. Not days, or weeks — months.’

‘And you’re saying it took that long for the neighbours to notice?’

‘It wasn’t really their fault. The old man made it clear he didn’t want any contact. He always refused to answer the door, even though they knew he was in, because they could hear him through the walls, moving about the flat. Now and then, they’d catch a glimpse of him scuttling towards the stairs like a sneak thief, but that was all.’

Cooper nodded. He knew there were some people like that. People who lived in fear of a human touch. People who were terrified of making contact with another person, perhaps because they were afraid of their own lives being exposed for what they were. They heard a voice outside their door and prayed that whoever it belonged to would walk on past.

‘Let’s see what the Taggs are like at number 6,’ he said.

Mr and Mrs Melvyn Tagg turned out to be a young couple, in their twenties, with a harassed air. Melvyn answered the door with an open bottle of Jeyes Fluid in his hand. When Cooper took a breath to speak, the odour of the disinfectant made his eyes water.

‘You’ll have to talk while we get on,’ said Melvyn. He ran his free hand through a fringe of long, dark hair, leaving it glistening with Jeyes Fluid.

‘That’s fine,’ said Cooper. ‘We won’t keep you long.’

In the front room, the Taggs had a small baby lying on a towel spread on the table. It was naked, and its legs and arms were wriggling with irritation. Melvyn introduced the blonde woman holding the nappy as his wife Wendy. She looked at their visitors with suspicion, and a hint of panic.

‘Mel,’ she said, ‘what are they doing here? Why did you let them in?’

‘I couldn’t just stand on the doorstep, could I?’

A slightly older child was sitting on the floor in the corner, surrounded by toys. There were building bricks, wooden blocks, small furry animals and drawing books scattered in a random pattern around. Cooper smiled at the child, and she stared back with her mother’s expression. This was a house where he would have to be careful where he put his feet, in case he crushed some treasured plaything and set off a crisis.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ said Cooper. ‘But I’m glad we’ve been lucky enough to find you both at home.’

‘There’s nothing lucky about it,’ said Wendy. ‘We’re both stuck here all week. Mel was laid off at the refractory, and now he can’t get a job. And as you can see, I’ve got these two to look after.’

‘We’re making enquiries about a young man called Neil Granger,’ said Cooper.

‘Oh, yes. We’ve heard,’ said Melvyn.

‘You have?’

‘His brother Philip rang Lucas after some of your lot had been to see him. Lucas is their uncle.’

‘And he’s your neighbour, too. I take it you mean Lucas Oxley?’

‘Of course.’

‘Word gets around fast then.’

‘It does around here.’

‘Neil was all right,’ said Wendy. ‘It’s a shame. Do you know what happened?’

‘Not at the moment.’

‘Philip said it wasn’t an accident. Neil had been in a fight.’

‘Well, something like that.’

‘There was a bit of a rough lot he mixed with in Tintwistle. Bikers, some of them.’

‘Do you know any names?’

‘No,’ said Wendy. ‘We hadn’t seen much of Neil lately. We don’t get involved like we used to — we have our hands full.’

Cooper turned to Melvyn Tagg. ‘How long have you been unemployed, sir?’

‘About a month. There’s no call for unskilled blokes these days,’ said Melvyn apologetically. ‘I never had much education. Wendy’s got GCSEs, though. She ought to go to college and learn to be a secretary or something.’

‘How can I work or do college, when there are these two round my neck?’ said Wendy.

‘Perhaps when they’re a bit older...’ said Cooper.

‘We’d never be able to afford a nursery. They charge more than I could earn at any job that I could get. Besides, the nearest nursery is in Glossop. Not much use to us, is it?’

‘What about family? Or your neighbours?’

‘They’re never in.’

Cooper noticed there was no suggestion of Melvyn Tagg looking after the children. He quite liked children himself, and hoped he might adjust to being a house husband in the same circumstances. He looked at the nappy and baby powder and the other paraphernalia. Of course, the circumstances might never arise.

‘There’s your next-door neighbour, Mrs Wallwin. She’s at home all the time, she says.’

‘Her? We couldn’t ask her to look after our kids.’

‘Why not?’ said Cooper. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘She’s shifty, for a start.’

Melvyn was still hanging on to his sterilizing fluid, as if he needed it for a reassurance. ‘She seems decent enough to me,’ he said. ‘She’s just quiet, that’s all.’

‘Melvyn, people are quiet because they’ve got something to hide.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, I don’t know. Have you looked at her hands?’

‘What about her hands? Are they covered in blood, or what?’

‘They shake when she’s talking to you.’

Cooper felt he was losing control of the conversation. He looked around for Tracy Udall, and discovered she was squatting in the corner, talking to the older child and admiring a picture book.

‘That means nothing,’ said Melvyn. ‘She probably has that nervous condition — Parkinson’s Disease, is it? Or she might just be scared of you. I wouldn’t blame her for that.’

Wendy tossed her head. ‘Oh, ha ha.’

‘Er, sorry to interrupt,’ said Cooper.

‘No, really,’ said Melvyn. ‘She’s probably just very shy and nervous of meeting new people. Some folk are that way.’

‘Don’t talk daft. She’s shifty.’

‘But, Wendy, you know nothing about her at all.’

‘I know enough. I’ve got a feeling about her.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Don’t put on that tone. You know my feelings are usually right.’

There was a brief pause. Cooper saw that the baby’s face had started to become screwed up in an expression of serious annoyance. In a moment, there was going to be an ear-splitting noise.

‘Have you actually seen Mrs Wallwin recently?’ he asked.

Wendy looked at him as if she’d just noticed him come in. ‘She keeps herself to herself,’ she said.

‘So you haven’t seen her?’

‘No, but she’s OK. She’s not dead or anything.’

‘How do you know?’

‘She bangs on the wall sometimes, when we have the telly turned up loud.’

‘Do the kids ever bother her?’

‘What, these two? They cry a bit sometimes, but not that bad.’

‘No, I was thinking of the older kids in the terrace — the Oxleys.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘Well, sometimes, they can be a bit mischievous. Someone living on their own can become a target. Knocking on the door and running away. Shouting abuse through the letter box. Stealing bottles of milk. Writing rude words on the windows.’

Wendy was staring at him. ‘You got into bad company when you were a kid, did you?’ she said.

‘That’s just me, is it, then?’

‘I don’t think the kids here do any of those things.’

‘OK.’

‘I mean, they’ve been in trouble now and then. You probably know that.’

‘Yes.’

‘But they don’t do stuff to the neighbours.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Cooper.

‘I’m quite sure. Their dad makes a rule about it. He’d kill them if they did anything to the neighbours.’

‘There have been some break-ins in this area recently. There was one at the church on Friday night.’

‘Oh, we don’t go to church,’ said Melvyn.

‘No, but—’

‘Besides, isn’t it antiques and stuff that’s being taken? The Renshaws have been done, and the Deardens down the road there.’

‘Yes.’

‘You want to be looking for some gang from outside, then.’

‘We were actually wondering if you had seen or heard anything suspicious.’

‘We’re stuck in the house,’ said Melvyn. ‘And you don’t see much from down here, you know.’

‘Let us know if you think of anything.’

The baby began to cry. It started quietly, but threatened to build up quickly. While Wendy swore over the nappy, Melvyn began to show Cooper and Udall to the door.

‘So what do you think about living next to so many members of the Oxley family?’ said Cooper cheerfully, as he paused on the Taggs’ doorstep. A tense silence fell. Melvyn stopped smiling. Wendy flushed and walked towards the kitchen without another word.

‘Wendy was an Oxley, before we got married,’ said Melvyn.

‘Ah.’

‘She still is, really, if the truth be known,’ he added.

‘Still is? Do you mean...?’

‘Oh, we got married properly, unlike some that I could name. We did it right, in the church with the vicar and everything. We had a reception at the Quiet Shepherd, sausage rolls and cheese on sticks. We even had a photographer, and a honeymoon. In the Algarve.’

‘Right.’

‘We’re still paying for that, though.’

‘So...?’

‘So Wendy’s a Tagg according to the law, but still an Oxley under the skin. Heart and soul, if you ask me. Nobody ever leaves that family. Not until they die.’

‘They must be very close, I suppose. Not many families would choose to live so near together.’

‘You can say that again. Personally, I couldn’t wait to get away from my lot. My family only came to the wedding because they wanted to see if it was true what everybody kept telling them about the Oxleys.’

‘But you fit in all right here, do you, sir?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Melvyn. ‘When I married Wendy, I became an Oxley as far as they’re concerned. One of the family, I am. Don’t make any mistake about that.’

‘Thank you very much,’ said Cooper. ‘I wouldn’t want to make two mistakes in the same afternoon.’

Standing in front of Waterloo Terrace, Ben Cooper looked up towards the road. Melvyn Tagg was right — you couldn’t see much from here. Waterloo Terrace was almost completely cut off from view by the thick covering of sycamores and chestnut trees on three sides. Even in the entrance, the track took a forty-five degree turn to reach the road, so that nothing passing could be seen from the houses. Not from ground level, anyway. And probably not even from the upper floor.

He turned back to the houses. Number 5 was next. Its brick façade was indistinguishable from the others in the row, except that the door and window frames had been painted blue, and a plastic water butt stood under the end of the downspout to collect the rainwater. Nettles were growing against the wall, and their tops had already reached the window ledge.

But at 5 Waterloo Terrace, Frances Oxley wasn’t at home. Or she didn’t answer the door, which wasn’t quite the same thing.

‘I think Mr Alton mentioned her,’ said Ben Cooper. ‘This must be Fran, Lucas Oxley’s daughter.’

‘That’s the one,’ said PC Udall.

They stood on the step and waited for a moment or two. Cooper rang the bell again. There was something about the house that made it feel as though there was someone at home, but lurking behind the curtains or in the shadows of the hallway. He stood a bit closer to the front door, listening for footsteps in the hall. Udall followed his lead, taking a couple of steps to the side, and casually glancing through the curtains of the front window. She shook her head.

‘No sign of anyone.’

‘Mr Alton suggested there was a man in Fran Oxley’s life, but he seemed a bit vague about his status.’

‘Maybe he spends a lot of time away,’ said Udall.

Cooper walked backwards to the gate and looked up at the house. The curtains were drawn upstairs, and there was no smoke coming from the chimney, as there was from numbers six and seven. Fran Oxley’s house might be heated by gas or electricity, rather than the smokeless solid fuel Mrs Wallwin favoured.

‘By “away”, do you mean working away, or away at Her Majesty’s pleasure?’ said Cooper.

‘Working, I was thinking. But who knows?’

‘Is there mains gas in Withens?’

‘I doubt it. The bigger houses have propane gas cylinders.’

‘Of course — I’ve seen them. I suppose it’s a bit too remote here. It’s easier for the coal man to get here than the gas company.’

Cooper tried the door again, but there was still no response. And it still didn’t feel right. People who didn’t answer their door to the police were a challenge. They made him want to know more about them.

‘Number 4, then,’ he said. ‘Mr Scott Oxley.’

Cooper knocked on the next door. They were all looking the same already. And at number 4, Scott wasn’t in, either.

He shrugged at Udall.

‘There are three more houses yet,’ she said.

They didn’t need to go out of the gate and down the path to the next house, because there was no wall or fence separating numbers 3 and 4. There was nothing to prevent them just walking a few feet along the flags. But they did have to cross the entrance to one of the dark passages that Cooper thought of as a ginnel — though they weren’t anything like the usual narrow alleyways that he was familiar with in White Peak villages. Ginnels could be pleasant little thoroughfares, bordered by hedges and trees, and offering glimpses of other people’s back gardens or flower-covered walls. They usually led somewhere that you wanted to go, too. But the dark, brick passages of Waterloo Terrace held no temptation at all.

‘I suppose these passages lead into a kind of communal yard at the back,’ said Udall. ‘I don’t know what they keep back there.’

‘Perhaps Mr Lucas Oxley will tell us.’

But there wasn’t much chance of that. Again, there was no response to his knocking.

‘It’s starting to feel as though we’re not wanted,’ said Cooper.

And then he heard a very low growl, which stopped almost immediately. It died simultaneously with the sound of his own voice, so that he wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard it at first. Logically, he wasn’t sure. But emotionally, he had no doubts.

‘Well, you got that about right.’

Lucas Oxley was standing just within the arch of the passage that ran between numbers 1 and 2. He was wearing the same suit that he’d had on the day before yesterday, and the same hat. The long snout of the shaggy-haired Alsatian protruded from the corner of the brick wall, close to its owner’s leg. Its eyes were fixed on Cooper, and a small string of saliva dripped from the side of its mouth on to the path.

Oxley had been standing so still that again Cooper wouldn’t have been aware of him, but for the dog. A man who could keep still, and a dog that could keep silent. They made a formidable combination.

Lucas Oxley looked annoyed. Briefly, Cooper wondered whether he was more irritated by the fact that his dog had let him down and broken its silence, or by his unwelcome visitors. Tracy Udall took a couple of steps to the side to separate herself from Cooper and create two targets instead of one. There was a low brick wall between them and Oxley, but it was no barrier to the dog. Cooper couldn’t see the body of the Alsatian, but he was hoping that Oxley had it on a strong leash, for now. He had to be polite, anyway, until other measures were called for. It was procedure.

‘Police, Mr Oxley. Detective Constable Cooper and Police Constable Udall.’

‘You were here before,’ said Oxley suspiciously.

He looked at Udall. Cooper could tell from the corner of his eye that Udall had adopted a non-threatening stance known as the ‘Father Murphy’, with her palms open and facing upwards, her left foot slightly forward and her body half-turned. Her forearms would be in contact with her baton and handcuffs, and her cuffs could be drawn unobtrusively, if necessary. It had been automatic for her, something deeply ingrained from her training. And it was a sensible precaution.

But Cooper felt a bit more relaxed. He had met this dog before, and he knew it would have attacked by now, if Lucas Oxley intended it to. But this time he couldn’t mistake Udall’s uniform.

‘I was here on Saturday,’ said Cooper. ‘What’s the dog called?’

Oxley shifted his feet a bit. He was a man of so little movement that this was almost a burst of activity. Watching him carefully, Cooper decided to read it as a form of apology. Oxley gazed down at the dog.

‘Nelson,’ he said.

‘Nelson? That’s a grand name.’ Cooper could see that the dog had two eyes, so maybe the name had some other significance than a reference to Admiral Horatio Nelson. The row of houses was called Waterloo Terrace. But surely the Battle of Waterloo was on land, won by the Duke of Wellington?

The Alsatian looked pleased to hear its name and get a bit of attention from its owner. Cooper still couldn’t see its body for the brickwork, but the angle of its head changed, and he knew it had sat down. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

‘We’d just like a few words, if you don’t mind.’

‘Well, I mind.’

Cooper took a breath, but pretended he hadn’t heard properly. ‘We’re asking a few routine questions. You know about the death of your nephew, Neil Granger?’

‘I heard.’

‘It’s a quiet village, isn’t it? We’re hoping that residents like yourself might have seen something. A strange vehicle, or anyone acting suspiciously around the area some time on Friday night or Saturday morning.’

‘I saw nothing,’ said Oxley. ‘Are you finished?’

‘Well, we’d like to have a word with any members of your family—’

‘They’re not at home. You know the way out.’

The Alsatian’s ears went up as it heard the change of tone in Lucas Oxley’s voice, and it let out another rumbling growl. At this point, the procedure was to retreat.

‘Don’t you want to help?’ said Cooper in frustration.

Oxley looked unimpressed. ‘We help ourselves,’ he said.