Jake Conley Mysteries Collection

Chapter 20

Jake decided not to stay with Gwen McCracken, as much as he wanted to greet his friend. He didn’t want to bring more trouble on her, so he wandered around the village looking for accommodation. One or two places showed signs indicating vacancies, but it wasn’t until he found one called The Elms that he decided to enquire. Jake had always loved trees, and the elm was his favourite, so when he saw the rough bark of its trunk in the garden of this property, he entered the gate. He remembered that, apart from the Tree of Life, the elm was one of the two trees mentioned in Genesis as appearing in the Garden of Eden. He preferred not to dwell on quite why his head was crammed with such useless information.

A short, thin woman with a busy air, introducing herself as Mrs Lucas, hair tied back in a grey bun, invited him indoors. The widow ordered him to take off his boots because she allowed nobody to wear outdoor footwear in her house. Obeying, he unlaced them and placed them side by side in a short row of female shoes.

“I’ll have to buy a pair of slippers,” he muttered.

She glanced at his feet. “What size do you take?”

“Forty-two,” he said, unthinkingly giving her the European size.

“That would be an eight, then,” she translated and bustled at once upstairs, from where she returned bearing a pair of tartan men’s slippers.

“My Bert was an eight,” she explained.

Jake pulled them on and followed her upstairs to a back bedroom, which he surveyed and uttered a few appreciative words for his host’s benefit about the comfortable surroundings. He eyed the crucifix on the wall with appreciation. It might ward off demonic presences. Left alone, he settled down to consider what to do in Ebberston. He had no clear plan except to gather proof of his innocence to take back to D.I. Shaw in York. But how to go about it was the problem. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to work out any strategy because after a few minutes he received a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

With an apologetic expression, his landlady said, “Sorry to disturb you, Mr Conley, but there’s a visitor for you in the guests’ lounge.”

“For me? That’s odd,” he said standing, “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

A familiar but unsmiling figure greeted him in the heavily curtained sitting room with its large bay window.

“So, you’ve turned up again.” The churchwarden’s tone was hostile and his expression at odds with his usually benign features. “There’s been nothing but trouble since you began poking around Elfrid’s Hole. You, Mr Conley, aren’t welcome in Ebberston, and I’ve come to tell you to leave.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Ebberston is a small place, and we’re a tight-knit community. In fact, Mrs Lucas is on the parish council. Word soon gets around. It’s a peaceful place; leastways, it was until you started meddling and stirring up forces that don’t concern you.”

“Look here, Mr Hibbitt, I don’t like your tone. And I’m telling you that they do concern me. I’ve come back to clear my name. The police in York have falsely accused me of murdering my fiancée. It was the Ebberston ghost that did it – surely, knowing what you do, you believe me?”

doThe churchwarden looked at Jake pityingly.

“Of course, I do. Didn’t I warn you from the start to stay away from the cavern?” His voice took on an edge. “But you chose to ignore my advice. Look what you’ve unleashed! As I said, we’re a peaceful community and want to keep it that way.” He sighed heavily and pushed his glasses over the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. “We don’t appreciate having microphones thrust into our faces and our everyday activities disrupted by swarms of journalists. Ebberston shouldn’t be on the map for grisly murders. That poor man from Sheffield! They thought they could rid the ghouls from Elfrid’s Hole – but if they’ve been there for more than a thousand years? Look, Mr Conley, I’m going to be frank with you: we want you out of Ebberston. Do us all a favour, pack your bag, and clear off back to wherever you’ve come from.”

Jake gazed at the churchwarden incredulously.

What ever happened to ‘love thy neighbour’?

What ever happened to ‘love thy neighbour’?“Just you listen to me, Mr Hibbitt. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got too much riding on this. I could face a life sentence in prison for something I didn’t do. Anyway, it’s a free country, and you can’t run me out of the village.”

The churchwarden peered over his glasses, his eyes narrow and hard.

“Oh, can’t I? We’ll see about that! There’s plenty of folk hereabouts that don’t want you around. You’ve been warned.” He pulled a flat cap out of his back pocket and rammed it onto his head. “Good day to you!”

Jake watched him march across the room and, on hearing the front door bang shut, crossed to the window and watched his new foe disappear down the long garden path to the road. He marvelled at what had just occurred. Tensions must be running high after the murder at the grotto. It was just as well to be forewarned. It meant he would have to tread carefully in his investigations. But he had no intention of leaving the village and certainly none of ceasing his meddling.

meddling.The first thing he would do with the rest of the afternoon was to call on Gwen; maybe she could give him a clearer picture of the mood in Ebberston. After that he’d go for a meal at The Grapes. Now, that was a pleasant prospect.

“I’m so terribly sorry.” Gwen McCracken smiled sadly at her former boarder. They were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table enjoying a cup of tea and, in Jake’s case, munching chocolate digestive biscuits. “I read about your loss in The Post. Your poor girlfriend! How are you bearing up, lovey?”

“I keep thinking it’s a bad dream. It’s like…I mean…I know I’ll never see Livie again…but every time my phone rings, I think it’ll be her. I know it doesn’t make sense–”

“It’s the grieving. The mind can play funny tricks sometimes.”

Jake looked at her kind, concerned face and felt a rush of affection for the Scot.

“The fact is, Gwen, I’ve come back to Ebberston to clear things up. You see, the York police are convinced I killed Olivia, but I loved her. I have to clear my name. I thought, somehow, I don’t know exactly how, I could prove the Ebberston ghost killed her.”

IHe could see he’d shocked her, and she was looking strangely at him. He pressed on.

“Maybe I should talk to the local police – kind of get involved in the case here.”

“Oh, I don’t know what to advise you. Except, don’t even think about going up to Elfrid’s Hole. They say it’s all taped off, nobody’s allowed up there. It’d only make matters worse for you.”

They talked for some time. Jake failed to learn anything useful about the latest case, but Gwen confirmed the strong resentment in the village about all the press and media activity. She also explained that there was no police station in Ebberston but that the village depended on the North Yorkshire police; the Ebberston inquiry was being conducted from the station in Pickering.

“I’ll have to get myself over to Pickering then and pay the police a visit.”

But Jake was wrong; it would be they who’d come to him.

He left Gwen with a cheery wave and set off for dinner at The Grapes. Only after a couple of streets did he notice a person in an olive-green hoody following him. He turned to check twice and, on each occasion, saw that the youth was making a call on his mobile. It was with relief that he realised his shadow had followed him into The Grapes, for what was more natural than to be heading to a pub at this hour? Jake made his way to the area with tables, whereas the man in the hoody settled at the far side of the L-shaped bar, from where each had a clear view of the other.

There was nothing particularly unsettling about the young man. He didn’t have the cropped hair or tattoos of a classical bully, no piercing and no heavy rings on his fingers. Jake told himself that he was too jumpy after everything that had happened in recent weeks. He watched the man in question take a draught of his beer and promptly forgot about him as the waiter came to take his order.

The food was to its usual high standard, and Jake washed down his tempura skate with curried mayonnaise with a cool lager. Satisfied, he went up to the bar to pay his bill. The man in the hoody studied him over his raised glass but looked away as soon as their eyes met.

Jake thought it strange that Mr Hoody drank two-thirds of his pint in a couple of greedy draughts and more unsettling still that he followed Jake out of the pub. Jake increased his pace to distance himself from his pursuer, if that’s what he was, but when he glanced over his shoulder, the younger man was still only five yards behind him and making another call.

Every street that Jake crossed, the other man crossed, too. He thought about stopping and challenging him but thought better of it on the basis that it might still be coincidence. That illusionary thought dissipated as he approached The Elms. On the pavement before the gate lurked a group of five hooded youths and a rather more rotund figure with a flat cap and a scarf wrapped around his face in spite of the warm weather. Jake’s heart sank, but if he turned to run, where would he go? He decided to brazen out the situation and, pretending nothing was amiss, headed straight for the gate opening on the garden of his lodgings.

When he approached the band, one of them detached himself from the group and strode up to Jake, stopping right in front of him so that Jake was obliged to move to his left to pass, but the other mirrored the action by moving to his right, impeding him. A series of reiterated moves in a preposterous dance made Jake lose his temper in the face of the provocative, taunting leer. He thought of punching that visage with all his might but didn’t want to finish up in the wrong, so he settled for shoving his aggressor in the chest. That was enough to provoke an indignant cry of rage and bring the others to set upon him like a pack of beagles on a fox.

They hauled Jake to the ground, and a flurry of kicks from heavily booted feet threatened to c***k his ribs. Mercifully, they didn’t kick his face, and after more than a dozen blows, a familiar voice said, “OK, enough, lads, the meddler’s learned his lesson.” The voice drew nearer, and through the waves of pain, Jake made out the shape of a flat cap and a face covered by a dark-coloured silk scarf. “You were warned, Conley. We’re not joking. Get out of Ebberston, and don’t come back! You got off lightly this time…” Several of the yobs laughed. “You’d be wise to avoid an encore.”

With that, they were gone, except for one, who decided to give Jake one last reminder to the ribs.

When they had really gone, Jake struggled unsteadily to his feet and staggered down the garden path, every breath agony, until he reached the front door. He let himself in and, unable to go farther, sat down on the carpeted stairs.

“Uh, hello there, I thought I heard somebody come in. Oh, my goodness, what’s happened to you?”

Jake groaned and fingered his tender ribs.

“Beat me up. Six of them.”

He was incoherent, but Mrs Lucas, a tender-hearted motherly type, had no intention of ignoring the matter. Efficient, she shepherded him up to his bedroom and insisted on baring his torso to examine his battered ribs.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” she said, “but I’m no expert. I think you’ll need an X-ray to be sure. Does this hurt?”

“Ouch!”

“Mmm. Just a minute, back in a sec.”

She returned clutching a bottle and a wad of cotton wool.

“Witch hazel, I swear by it. It’ll stop the bruising and give you some relief.”

She began to dab the liquid on his side, and he was grateful for the soothing effect. She helped him pull on his T-shirt, quizzed him on what had happened, expressed her shock at it occurring on her street, and wanted to know how many attackers had been involved. All this information she communicated to the police in Pickering, and within the hour a police car pulled up outside her gate and Mrs Lucas admitted an officer into her house.

herThe sergeant studied Jake with an experienced eye – not too much damage, then. But an unsavoury incident nonetheless, not designed to encourage tourism. What the veteran officer didn’t expect was that a simple case of yobbish behaviour would take on such deeper significance. Incredulous, he listened as Jake told him about all the events from his first visit to Ebberston, Livie’s murder and that night’s attack. For reasons he didn’t properly understand, he made no mention of the churchwarden, whom he had recognised as the ringleader of the assault.

The sergeant scratched his head in bafflement.

“Well, this is a turn-up, I must say. We had no idea that the York constabulary was involved. Up to now, nobody’s linked the cases. This is quite an event! But are you seriously trying to tell me that the killer’s a ghost? We’d put it down to a psychopath. This is going to ruffle a few feathers, sir.”

Jake was relieved. On the face of it, the elderly policeman was the first officer to take him seriously, although he had a deep-lying suspicion that the sergeant might be humouring him. Whatever the case, the kindly officer insisted on taking him to the local hospital to check his ribs. Jake’s protests that it was unnecessary were met with stonewall resistance.

En route to the hospital, he said, “I have to open a case here, sir. We can’t have tourists being attacked by thugs on our beat. Also, I’ll have to ask you to come to the station in Pickering, in light of what you’ve told me; I can come and collect you in the morning."