Chapter 13

On Gerards Lane

On Gerards Lane there was a small, spiked gate on the left-hand side, just past the railway bridge; beyond it lay unkempt, ivy-covered earth and closely packed trees. Not satisfied with owning the ground, evergreen vine was rising up each trunk in a quest, ultimately choking its hosts.

It was a struggle but, eventually, Thurstan managed to clamber over without injuring himself or damaging his clothing. His dignity wasn’t so lucky. Brushing the dirt from his knees then his hands, he led the way through, quickly learning to pick his feet up to avoid sprawling into the wet foliage and soil again. Gandalph took advantage of the lesson.

Leaving the road and railings behind them, they came upon the small two-storey, run down and abandoned red-brick house. Enclosed by the woods, it was unseen by the unknowledgeable.

Kicking through the evidence, it looked like it had long been completely forgotten, although there was confirmation it had been used, and strangely not abused too much, by local youths at some point in its demise, one of whom, so the graffiti proclaimed, had been called ‘Pual’.

Thurstan shook his head in sadness. Four letters and the poor lad couldn’t get them in the right order. He hoped he’d learned to spell, eventually.

Inside, though there was some destruction, it was by and large, a bit of a time capsule; the style of what little furniture remained and the pictures on the wall made him think late 1970s. If there’d ever been a pattern in the carpet it had been long disguised by the detritus that follows humans everywhere. In the kitchen, the carcasses of what remaining kitchen furniture was there hung perilously from the walls. A tapless metal sink and drainer sat astride a doorless cabinet. He recognised the style – one of the cheaper models.

Though the lower banisters were no longer unharmed, the stairs were. They tentatively took them to the next floor. In the nearest bedroom, the remnants of posters hung from the walls, most of which he couldn’t discern anymore but he recognised Alison Moyet and a James Bond film poster. Apart from some pornographic graffiti of the kind young teenagers have always been fond of drawing and the sheets of magazine papers littering the floor, the room was still habitable to someone who had nowhere else to go, but the bed had long gone. He supposed such useful items were pilfered long ago, but the flattened sheets of old cardboard were proof someone had been staying there at some point recently. Why not? It was dry, no damp patches on the ceiling and the window surprisingly intact. He’d been on much more miserable camping trips in his youth.

“Well, Boss? Has it been useful?” Gandalph asked.

Thurstan turned his head to shake it at his colleague. “Nope. I just thought we should, in case there was something, I don’t know what, just... something.” For now, he wasn’t disclosing what Ted had told him about Lennie keeping some sort of diary or notebook - took it everywhere with him he’d said. The likelihood that, somehow, it would still have been in the house, unmolested, was so slim he didn’t want to look foolish for being so hopeful.

He wandered out onto the landing, checked the other bedroom then the bathroom and toilet – both reasonably undamaged. Someone had a ‘thing’ about doors, he thought, as he glanced at the rusty abandoned hinges of the doorless wall cabinet – its only occupants an empty tube of Steradent denture cleaner and a mouldy toothbrush.

Back on the landing, he glanced up at the loft hatch. “It would be good if we were able to get up there to see what’s in it? I don’t trust this banister rail though.” He wiggled it to and fro. Gandalph would normally be game for a challenge, but he didn’t like the look of it either.

Back in the car, Thurstan, head bowed, rubbed his forehead and said, “I could do with getting into that loft. Just to dot the i’s and cross the t’s but we either get in there ourselves, which could be dangerous, or I have to ask for an official search team. If I do that, it’ll obviously alert the Chief Con and he’ll start wondering what we’re doing here. He might even ask you what you’re doing here, Stephen.”

The danger wasn’t wasted on him. “Well, we don’t want that, do we, Boss?” he replied. They sat in silence for a while before Gandalph offered, “You want me to ask my mate, don’t you?”

Thurstan feigned an epiphany. “Good grief, the one with a security and search team firm? I’d forgotten about that. Surely, he won’t charge much, it’s not a big job and he won’t need a full crew. Won’t he do a discount for a mate?”

Gandalph blew air from the side of his mouth. “I’ll speak to him. See what he suggests.” He slid his seat belt on but felt his DCI looking at him. “What?”

“Well, go on then. Give him a call.”

Another escape of breath and, “Right, you stay here and no ear wigging, Boss. I might have to negotiate terms you might not like.” As he got out of the vehicle, he heard Thurstan call, “I’m not paying for the firm’s annual outing to Disneyland.”

****

Several days later, as a light rain began to descend, Thurstan and Gandalph listened to the windscreen wipers intermittently squeak their way back and forth whilst they watched the search team unload themselves and their gear from a large white van indolently parked on the pavement.

“Are you sure this lot are up to it?” Thurstan commented.

Gandalph nodded. “Oh yeah. I know they might not look it, Boss, but these blokes were all part of our top search teams. Best in the country. They might not be as swift and agile as they used to be but, beneath all the grey hair, the brain cells are still in good shape. Come on, I’ll introduce you to them.”

They got out and Thurstan put his coat on, then it stopped raining. He couldn’t be bothered to take it off again.

A shake of hands, a few nods and the brief given. The team’s leader looked Thurstan up and down. “You probably think we’ll to have to spend an hour just trying to get over this fence but, despite you finding it a challenge the other day...” Thurstan glared quickly at Gandalph whilst the TL smiled and continued, “we have ladders for every occasion, so this will basically be a piece of piss, as they say.”

He beckoned the DCI over to the railings, away from the others, and in a confidential manner told him, “Now, we don’t need you to come in and watch us because, quite frankly, we don’t appreciate the oversight. You’ll probably find it all rather boring, get fed up and start becoming a nuisance to us. It’s all quite simple, you see. In this sort of place, ground and first floor being in the condition they are, it’s a case of any easily lifted floorboards and skirting we’ll remove and look beyond. Our specialist, Dave – we call him ‘the Brat’ because he’s the youngest – does sub-flooring and small spaces. He’s an expert in Judo and exquisitely shaped for the task.” He looked at his colleague for endorsement and received a nod back.

Thurstan asked, “Haven’t you got any robot cameras for that sort of thing? I can’t imagine it being very nice down there. What if he meets something unexpected?”

The Team leader laughed and replied, “If he met an alligator down there, he’d probably wrestle it to death and eat it. Right, I’ll introduce you to the others, it might assuage any reservations you currently have.”

He pointed to the still athletic yet greying black member of the team. “This is Ansel. Ex-Parachute Regiment, specialises in lofts and roofs as he’s used to falling from heights. He has an uncanny ability to bounce then jump straight back up. Over there is Steve, our expert in the tight spaces, skirting boards and walls – a veritable master with the endoscope. That’s Trevor, over there in the driver’s seat. We just call him ’Trev’. He specialises in laconic retorts. He doesn’t often say much, but I’ve seen him leave grown men in tears. He’s our expert in baffling any form of traffic warden or parking attendant and his knowledge of the law is incredible. Sadly, theirs never is and a person with a weak constitution might find it heartbreaking to see the state he leaves them in. Me? I’ll be making sure we don’t miss anything. I’ll say it’ll take three hours, but it could be more but that’s no worry for you as you’re not paying us by the hour.”

Driving away, Thurstan said, “OK, he seems to know his stuff, the team leader. We had a little chat while you helped the others with the ladders. He’s into astronomy; seems very knowledgeable. He told me about a meteor shower due tonight. Only happens every two hundred years. He couldn’t be exact on the timing though, so I think I’ll sit out in the garden and wait for it.”

Gandalph gave him a sideways glance, replying, “I wouldn’t if I were you, Boss. He got me with that one last year. I sat out half the night in the snow waiting for an event never going to happen. Nearly froze to death. It’s his sense of humour.”

Four hours later, the stout, grey-haired team leader walked into Sutton Box and dropped a slightly mouldy black, leather-bound, diary on Thurstan’s desk.“I think that’s what you were looking for. Behind a loose brick, far end of the loft. We didn’t rush things, wanted to be thorough.”

The DCI pointed to the corner of the room. The TL looked at the bottle of Irish whiskey and case of 24 cans of Stella Artois and replied, “That’ll do nicely.”