The Fete of Death Read online

  The van had stopped a little further up the road. Its engine was still running and he was revving it up, menacingly.

  "I really don't like this village!" sobbed a shaken Sally.

  "Nancy! That fabric in the van doors, I’m sure it was a dress I saw at Susan Smythe's flat! She's gone missing, hasn’t she? I think Josh Matthews has her in the back of that van!" she shouted, pointing at the van.

  Tara started to dial 999, but she only managed to dial 99 before the van started to reverse into them at speed. The van mounted the pavement and its wing mirror clipped Tara's elbow, sending the mobile clattering into the gutter.

  Sally had tripped over the kerb in her panic to avoid being run over and her ankle ached painfully.

  Josh Matthews got out of the van, its engine still running. He had a gun.

  "Ladies! We meet again. We're going for a little trip, day-trippers, get in!" He shouted, opening the doors and waving the gun at them.

  "Sally's hurt," said Molly, consoling her twin.

  "Sally's going to be dead soon - you all are, so it doesn't matter much. Get in. I can shoot you before you get in the van, or later. It doesn't matter to me," he said.

  They all helped each other into the van. Sally was sobbing and clutching her throbbing ankle.

  Molly screamed.

  "Ah, I see you've found your friend, Susan Smythe? Now, that's quite a story. I'll tell you all about it on the way."

  "On the way to where?" asked Tara, staring at Susan Smythe's body outstretched in the back of the van.

  "The end of the road!" he said, laughing, as he slammed and locked the transit's doors. There was no partition between the back of the van and the driver's compartment, so he could watch their every move through the interior mirror and hear every word too.

  Susan Smythe looked completely different. She'd straightened her hair, put make-up on and even false nails. She was wearing one of the dresses that had been on her flat floor and high heels. She looked like a well-off businesswoman, not the alcoholic they knew her to be.

  Tara was mortified. Susan Smythe had been so excited about finally having the money to go to the tearoom, she'd obviously gone all out to make herself look 'posh' for the occasion. It must have taken her hours to get herself looking that immaculate - and it had got her murdered. The only consolation Tara had was that Susan Smythe at least been able to enjoy her cream tea before she was murdered.

  "How was she killed?" asked Nancy, holding on for dear life as Josh Matthews lurched round hairpin bends at speed.

  Tara crawled across to the body. She pulled the silk scarf away from Susan Smythe's neck and revealed purple bruising on her throat.

  "Strangled," said Tara, grimly.

  "What are you lot muttering about back there?" asked Josh Matthews.

  "You strangled her," said Tara.

  "I didn't know it was Susan Smythe. I bet you didn't recognise her either. It was dark at the time which made it so much worse and...she said she was a businesswoman, only in Tarndale for a few days. She said she was alone! I didn't think she would be missed, I thought she was a tourist! Then..we got onto the street that's a bit better lit and I made my move. She broke my nose! Then, she said my name! I couldn't let her go then, could I? I realised she'd been in the coffee shop last week. Annabel gave her a free sandwich and coffee for something. Just think, if she hadn't gone to the coffee shop for her freebee, she wouldn't have seen me and I might have let her go. She had a good memory for names, I'll give her that. She must have seen my name badge. She spent most of her time in the village pub as far as I know. Fate stupidly threw us together."

  "So, you're the one responsible for the women that have been going missing in Tarndale, are you? Doesn't surprise me in the slightest, that doesn't. I knew it wouldn't take long before I finally attracted a serial killer," said Tara, pouting.

  "It's a hobby of mine, abducting and killing women," he said, smiling.

  Molly tutted. Sally was still clutching her badly swollen ankle. It looked plump and pale, like a steak and kidney pudding.

  "Susan Smythe, well I didn't know it was her course, or I'd have left her well alone. Too well-known you see. She would have been my last in Tarndale, then off to a new quiet village somewhere to start all over again."

  "It's a hard life," muttered Molly under her breath.

  "But you ladies - you've mixed a right bottle for me, haven't you? Now I've got five more bodies to dispose of before I can leave this place. I hope there’s enough room. There's four bodies down there already. You recognised me didn't you, driving the van?"

  "You tried to run me over!"

  "Correction. I tried to run all of you over. Shame I missed."

  "You tried twice! I think my ankle's broken," whimpered Sally.

  "I saw you with the phone, pointing at the van. I knew you'd try to ring the police, I couldn't have that."

  "Susan Smythe's dress was caught in the van's doors, I recognised that. It wasn't difficult to fathom out you were the abductor because we already knew no one had seen Susan Smythe since she was last seen in the tearoom. The police are out looking for her," said Tara.

  "Are they now? Well, I doubt they'll find her and even if they do, I'll be long gone," he laughed.

  "If you hadn't tried to run us over and if you hadn't been driving like a maniac, you'd have got away with it," said Nancy, through gritted teeth.

  "What are you talking about? I have got away with it. You shouldn't have been the nosy, interfering day trippers that you are. Tara, you could have made things so much easier for all of us if you'd have gone for that meal with me, a last supper."

  "Thank goodness for the fluffy slippers I didn't!" snapped Tara.

  "You'll never get away with this! sobbed Molly, clutching her injured twin.

  "They only ever say that in films, ladies."

  Tara was staring at Susan Smythe's lifeless body, frowning.

  "What's up Tara, never seen a dead body before?"

  "On the contrary, I've seen three in Tarndale, so far this week," said Tara through the side of her mouth.

  "Nowt to do with me, those murders," he shrugged, changing gear.

  "Are you sure? What were the plans for the herbal teas in the coffee shop? What about the magnolia bark?" asked Tara.

  "Every coffee shop's got herbal teas. Peppermint's one of ‘em. What's this all about?" he asked, frowning.

  "The library books, the ones Annabel Thompson's mum asked Susan Smythe to get for her? They were about poisons – poisonous herbs and plants to be precise. That's why she got the free meal, for running that errand."

  "Sophie? Sophie Thompson asked Susan Smythe? Why didn't she just ask Mavis Poole for them? Or go herself? No one’s been poisoned in the coffee shop. I think your imagination's running away with you because it knows it's not got long to live."

  "I think you know more than you're letting on."

  "You'll never know, will you? End of the line, ladies! We've arrived at your final destination. I hope you enjoyed travelling via Josh Matthew’s one-way trips today."

  "Where are we?"

  "The last place you'll see and the last place anyone will ever look for you."

  "You said the bodies of the other women are here?" asked Nancy. "Where are they?"

  "You're about to find out, because you’ll all be joining them shortly."

  He jumped out of the van, slamming his door, then he ran round to the back doors. They could hear his footsteps crunch on the shingle outside. He opened the doors and they could see a dilapidated farmhouse in front of them with no other properties close by. It was surrounded on all sides by a forest. It was badly in need of repair and it looked as though a strong gust of wind would easily send it crashing into a dusty heap of dry timber and slate.

  He pulled them all out of the van at gunpoint one by one, reaching for coils of sturdy rope out of the back of the van.

  "You're not going to tie us up, are you?" asked Molly, eyeing the rope.

  "I'd be
stupid not to. Turn around, and remember, I've got a gun. No one will hear it out here if I fire it."

  Tara was kicking herself for not doing what 'Fiona Tipple’ would have done if she had been in the same situation. She'd have kicked the gun out of Josh Matthew’s hand the moment he opened the doors. But then, 'Fiona Tipple', wasn't a 42-year-old out of shape scaredy-cat.

  Nancy Parker however, was in great shape. She had a plan, but she was biding her time.

  He started to tie Nancy up last. She saw her chance and took it, arms and long legs flailing madly. He seemed to anticipate her moves though, clumsy as they were, and he hip tossed her easily to the floor, knocking the wind out of her.

  Nancy couldn't believe she'd failed. Her arms and legs just hadn't done what she'd wanted them to do. She'd felt like a puppet on strings. Time to think up a plan B she thought, never one to be deterred.

  "Right ladies, now we’ve got the failed escape plan over with, on your left you'll see an old wishing well. Make a wish if you like, you'll be going down there yourself shortly."

  "Down a well? The bodies are down a well?" asked Sally, limping along, painfully.

  "Yeah, no digging. The lazy serial killer's graveyard of choice. Come on, pick your feet up!"

  "Where are you taking us now?" asked Molly in between sobs.

  "Into my humble abode. You'll stay in this farmhouse for your last ever night. I've got to go to work as usual, I wouldn't want to rouse anyone's suspicions, would I? That's the secret you know, sticking to the normal routine," he pushed Molly into what would have been the front room of the derelict farmhouse. The room smelled of damp and mildew and its rotted carpet was like a wet sponge as they walked on it. The wallpaper was hanging down like thick paper chains in washed out colours and there was no furniture in the room, only two inflatable mattresses in the corner of the room.

  Molly wrinkled her nose. "Needs a bit of a clean-up in here."

  "Are you offering?" he asked. "I might have taken you up on it, but I'm only squatting so there’s no point. It's up for demolition. In fact, they could come in with the bulldozers at any time. Hopefully you’ll be inside when they do. That would make things a lot easier for me. I don't particularly want to give myself a hernia throwing all five of you down that well later, not unless I absolutely have to. Unless any of you fancy throwing yourselves down there?"

  They all looked at him in disgust.

  "Worth asking, anyway. Make yourselves comfortable, I'll go and get your friend, Susan, she might as well keep you all company till I get back."

  "You're never going to leave us in here with a dead body? It'll be dark soon!" whimpered Sally.

  "I know and yes I am!" He chuckled, leaving them in the room.

  They sat down on the inflatable mattresses, their hands tied painfully tight behind them.

  "What now?" asked Nancy.

  "We wait," said Tara.

  "We can't just wait! When he finishes work, he's going to kill us!" said Nancy.

  "I'm sure we'll think of something before he gets back."

  "Like what? Do you have a handy penknife on you to cut the ropes with like they would in one of those books you’re always reading?" asked Nancy, sarcastically.

  "No. I don't think we'll need one."

  "Why? Have you got a better plan?"

  "Not a plan as such, a hunch."

  "Oh well, that's alright then! Rest easy ladies, Tara Trott has a 'hunch', not a plan - but she thinks she can get us out of this little mess!"

  "I can't get us out of it, but I know someone who can."

  "Who?"

  Tara looked at the body of Susan Smythe, being carried into the room by Josh Matthews over his shoulders.

  "You can't be serious?" groaned Nancy.

  Meanwhile, Cheryl Trellan, on her way back to the stables, had spotted a mobile phone lying in the gutter. She jumped off Fizzle and picked it up. It was still in one piece. The display said '99'.

  Cheryl frowned. No one was on the street in either direction. She decided she would go through the contact list once she'd seen to Fizzle and see if she could find someone useful like 'mum' listed, so she could ring them to let them know she’d found their phone. She was just locking the keypad to put it in her bum bag when Mrs Kirkpatrick opened her front door.

  "Hello, Cheryl love. I've got an apple for Fizzle and some bread," she said, waving a plastic bag.

  "Thanks, Fizzle loves the packed lunches you make up for her," she smiled, meeting Mrs Kirkpatrick at her garden gate.

  “What's that you've got?"

  "Someone's mobile. They must have dropped it."

  "I'm not surprised! That van tried to run them over!"

  "Van? Tried to run who over?"

  "I don't know them. One elderly lady hurt her leg."

  "How many of them were there?"

  "Hard to say, but I think two of them were twins."

  "Twins? Elderly twins?"

  "That's right."

  "And one of them was injured, you say?"

  "Probably more than one of them, speed it went at them. Twice it did. Once front on, then it reversed into them."

  "Who was driving?"

  "I don't know love, my eyesight's not what it was."

  "Where did they go? Into an ambulance?"

  "In the back of the van. He hoisted them all in and off they went - in that direction."

  "That's the wrong...hang on," she checked the numbers dialled on the mobile. Sure enough, there was Annabel Thompson's number which she'd given to Tara only a short time before.

  "Is there something wrong, love?"

  "I'm not sure. I think I know who this phone belongs to, but I don't understand the van situation. Unless, the van driver took them to the hospital?"

  "That'll be it, that'll explain why he drove off so fast," she said, nodding.

  "I'll give the mobile to Dana Felchar, they're staying at her bed-and-breakfast and I'll let her know they've had an accident and that they're likely to be at the hospital."

  Cheryl Trellan led Fizzle the short distance back to the stables. She didn't know anyone who drove a van. Tara had obviously tried to dial 999, but dropped the phone before she could finish dialling. But then, that would mean she was trying to ring the police or send for an ambulance before they dropped the phone. Why had she not picked the phone up when she dropped it? Why leave it behind when it clearly wasn’t broken? Why get in the back of the van with the driver who'd just tried to run them over twice? It didn't make any sense. She was also wondering if they'd managed to talk Simon Salter round. They'd apparently rung Annabel, so she hoped they'd had some good news to tell her, because the ride hadn't been as much fun without Annabel.

  She untacked Fizzle, and had left her tied up with a full haynet whilst she cleaned out the stable. It was only when she was taking the overflowing wheelbarrow to the muck heap, she saw the body of Simon Salter.

  Cheryl Trellan ran, screaming from the very bottom of her lungs, and she didn't stop running till she reached someone who caught her just as she collapsed, limply into his arms.

  The man who'd caught her carried her into the nearest place of public safety he could think of. He was all too aware of the stories people could make up about a man seen carrying an unconscious young girl about in broad daylight. He hurried into the pub, shouting "Get an ambulance, I think she's fallen off her horse!” for good measure.

  Once inside the pub, the landlord, who hated drama of any kind, bundled them through to the back room, out of the sight of his drama-seeking customers.

  "Why'd you take her hat off, you idiot! You're supposed to leave them on when they've had a fall in case of a brain injury," The landlord scolded the good Samaritan, Mr Keane.

  "I didn't! I didn't take anything off her!" he snapped, his worst nightmare apparently coming true.

  "The stupid girl mustn't have been wearing one then."

  "I can assure you, I have no knowledge of what the girl is, or isn't wearing!" he stammered.

&n
bsp; "Where's that ambulance?" The landlord thundered.

  "On its way, boss."

  "What should we do? Give her a brandy?" asked Mr Keane, not knowing what to do for the best.

  Cheryl Trellan lay on the couch, pure white and trembling from head to toe.

  "I don't think brandy can fix her. I think she's done for," said the landlord, shaking his bearded head at the thought of the drama still to unfold.

  "You don't mean?...she's not going to die, is she?" fretted Mr Keane, taking a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and dabbing his damp brow with it.

  "Head injuries are tricky things. Not much chance of her recovering. I reckon she'll be gone by the time the ambulance gets here."

  Mr Keane wrung his damp handkerchief in his restless hands. A siren could be heard, getting louder, the closer it got.

  "How's she doing?" asked a customer, peeking his head round the door.

  "Nowt for her I'm afraid," said the landlord.

  “What happened to her?" asked the customer.

  "You'll have to ask Mr Keane."

  "I... I don’t know anything! She ran into me!"

  "You said she'd fallen off her 'orse!"

  "I just assumed...she's wearing jodphurs…and she's obviously injured..."

  "Yeah, 'cause she ran into you. How fast was she running at the time?" asked the landlord, walking closer to the agitated Mr Keane who wished he'd been on the other side of the road when she'd run down the street.

  "Someone call for an ambulance?"

  "Go straight through."

  "A fall off a horse, was it?" asked the paramedic, checking Cheryl Trellan's pulse.

  "That's what we thought...we're not so sure now," said the landlord, glaring at Mr Keane.

  "She was running down the road and she collapsed when she reached me. I picked her up and brought her straight here," said the anxious Mr Keane, untying his tie.

  "Shock," said the paramedic.

  "Yes, I do feel a bit out of sorts,” said a trembling Mr Keane.

  "Not you, Sir – the girl. She's in a deep state of shock. Traumatised I say."