When Casting No Shadow : Part II

The vicar looked thoughtful and ran his hand over his chin. “It maybe just a stab in the dark, but …….. come to the women’s get –together this afternoon at two o’clock in the church hall, you might just get lucky.”
Clay laughed. “I’m not looking for romance, Father.”
“You’ll understand what I’m getting at if you come.”

Clay spent the next half hour in the cemetery searching for the grave of Elaine’s parents, and a further half hour pulling out the grass and weeds that had overgrown the face of the headstone when he did finally find it. Eventually, he got to his feet and removed the grass sods and withered weeds
to a compost pile at the far end of the cemetery. He was feeling quite peckish, the lack of a decent meal since his breakfast yesterday made his stomach turn and make strange noises. There must be a decent eatery somewhere, he thought, especially where the food hasn’t been tenderized by the wheels of a passing vehicle.
*
Batty’s Café was the nearest food outlet and located in the village of Horrabridge, a few of miles west of Torbridge. Horrabridge seemed a much larger village and a little more exciting, with modern housing and people who actually walked the streets.
Clay sat at a window table in the café waiting to be served. He waited and waited and waited until finally hunger got the better of him and he went up to the counter and called out. No one answered. Maybe they’re out the back, he though, or answering a call of nature perhaps. Returning to the window seat, he slouched on the table resting his head on his arms; his eyes gradually closing as sleep deprivation caught up with him.
*
A little time later, he stirred and felt a presence standing behind him. A hard object poke him in the ribs and a voice call out, “Get up, real slow!”
A young female police officer stood a few feet away waving her telescopic baton nervously, and a girl in her early twenties cowered behind the counter holding a wooden spatula.
Clay did as he was ordered, stumbling as he did so and scaring the living daylights out of the two female onlookers.
“Easy, or I’ll knock you senseless,” said the WPC, taking a cautionary step backwards, “ok, hands behind your back, bend over the table and spread those legs.” She pulled a pair of handcuffs from her belt with her free hand.
When he turned and saw how pretty the young constable was, he threw her a wicked smile and said, “Wow, you read minds too!”
“You’re under arrest for breaking and entering,” she said, her breath excitable.
“Breaking and entering! Where?”
“Here!”
“The door was already unlocked when I came in.”
“Was it?” She looked at the waitress, who, hunched her shoulders and shook her head, unsurely.
“Do you usually arrest customers for entering in opening hours?” he asked, sarcastically. “Can’t be very good for profits.”
The WPC retracted her baton and examined the front door. “There’s no signs of forced entry. Are you sure you locked this door when you left here last night?”
The waitress nodded unsurely again, then slapped her forehead. “Shit! I left by the rear entrance when I put the rubbish out. Sorry, I remember now!”
The WPC lifted the radio from her lapel and called the station to notify them of the mistake.
“Sorry about the mix up, you can’t get the staff these days,” said the WPC, throwing a disappointed look at the waitress and rolling her eyes, “oh, well, no harm done, eh?” She patted Clay on the arm and left the café as another call on her radio came through.
Clay walked over to the counter menacingly, glared at the waitress and then at the large menu hanging on the wall behind her. “The special anything goes breakfast, does it contain meat from animals that it’s suppose to come from.”
She looked at him oddly. “What’s that suppose to mean?”
“Bacon from pigs, eggs from hens, sausages from whatever they are suppose to be made from, you know, that sort of thing?”
“Look, if you’re going to give me a hard time because of my mistake, then you can take your custom elsewhere.”
He began explaining about his night’s stay with the old couple at the petrol station in Torbridge, and of the road kill stew he had eaten. She poured coffee into a mug as she listened and placed it on the counter in front of him, then turned her back lighting the stove. Clay stood on tiptoes looking over her shoulder, watching as she placed three rashers of streaky bacon into the fat of a smoking frying pan, smiling as he recognized the unmistakable aroma of bacon.
“The old petrol station, you say?” She looked at him through doubting eyes.
“Yeah, a really nice old couple. Weird as hell but friendly.”
She flipped the bacon over in the pan. “That place burned down years ago, in fact, my mother told me it’s the biggest fire this region has seen in a
long time.” Tossing the bacon onto a plate, she broke two eggs and dropped them into the frying pan. “So don’t come here with your lies, trying to impress me with your big city bullshit, I don’t impress that easily.”
“I’m not here to impress anyone, and certainly not a scatterbrained waitress who can’t remember whether she’d locked a fucking door or not.” There was venom in the way he spoke.
She turned off the gas under the frying pan. “Get out! No-one speaks to me in that manner, find another mug to make you breakfast.”
“ You said it, MUG!” He took one last swig of his coffee, tossed a pound coin onto the counter and headed for the door.
Outside, the young police woman was writing down Clay’s registration number into her note pad and checking the contents in the open back of his 4×4.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“Your truck, is it?” She walked around to the windscreen and checked the road tax disc.
“It’s got my name on it.” He noticed the waitress looking out of the café window, gloating like a Cheshire cat.
“Clay Walker, property repairs and development. Sheffield,” mumbled the WPC, “a long way from home, aren’t we?”
“All depended on where you think home is?”
She put her note book into her breast pocket. “Don’t get smart with me! What are you doing this far South, couldn’t you find work closer to home?”
“As I said, depends on where………” She stopped him mid –sentence.
“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Now answer my question.”
“ I was born in Torbridge and I’m trying to locate any family I might have still living there, ok.”
“A likely story, if ever I heard one.” She pulled her handcuffs from the loop of her belt. “ I’m arresting you on the suspicion of the theft of four natural stone roof slates. You do not have to say anything now…………”
“Hold on a minute, what fucking roof slates?” he shouted, menacingly into her face.
She cowered as his arms imprisoned her against his van. “Four roof slates missing from the side of the derelict petrol station in Torbridge. Your van was seen parked outside there in early hours of this morning.”
“Derelict! But I spent the night with the old couple who live there.” That was the second strange look he had gotten that morning from a doubting pair of eyes. “I’ll prove it if you don’t believe me.”
She humored him and they took the short ride to Torbridge in the police car, where on arrival, he leapt from the van and dropped to his knees in disbelief at the sight before him. Gone had the rusting old petrol pumps at the front of the forecourt, and the whole front of the house, including most of the roof was no longer there.
“I did, I did sleep here, I’m sure of it!” He held his head in his hands. Then, remembering the repair to the leaking roof, he leapt to his feet and ran to the rear of the building with the young policewoman giving chase. “There! There are your four roof slates, and those are my steel straps I secured them with.”
“So you didn’t steal them after all, you put them back on. Why?”
“Rain and hailstone poured in because of the storm and drenched me. If I hadn’t patched up the roof the whole house would have been flooded.”
“Storm, what storm? It hasn’t rained here since last November. Are you on medication by any chance?”
“Maybe I should be, this is crazy!” He was totally bamboozled and walked in and out of the ruins scratching his head and doubting his own insanity.
“The people who lived in this house died about thirty years ago. It was thought that the old man fell asleep while smoking his pipe and the whole
place went up in flames after it spread to the petrol pumps. It took a dozen fire engines from all over the county to fight the blaze. Had it not been for the torrential snow storm giving them a helping hand that night, the whole village might have gone up too.”
“But that’s preposterous, the old lady made me road kill stew and ……..” The more he tried to explain, the less she looked convinced. He decided not
carry on with the conversation just in case men in white coats were waiting for him back in Horrabridge.
*
Clay returned to Torbridge later that day for his appointment at the church hall with the women’s get –together club. He’d hoped to get some information that would lead to the identity and whereabouts of his mother, and also hoped there would be tea and cakes on offer too.
He stood nervously behind the young vicar as he addressed the ladies. Clay was a private man, a bit of a loner and was rather shy when it came to being in front of an audience. But at that very moment in time and after seeing the buffet spread out before him, he was so damned hungry he would have braved an whole pride of fierce lions to get a few tasty morsels inside him.
They made him feel very welcome, and, after hearing his plight were quite sympathetic to his cause. Mavis Gardener, a member of the choral society did remember Reverend Hamilton when he was minister there and had only the kindest things to say about him. One or two others made references to Elaine’s disappearance and were mystified as to what happened to her so shortly after her father’s funeral. But one woman in particular sat quietly knitting in a corner staring at Clay while he chewed the fat with the other ladies. She took no part in any of their conversations, but listened carefully to every spoken word.
He bid them farewell and thanked them for their hospitality and for the tea and cakes that he had gratefully stuffed himself with. He also left his business card with his mobile number on, should anything spring to mind.


Fletcher / When casting no shadow.

The Tavistock Tavern was a three star hotel in the centre of town. The rooms were reasonably priced, clean and tidy and the beds quite comfortable. It had its own bar and restaurant, a real plus, he thought, considering the last
Twenty -four hours. And after this morning revelations, a well established place to rest his head would be his best option.
He showered, wrapped a towel around his waste, laid on the bed and made the first of his phone calls home. Austine picked up the phone at the other end.
“Anything to report?” he asked.
“No, nothing! What about you?”
“I’ve put a few feelers out, but nothing yet.”
“What’s it like down there?”
“A labyrinth of roads leading nowhere and when you do happen to find a village, it’s full of unhelpful local yokels.”
“Any idea how long you’re staying?”
“A week at the most, if I don’t find out anything by then, well, it’s goodbye Torbridge. How’s Mother?”
“Missing you!” A short pause.