A Season For Everything by Matthew Fairman (ready player one ebook TXT) 📕

He crouched down and grabbed two handfuls of material, he was trying his damnedest not to feel the person underneath the clothing. He heaved the thing over and felt what must have been an arm, flop onto his foot. He kicked it off, it felt as dead and stiff as length of driftwood. The cadaver was now lying part way on the blanket. Beaton was now able to roll the body over, wrapping it round several times. He took from the canvas bag the length of nylon blue rope and unrolled it. He measure out two arm spans of rope and with the matches melted the chord. He did this several times until he had four shorter lengths to work with. He lifted the legs and placed a slip knot over them and pulled it tight. He wound the remaining chord around the slipknot and tied two half hitches into the loop. He did this three more times along the length of the body, trussing it like a butchers ham. When he pulled tight the last slip knot he felt the rope slip from the corpses head and tighten quickly around its neck. He put his hand out to feel where the end of the blanket was. His hand touched the face, it was cool and waxy. The blanket was now pulled down away from the face leaving the whole of the head exposed. Beaton tried to pull the blanket up some more but it was bound so tight that it wasn’t budging. His hand became entangled in a mass of loose curls. The hair entangling his fingers. He pulled his hand away quickly, there was some ripping as the follicles tore free from the scalp. He shook his hands wildly and pulled at his fingers to remove the hair. ‘It’s definitely a woman. I’ve killed a woman. What the hell was she doing down here anyway?’ He sat back on to the floor. ‘There’s still time to sort this out.’ He emptied out the canvas rucksack onto the floor and pulled it over the dead woman’s head. He pulled the drawstrings and tied it around her neck. It took all his remaining strength to pull the body onto the ledge and push it against the wall. He slowly began to cover it with stones, he worked without torch light, methodically stacking the rocks. In an hour he had completely covered the body. Outside in the entrance chamber to the mine he cooked a meal and tried his best to think about what his next move should be. He had killed a woman and now he had hidden her body.

 

Hollis Bergan returned to twenty three Glovers Lane the following morning. She rang the door bell but as she had predicted, there was nobody in. She knocked on Mrs Gream’s door but there was no answer there either. She walked around the back to the garages. She noticed that one of them was partially opened. The snow around the door had been kicked up and there were footprints leading to and from the entrance way. ‘So that’s where you stayed last night is it’ She pulled the door as high as it would go. The door had come off of its runners and only lifted on the springs half way up. Hollis ducked inside, there was a pallet on the floor and an empty wooden shelf against the back wall. It smelt like foxes had been living inside there at one time. Against one wall was the broken stem of a bottle. She lifted it up, the label holding the small shards together, it still smelt strongly of whiskey. She went through the back gate and in to the house through the kitchen door. Nothing had changed noticeably since the night before. There was a freestanding cupboard by the door with a telephone on top. Inside were a stack of telephone books, Thompson directories and yellow pages, nothing unusual. She opened the top drawer. There was a small red book with the words ‘Addresses’ stamped across its cover in faded gilt lettering. She sat down at the kitchen side table and leafed through a few of the pages before putting it into her breast pocket. She stood up and went to the living room. Picking up the photo on the mantle piece, she turned it over and twisted the two small brass plates on the black velveteen backing and removed the cover. She took out the photograph’, there was something written on it. ‘Amsterdam August 1991’ She put the photograph inside the cover of the little red Address Book and tucked it away again. She headed back to the station to make some further line of enquiry and to organise sealing of the house.

 

‘Good morning, PCI Limited.’ The voice was bright and perky.

‘Oh hello, I wonder if you could help me. I’m calling about one of your employees.’

‘Do you have an extension number for them?’

‘No, I’m calling in regards to a Mr Beaton Earnest, I believe he hasn’t attended work these last few days.’

‘Oh, um, yes thats right, who am I speaking to please?’’

‘I’m Police Officer Bergan. We’re a little concerned as to the whereabouts of Mr Beaton. He hasn’t been into work at all has he?’

‘No he hasn’t but let me put you through to his supervisor, hold the line a minute.’ There was a long pause over the line and then a mans voice spoke.

‘Hello, can I help’

‘Oh hello, my names Police officer Bergan, I was just explaining to you receptionist, we are a little concerned over the whereabouts of one of your employees, a Mr Beaton Earnest, I understand that he has been absent from work.’

‘Yes, he has. I hope nothing bad has happened to him.’

‘Hopefully not but we’ll need to find him first to make sure of that. He hasn’t done anything like this before? ’

‘No! It’s very out of character. He’s a model employee, never late, hardly ever sick.

‘You’ve tried to contact him yourself then I presume.’ Yes, well we’ve rung him everyday. We were all very worried about him of course.’

‘What is his position, my apologies, I’m not familiar with PC...’

‘It’s PCI limited, were fundamentally a petro chemical company. Were focused on the research and development of... well thats besides the point. Beaton was part of our payroll team. He’s been with us .... God, well it has to be nearly eight years now. It’s been a nightmare without him the last week, you can imagine with christmas coming up.’

‘Yes of course, Mr...’ ‘Oh, my apologies, John Pirrut, I’m head of payroll, Beaton’s supervisor.’

‘Has Mr Beaton been acting strange lately, any concerns he may have at the moment, personal or financial.’

‘No’, not to my knowledge, I mean Beaton's’ a very private man. He’s friendly and helpful to everyone, but he’s very reticent. Keeps himself to himself. Sometimes thats a smart thing to do around here.’

‘Sorry, I don’t understand?’

‘You know, office politics and what not.’

‘Yes, I see. Do you know of anyone we could get in touch with, an emergency contact maybe?’

‘I’m afraid not, I checked through his file already when he failed to show up last week.’ ‘I know that he has an ex wife, don’t know if they’re on speaking terms or not and I think he told me once that he has a mother in Bristol, apart from them I wouldn’t know. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help to you.’

‘Thanks, you’ve already been a great help. I would appreciate if you could contact me if he does show up.’

‘Of course, I’ll put you back through to Isabel, she’ll take your contact details. We’re all really worried. This really isn’t like him to do this’ Hollis waited to be transferred again and gave her name and number to the receptionist and hung up again.

 

‘So where are you hiding Mr Beaton, and why?’ Hollis leafed through the address book. It was mainly filled with business contacts and useful numbers, nothing that stood out as being of much help. Hollis checked the database the house was still registered in the names of Hollis and Marie Ernest. She found several entries for Marie under the E’s. She counted five in all and each one had been crossed out. She tried all of them. Some of the numbers were not in service and the rest had never heard of a Marie Earnest. ‘Well she certainly likes to move around a lot.’ Under Marie’s name was written ‘Mrs Earnest’ and in brackets next to it was ‘Mum’. Hollis dialled the number. It rang for a long time but finally someone answered. The weak thin voice of a woman spoke over the earpiece.

‘Yes, hello’ ‘Hello, My names Hollis Bergan, I’m a police officer. I wanted to speak to Mrs Earnest’

‘Yes’, The voice was hesitant, wary.

‘Hello Mrs Earnest, i’m calling about your son, you see..’

There was a click followed by a monotone hum, then the phone line went dead. Hollis rang twice more but nobody answered. ‘Well Beaton, for a quiet little man, you just get more and more interesting.’ The rest of the morning was taken up by paperwork, the result of several speeding violations. Then at 2:15, just after lunch, Steve told her that somebody had just come into the station to file a missing persons report.

 

‘I’m so cold’ he thought. The warmth from the fire was eaten up immediately by the freezing air around him. The only good thing about being frozen was that it had taken his mind off of things. He squatted by the smoking embers, the wood was damp and hissed. Great plumes of thick grey smoke wafted about and stung his eyes. The water boiled and bubbled in white froth, steaming from the surface of the sodden fibres. He watched the woodlice scurry to escape, like doomed passengers on a sinking ship, they converged at the ends of the burning branches before falling into the sea of hot fire. ‘How long can I stay hidden up here. I have to get warm.’ Long icicles had started to form over the entrance of the mine. They shone and glinted in the sunlight. He had eaten all the food and used up half of his supply of gas. He wound his watch and checked the time, it was approaching two o’clock. He stood up and picked up the raincoat he had been using as a cushion. He pulled it on over his duffle coat and stepped out into the forest. His body stumbled in jerky erratic movements, the cold stretched itself into every corner of his body. His jaw shuddered and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. He had lost the feeling in his feet, if he had removed his boots and walked bare foot through the snow he would not have noticed the difference. Before going into the pub, Beaton cupped his hand over the glass of the window pain and peered in. There was no fire burning in the pub. The embers in the hearth had been raked clean and swept away leaving just the cold black cast iron grate and the scorched red fire bricks at the back. Beaton was disappointed but it was still warm inside. Beaton hovered in the doorway beating his hands together and stamping his feet. The pub looked empty of customers. The pins and needles began to creep back into his fingers.

‘Cold enough for you is it.’

Beaton looked up, there was a young man standing at the bar, Beaton had not seen in him before. He was tall and gangly, his long curly hair was parted at the side and tucked behind one ear. He was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen, pale with a wispy moustache. ‘Haven’t seen snow like this, ever! No point going to the bookies and placing a bet on a white christmas this year I reckon.’

Beaton was still try to stop his mouth from stuttering.

‘It’s damn cold’ was the best he could manage.

‘What’ll it be?’

‘Brandy please, make it a double please.’

He had trouble pulling