Condemned R.C. Bridgestock (good fiction books to read TXT) 📖

‘The likes of you don’t want to stop ’ere,’ she said in a thick Yorkshire accent.

‘Oh, we do, we really do,’ said Annie. Taken aback, Annie protested a little too loudly. She shot a surprised look at Ricky-Lee over her shoulder, but instead of coming to her aid, as she had expected him to, he continued to observe from the picnic bench.

The lady looked from Annie’s right hand, where her interest in Annie obviously lay. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘You’re not married, are you?’ she said.

Annie swallowed a giggle. ‘With respect, I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she said, again feeling much stronger for having Ricky-Lee’s presence nearby.

‘You didn’t expect someone like me to ’ave morals, did you?’ The woman held up a small, chubby hand and flapped it up and down. She sat down heavily in the chair. ‘Go away!’ she said. ‘I’ve met your kind ’afore and we don’t want the likes of you ’ere.’

‘Are you mad?’ said Annie slowly, in one long exhaled breath. ‘You can’t afford to turn paying customers away, not at this time of year, surely?’

The woman raised her eyes to the ceiling, and averted her gaze with the air of a person who was not for changing her mind. ‘Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, young lady. I choose who I want to stay here, and I told you ’afore, I don’t want the likes of you!’

Annie could hear someone outside hurrying towards the building, calling out, but she couldn’t quite make it out the words for the sound of a motorbike’s engine.

The Alsatian dog greeted the young man with an open mouth, and a lolling tongue, combined with a ferociously wagging tail. The man put two shiny dog bowls down on the ground, and ruffled the Alsatian’s head. Words were exchanged with Ricky-Lee. Annie was too far away to hear, but the conversation looked amicable. Ricky-Lee pointed to the chalet, and the young man put out his hand in a friendly wave, before moving towards the door. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ he called over his shoulder to Ricky-Lee, ‘Thank you.’

‘There you are, Gran!’ said the young man as he stepped inside. He looked and sounded relieved. ‘I only left her for two minutes to get Bruno some food and water,’ he said, by way of an explanation, ‘but, then when I looked round the kitchen, she’d vanished.’ Walking slowly and carefully around the crate he put his hand on the chair arm, and gently put the other under the old lady’s armpit, encouraging her to get up. ‘Why don’t you go and find mum, she’ll get you a nice cup of tea and a Kit Kat,’ he said. The old woman smiled up at him adoringly, did as she was told, and got up from the chair. She then turned to Annie and scowled, ‘Harlot,’ she growled, and then she was gone.

The young man turned to Annie. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.

Annie laughed. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ve been called worse, believe me.’

‘You see my grandfather died very recently. She’s got vascular dementia, and so has Bruno, his dog, and now they’re both pining for him. We’re doing our best, but this park was Gran and Grandfather’s life, and he wouldn’t let anyone interfere. Not even me to see to his ailing dog. As result, none of us know what the hell we are doing now. I’m Sean Dean, by the way,’ he said, holding out his hand for Annie to shake. His hands were warm and soft, the hands of a healer, not of a manual worker, ‘but you’re not here to hear about our family troubles, are you?’ he said nodding towards Ricky-Lee outside. ‘Ricky-Lee briefed me about your visit,’ Sean said as he pulled his mobile phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. ‘How can I help?’ he said.

Annie produced her warrant card. ‘I don’t know what he told you, but we believe that you could have suspects staying on your site who we want to interview about murder.’

‘My God, really?’ He pulled a face, and groaned. ‘That’s all we need.’

‘Yes,’ said Annie. ‘We have information that tells us that the Dixons are here, and may have been for some time.’

Silently, Sean scrolled through the database on his phone. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, after a few minutes, ‘none of our residents go by that name.’ He saw Annie’s questioning look. ‘We’re trying to update things, it’s proving to be a slow process. Maxine, my sister put the historical information on yesterday.’ Again he scrolled through the database. All of a sudden, his face lit up. ‘Hold on, we had a Mr and Mrs Dickinson staying here last season.’ His face fell. ‘Don’t suppose one of your suspects has mobility requirements though, do they?’

Annie wrinkled her nose, then shook her head. The young man looked crestfallen.

‘Take a look at this photograph,’ said Annie, ‘and see if you recognise anyone. It’s a distinct possibility that they haven’t registered in their own names.’

Annie produce a photograph of the Dixons from a buff folder in her bag.

Sean frowned. ‘I’d have hoped my grandfather would have checked their details before allowing them to park up on the site,’ he looked sad for a moment, ‘but, we know he had a lot on his mind at the end. I haven’t met all the residents, so I may not be able to help you.’

Turning the photograph around to face Sean, Annie saw a flicker of recognition in his countenance. He studied the picture with his vivid blue eyes, then looked back at her face.

‘I know them, but they’re not called Dixon, that’s Bill and Babs Bennett. They’re renting a pitch and they’ve paid a year in advance.’ Sean opened a map of the site and pointed to the location of their pitch. ‘They have a large American-style motorhome, and they’ve got a motorbike, which