Lethal Response

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Born in Sheffield, Ernest Barrett was the eldest of seven

children. He was called up for National Service in 1948 andafter signing on, spent six and a half years in the R.A.F.

After leaving the forces he took a job at the steel works in

Rotherham. He later moved to Lincolnshire after suffering alife changing accident at the steel works in 1968. After

struggling to cope with his injuries he eventually got a jobwith the Skegness council, where he stayed until his

retirement in 1995.

After an Open University course he took up writing poetryand short stories. Although he didn’t complete the course

(much to his regret) it was a great help. This was followed by him joining the Skegness Writers.



Dedication

To My Grandchildren. Bless Them.



Ernest Barrett

L E T H L R E S P O N S E



Copyright © Ernest Barrett

The right of Ernest Barrett to be identified as author of this work

has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of

the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may bereproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the

publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims

for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British

Library.

ISBN 978 1 84963 818 0

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2015)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

25 Canada Square

Canary WharfLondon

E14 5LB

Printed and bound in Great Britain



Acknowledgments

To Dave Carter for his assistance with my computer.



Chapter One

The man sitting in the smart silver Rover, watched as Mavis

Consor turned the steering wheel and carefully manoeuvredher car into the drive of the neat little bungalow in Hendleby, a

small village close to Spawlsby in Lincolnshire. His eyes

narrowed as he saw that she was alone. A cold smile played on

his lips as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel

impatiently. It was Thomas Consor, her husband that hewanted to get his hands on. Having already rung the bell andhad no reply, he’d decided to sit in the car and wait for him. It

seemed as though the man he was looking for was in the bungalow after all.

Struggling with her shopping, the diminutive woman

clambered out of the red Ford Fiesta and slammed the car doorshut with her elbow, then she made her way up the flower

lined pathway that split the garden into two small well-keptlawns, to the front door; the four plastic bags in her hands were

hampering her as she fumbled in her handbag for the key to

unlock it. Irritably she turned the key in the lock and pushedthe door open with her foot. Rusty, her ginger tom cat, gave a

squeal as her shoe trapped his paw as he attempted to squeeze

through the partly open door.

‘Get out of the way you stupid cat,’ she snapped nastily,her temper getting the better of her, as she stumbled into thesmall neat hallway, almost falling over him.

A highly polished grandfather clock standing in the corner

of the hallway gonged the half hour as she put the bags downon the carpet and closed the door behind her, then, reaching

out, she put the security chain on. Thomas had always insistedon this.

‘You never know,’ was his often used comment. Rusty ignored her remarks as he padded swiftly through

the entrance hall and into the kitchen to where his smelly dish

of cat food was situated. He was tucking into it as Mavis



picked up the four large plastic carrier bags, then with somedifficulty, followed the cat into the kitchen; she gave a deep

sigh of relief as she heaved her shopping up on to theworktop. Glancing down at Rusty, she shook her head in

disbelief at the way he was gobbling his food down so

greedily. It seemed as if he hadn’t had anything to eat for aweek. Reaching up and opening the cupboard doors, she

meticulously placed the goods she had bought, neatly on the

shelves; after closing the doors, she pulled off the silk scarfthat she had wrapped around her head to keep her ears warm

and hung it over the back of one of the chairs that were

pushed up to the table, then, taking a seat in the chair, the littlewoman kicked off her shoes and held out her left leg as she

studied the bunion on her foot and the resulting misshapen bigtoe. Wincing with pain, she leaned over and massaged it for a

few seconds before pulling on her slippers. Straightening upshe heaved a sigh of relief and sat for a moment to gather her

thoughts before getting to her feet, filling the electric kettle

and switching it on. She gave a long heartfelt sigh as she took

off her coat and hung it on a hook on the back of the closetdoor.

‘I’m sorry I trod on your foot Rusty,’ she murmuredfeelingly, as she reached down and stroked the cat who was

tucking into his meal, adding as she did so, ‘ but you shouldn’t be so impatient.’

The cat cocked his head to one side and glanced up at her

momentarily out of the corner of his eye, then turned back tohis meal, completely oblivious to her soft words.

After making herself a cup of tea, she went into the loungeand flopped down in an armchair and relaxed. Rusty, having

finished eating, jumped up onto her lap, purring as she ran her

hands along his soft furry back. Half closing her eyes, she laidher head back and rested it on the back of the armchair, as she

cast her mind back to the days when her husband Thomas sat

in the other chair opposite her. She could see him now with hisnewspaper spread out on his knees, his half-glasses perched on

the end of his nose, snoring away. Smiling inwardly, she again pictured him in the evenings looking over the rims of his



glasses at the television, watching the news, whilst at the sametime reading his evening paper. She wiped a tear from the

corner of her eye with the back of her hand. Suddenly she satup straight in the chair and pulled herself together. Rusty, who

had been stretched out on her lap, purring at the attention he

was being given, was unceremoniously dumped on the floor.‘How silly of me to get so upset, I can’t bring him back.’

she muttered out loud.

Mavis, her slim figure, firm features and clear blue eyes, belying her sixty one years, took a sip of her tea. She was too

young to be a widow, friends had kept telling her. She could

hardly believe that it was five years since she’d lost Tommy.He was just fifty-one when he’d had his first stroke and lost

the use of his left arm. For the following three years he wasundergoing physiotherapy and had just about recovered the full

use of his arm. He was looking forward eagerly to getting backon the golf course again, when he was struck down by a

massive second stroke. She dabbed her eyes as she

remembered him being reduced to a helpless shell of the man

he used to be. Within two months he had passed away. It had been hard going for her from then on. The pittance which the

government called a ‘Widow’s Pension’ had to besupplemented by income from her job as a part-time carer.

They hadn’t had any children; a failing that he had always blamed on himself. It seemed that it was in his family. He had

an uncle and a great uncle who had suffered the same fate. His

dad had always said that it was something in the genes. Friendshad told her to get herself a man, she smiled to herself.

‘I’ve got enough to do running about after old men in my job,’ she’d told them. ‘I don’t want one at home as well.’

Shaking her slightly greying head she took another sip of

her tea, and was just placing the cup back on the saucer, whenthe doorbell rang.

‘Who could that be?’ she murmured, as she pushed herself

up from the comfortable chair and shuffled along the hallwayto the front door in her slippers.

‘Who is it?’ she called out nervously as she placed her earto the door.



‘Electricity Board Missus,’ a loud voice replied. ‘I need tocheck your meter. It won’t take a minute.’

Leaving the chain fastened, she opened the door slightlyand peered through the gap. A tall, well-built young man, who

looked to be in his mid-twenties, dressed in a navy blue and

orange donkey jacket, smiled down at her.‘It’s a bit late for checking meters isn’t it?’ she queried, a

puzzled look on her face.

The young man checked his wrist watch; it showed fourforty-five.

‘It’s my last call,’ he told her, smiling disarmingly, adding,

‘I finish at five-o-clock.’ She hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly undid the

latch and stood back as she opened the door and let him in.Closing the door behind him he followed her into the kitchen,

where she pointed out the cupboard where the meter wassituated. His eyes narrowed as he saw a photograph on a shelf.

It was of a man in his forties.

‘Your husband?’ he put to her as he opened the cupboard

door and wrote down the reading in a notebook that he tookfrom his pocket.

She nodded wistfully as she turned to go into the lounge.‘Yes, it’s a photograph of my husband Thomas, he died

five years ago.’ The young man’s brow furrowed; he plucked at his bottom

lip for a couple of seconds, as he thought the unexpected

information over in his mind. Thomas Consor had been histarget. The fact that he was dead came as a surprise. It meant a

change of plans. His eyes narrowed as he looked down atMavis. She raised her eyebrows and returned his look, there

was a questioning expression on her face, a frown creased her

forehead as she noted the sudden change that came over hiscountenance.

‘You’re not from the Electricity Board are you?’ she said

tremulously, as she nervously ran her fingers through her hair.He didn’t answer, his blue eyes cold and unfeeling, as he

re-assessed the situation that confronted him. If only he hadchecked Thomas Consor’s circumstances thoroughly, he told



himself. One thing was certain; he couldn’t allow this womanto reveal his identity, it would wreck his plans. There was only

one way out he decided. She must take her husband’s place.Mavis, still looking up at him, saw the menace in his eyes.

She shook her head slowly from side to side, as she nervously

raised her hand to her mouth. Fearing for her safety, she turnedand ran into the lounge, a frightened expression on her face.

Taking purposeful strides, he followed her, pulling on a

pair of surgical gloves as he did so.She stopped and turned to face him.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she shrilled, taking a step

backwards. ‘You don’t know me.’He had a mirthless smile on his face as he looked down at

the frightened woman.‘No, but I know all about your husband,’ he rasped as he

closed in on her.‘What did my husband do to you?’ she retorted.

‘It isn’t what he did to me, it’s what he did to my father,’

he snapped.

‘I’ll call the police,’ she gasped threateningly as shereached out for the phone.

‘Oh no you won’t,’ the man hissed as she gr abbed the phone. Pulling violently on the phone wire, he wrenched it

from its socket.Reaching out to her, he wrapped the length of telephone

wire around her neck. Her eyes widened in terror as he pulled

it tight. She swung out with the phone which she still had inher hand, giving him a glancing blow on his forehead. He

knocked it out of her grasp. Grabbing his wrists with her smallhands, she attempted to loosen his grip. To no avail, he was too

strong for her. There was a maniacal expression in his eyes as

she slumped to the floor in a lifeless heap.Breathing deeply from his efforts, he looked down at the

dead woman sprawled behind the settee, where she had fallen.

Pushing locks of his hair back from his sweating forehead, hewent into the bathroom and looked on the glass shelves where

the woman had left numerous items of makeup.



‘Ahh …’ he grunted, as he spotted what he was lookingfor. It was a stick of lipstick. Opening it, he went over to the

large mirror that hung over the wash basin. On it he wrote avertical line about nine inches long. There was a hard

unfeeling smile on his face.

‘Number one,’ he muttered, through clenched teeth.Then, after carefully placing the lipstick holder back on the

shelf, he went into the hallway. After a quick look round to

make sure he hadn’t left any incriminating evidence, he tookoff the surgical gloves and placed them in his pocket as he

slipped silently out of the door and made his way back to his

car. The road was deserted as he climbed in behind the steeringwheel and started the engine.

‘That’s the first one,’ he muttered out loud, a satisfied glintin his icy blue eyes, as he engaged the gear and set off for

Lincoln.



Chapter Two

Nathan Brinderling, carrying the small case that held all his

worldly belongings, raised his hand as he gave a nonchalantfarewell wave to the guard at the big double gates of Lincoln

Prison. The guard, a grim smile on his face, nodded his head in

reply as he pressed a button and opened the gates to let the

rough looking man out.

‘See you next year Nat.’ he called out, a knowingexpression on his ruddy face. He’d seen it all before. They allmade a solemn promise to themselves, whilst they were inside,

that they were going to go straight, invariably they all broke it.Brinderling shook his head from side to side as he strode

through the gates to where transport was waiting for him.

‘Not this time,’ he replied meaningfully with a shake of hishead, as he turned and climbed into the minibus that had been

provided. A few minutes later the imposing twin turrets of the prison disappeared, as the minibus turned the corner to go

down to the bus station in the centre of Lincoln. The driver

wished him luck, as the tall lean man jumped off and walkedacross to the bus stand. His destination was Boston. The only

bus that was in the station was the one to Louth. It was just

about to leave. Nathan quickened his stride as he approached

the driver.‘Can you tell me when the next bus to Boston is due?’ he

enquired.

The bus driver leaned out of the side window and called

out to him.‘I would say about three hours.’

After a few seconds pondering his next move, he suddenlymade his mind up and jumped on the bus. Half an hour or so

later he arrived at Louth. Thanking the driver he disembarked.After wandering round the town centre for ten minutes andgetting nowhere, he decided to make some enquiries. He was

told again that there wouldn’t be a bus to Boston for three



hours. He figured that would be the same bus he had enquiredafter when he was in Lincoln. His brow furrowed as he thought

over what he should do next. After a few seconds he made hismind up and decided that he would try to hitch a lift.

An elderly couple laden with shopping, were walking with

some difficulty towards him.‘Excuse me,’ he said to them as they approached him.

‘Can you tell me which is the best way to Boston?’

The elderly couple stopped and looked at each other for afew seconds. Then the man turned his attention to him.

‘Now let me see,’ he muttered as he pushed his cap over

his eyes and scratched the back of his head as he thought overthe younger man’s enquiry.

‘There’s one or two ways from here, but I reckon if you goto Ulceby Cross, you can turn right and you’ll eventually come

to Boston.’He turned to his wife. ‘What do you think Lil?’

‘Well first of all Tommy, has he got a car?’ she said as she

turned to Nathan, an enquiring look in her faded blue eyes.

Nathan looked at her and shook his head negatively.‘I haven’t got a car,’ he told them, adding, ‘I was intending

to have a go at hitch hiking there.’ Tommy stroked his chin and looked down at his shoes as

he weighed up the situation.‘I’ll tell you what,’ he grunted. ‘We are going to Spawlsby.

You can have a lift with us, then from Spawlsby you have a

straight road into Boston.‘That’s really good of you,’ said Brinderling a little

emotionally. It was the first time anyone had shown him anyfriendliness for quite some time.

‘Come on then dear,’ Lil told him. ‘We’ll go to the car.’

‘Here, give me one of those bags, m’love.’ Nathan toldher, reaching out and taking one of the two heavy carrier bags

from her. She smiled appreciatively as he followed them to

where the car, a Ford Anglia, was parked. Climbing into therear seat Nathan settled down as the grey haired old man

turned on the ignition. After a couple of coughs the old enginespluttered to life and they were on their way. The journey



through the rolling Lincolnshire countryside was a pleasantone. Half an hour later the old man pulled the car up in a car

park in the centre of Spawlsby. After he thanked them profusely they drove off. He stood for a few seconds plucking

at his bottom lip, as he took in his surroundings. On the

opposite side to the car park he saw a large public house, theRed Lion. Carrying his case in his hand he walked across the

road and entered the pub. A large slot machine standing in the

corner clicked monotonously through the prizes on offer as hemade his way his way to the bar and ordered a pint of bitter.

There was a strong smell of stale tobacco smoke as he leaned

on the bar and cast his eyes around the room. The barman, aknowing expression on his face, pulled the drink and slid it

across the bar to the hard looking individual in front of him.‘That will be one pound fifty,’ he told him in a gruff voice.

Nathan thanked him and placed the money on the bar top.He looked at the glass of beer, topped with a half inch of white

froth, for a few seconds. He smiled inwardly; it had been a

long time since he’d had the pleasure. Lifting it to his lips he

savoured it as he took a long drink. With a look of satisfactionon his face he placed the half empty glass on the bar top as he

contemplated his next move. He took another swig of his beeras his eyes again wandered around the spacious room, half of

which was set out as a dining area; lifting his arm he checkedhis watch, which was showing two-fifteen. He was beginning

to feel hungry so he walked over to a vacant table. An

attractive blonde haired waitress was placing two meals infront of an elderly couple on an adjoining table as he pulled

out a chair and sat down; he called her over.‘Yes sir, can I help you?’ she enquired, as she approached

the table.

Nathan raised his eyebrows and looked up at her. He likedwhat he saw; her long lashes were half covering her blue eyes

as she looked down at him, a broad smile on her face.

One side of his lip lifted in a half smile, as he lookedacross at the elderly couple she had just served; they were

tucking in to a plate of burger and chips.



‘Can you bring me what they’re having?’ he drawled as henodded towards the couple and pointed with his finger.

Acknowledging with a nod of her head, the couple he was pointing out, she took out a writing pad from a pocket in her

apron and wrote down, mouthing the words. ‘One burger and

chips.’‘Will that be all?’ she asked him in a friendly tone of

voice.

He nodded in reply, casting an appreciative eye on her rearas she turned and walked away swaying her hips. She returned

a few minutes later with his order, which she placed on the

table in front of him.‘That will be two pounds fifty,’ she announced as she

handed him a knife and fork.He reached into his pocket and gave her three pounds,

waving away the change. She smiled in appreciation as she lefthim to attend to another couple who had taken a table at the

rear of the dining area. He sat back for a moment, knife and

fork in hand, as he looked down at the heap of crispy chips and

the hamburger in front of him.His mouth watered in anticipation, he paused and took a

deep breath before hungrily tucking into the inviting meal.Spearing the last chip with his fork, he leaned back in his chair

and loosened his belt. He’d enjoyed that he told himself, as hetook out a tin and plucked out a handmade cigarette.

The barman nodded imperceptibly; there was a slight smile

of justification on his fat face as he noticed the dark tobaccoand thinly rolled cigarettes in the tin.

‘I thought so,’ he muttered to himself as he wiped the barover with a soiled cloth.

Lighting the cigarette, Nathan Brinderling half closed his

eyes; leaning back in his chair he took a deep drag, as hecontemplated his present situation. At thirty years old, he

hadn’t much to show for his endeavours, he told himself.

Scratching the stubble on his chin, he blew a perfect smokering and watched it drift slowly towards the ceiling, before

eventually evaporating, as he cast his mind back over his lifeso far. Abandoned by his mother at the age of four, he’d spent



the next twelve years in a children’s home on the outskirts ofSheffield in Yorkshire: bullied by the older boys, he’d been

made to fight other boys his age two or three times a week.Sometimes he’d won. Going to bed with a throbbing head was

the usual outcome. His eyes were still half closed as he took

another deep pull on his cigarette. He’d learned to look afterhimself the hard way. The next couple of years were spent in

foster homes; that is when anyone would have him.

‘Who could blame them?’ he told himself with an almostimperceptible shrug of his shoulders, as he let the cigarette

smoke drift slowly down his nostrils. He was in trouble with

the police most of the time.He tipped his head back as he took a long swig of his beer,

his brown eyes dreamily peering through the cloud of bluesmoke that drifted to the ceiling; He gave a deep heartfelt sigh.

It felt good to be on the outside again‘A penny for your thoughts,’

The softly spoken voice interrupted his reflections. He

turned his head and looked over his shoulder at the woman

who’d served him earlier.‘You’d be robbed,’ he told her, a sardonic grin on his

stubbly face.‘Surely things are not as bad as that,’ she replied, her brow

creased concernedly; she placed a tray half full of emptyglasses on the table, and took the empty seat opposite him.

He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table and

looked deep into her blue eyes. The shoulder length, natural blonde hair, framed nicely shaped, quite attractive features that

were just beginning to show signs of wear.‘About thirty I would say,’ he muttered, a half smile on his

face.

‘Twenty-nine,’ she told him smiling; just catching theruggedly handsome man’s comment. He had a broad northern

accent, she told herself. She cocked her head on one side

inquisitively. ‘You’re not local, are you?’‘No!’ he exclaimed, taking another pull on his cigarette

and shaking his head. ‘I’m originally from Yorkshire.’ He placed the cigarette butt in the ashtray on the table and raised



an eyebrow. ‘Sheffield to be exact.’ He paused for a moment before telling her, ‘I’ve just moved into the area.’

He wasn’t about to tell her that he’d recently been releasedfrom prison, where he’d spent the last two years at her

majesty’s pleasure, for breaking and entering. Oh he hadn‘t

hurt anyone, but it had been one of many incidents over theyears, all petty stuff. It had all started with probation when he

was sixteen. Since his eighteenth birthday, he’d progressed to

being a jail bird. As the judge had said, he was becoming a prolific lawbreaker.

‘If you come in front of me again, you’ll go away for a

very long time,’ was his cold, unfeeling announcement. That was when he’d made his mind up to make a change in

his life style. He’d had enough. He’d decided that he didn’twant to spend the rest of his life going in and out of prison.

‘Are you staying in Spawlsby?’ she enquired, suddenly bringing him back to the present.

He didn’t answer her as he looked down into his near

empty glass, rims of froth indicating each swig he’d taken. He

played with the glass, turning it round and round on the table.She leaned forward on her elbows, taking in the troubled look

that clouded his brown eyes.‘My mother takes in lodgers,’ she volunteered, noticing the

case at his feet. ‘If you haven’t found anywhere to stay yet,I’m sure she would be able to provide room for you.’

Still looking into his glass, he chewed on his bottom lip for

a moment, thinking over her offer, then, raising his eyebrows,he looked her in the eyes.

‘Why would you want to help me?’ he asked. He wasn’taccustomed to people caring about what happened to him.

‘You don’t even know my name.’

She smiled, telling him. ‘We can soon put that right,’Reaching across the table, she held out her hand. ‘My name is

Sheryll Brinckersley.’

He gently took the small hand in his large palm and shookit.

‘Nathan Brinderling,’ he replied, showing a perfect set ofteeth as he smiled widely.



‘That’s better,’ she told him. ‘You look almost humanwhen you smile.’

He laughed at her, his brown eyes twinkling as he emptiedhis glass and put it on the tray that she had placed on the table.

‘What time do you finish?’ he asked.

‘Three thirty,’ she told him as she picked up the tray; thenas an afterthought she asked him.

‘Do you have a car?’

He shook his head ruefully as she picked up the tray inreadiness to take it to the bar. She stopped for a moment and

turned back to him asking.

‘How did you get here?’‘I hitch hiked,’ he told her, adding, ‘I was on my way to

Boston to get a job.’‘Have you got anywhere to stay tonight?’

Again he shook his head.‘Well, as I’ve told you, my mum’s got a boarding house in

Hendleby. I’m sure she will have a room spare.’

Nathan stroked his stubbly chin for a few seconds, as he

thought over what she had said, then looking into her eyes heinformed her in a low voice,

‘I reckon that will do nicely.’ She studied him for a few seconds, before leaving with the

tray, which she placed on the bar.The barman waddled over to her, having seen her talking

to the rough looking man.

‘What did he have to say Sheryll? he asked her, keepinghis voice low.

‘Not a lot,’ she replied with a shrug of her shoulders,adding. ‘He did tell me that he was looking for a job.’

‘Well I would be careful if I were you,’ he advised her. ‘I

reckon he hasn’t been long out of the nick.’ She frowned as she went to get her coat. She approached

him and told him that she had a car. Brinderling followed her

out to the small pub car park that was situated at the front ofthe building. Throwing his case on to the rear seat he climbed

into the passenger seat of the neat little Ford Fiesta as Sheryll



fastened her seat belt and started the engine; a few secondslater they drove out on to the main road.

‘It isn’t very far,’ she told him conversationally as shechanged gear and accelerated.

He looked across at her, a questioning expression on his

face.‘Are you married?’ he enquired, as he shuffled his

backside about to make himself more comfortable.

‘No,’ she replied with a slight shake of her head. ‘I didhave a man friend, but it didn’t work out.’ She paused for a

couple of seconds before adding. ‘We split up two years ago.’

‘And you?’ she asked, taking her eyes off the road andlooking back at him out of the corner of her eye.

He grinned. Telling her:‘No woman with a ha’porth of sense would have me.’

She smiled inwardly, for some reason his answer made herfeel good.

After a few minutes they came to a large house with a sign

advertising “Board and Lodgings”. A good sized garden,

surrounded by bushes, fronted the house. A long flower lineddrive led up to it. Sheryll turned the car into the drive and

drove up to the closed garage doors at the side of the house. Nathan followed her as they climbed out of the car and

approached the front door.‘Mum,’ she called out as she entered the house. ‘I’ve

brought you a customer.’

A well-endowed woman in her late fifties, her greying hairhung in curlers, came to meet them as they walked through the

door and stood in the hallway.Her lips were compressed for a few seconds as she looked

him up and down, taking in his unshaven chin and his

crumpled clothes; she didn’t seem impressed with his scruffyappearance. Her daughter spoke up.

‘His name is Nathan, Mum …’ she paused for a second

and turned to him.‘Nathan, er, Brinderling,’ he volunteered hesitantly.



‘He’s just moved into the area Mum. He needs somewhereto stay,’ she said, adding somewhat hastily. ‘I told him he

could come here.’ ‘Humph,’ muttered Doris Brinckersley; pinning him with

her eyes; her arms folded as if to support her ample bosom.

‘How long will you be staying for?’ she enquired sharply,a deep frown between her eyes.

‘Just a few days,’ he told her with a shrug of his shoulders,

as he averted his eyes and looked down at his shoes to avoidher piercing gaze.

‘You’re not in any trouble are you,’ she probed, a

suspicious tone in her voice.He shook his head as he looked her in the eyes, his jaw

jutting out.‘No I’m not,’ he replied firmly.

Suddenly making up her mind, she told him abruptly.‘Follow me,’ as she turned away from him and led the way

up a long flight of stairs, Sheryll bringing up the rear. On

reaching the landing, she stopped, a little breathlessly outside

one of the rooms and gave him a key.‘This is your room,’ she told him, adding with a wrinkling

of her nose at the faint smell of stale sweat and indicating witha nod of her head …‘The bathroom is next door,’ as he turned

the key and entered the room.‘Breakfast is at eight a.m. evening meal at six thirty p.m,’

she called after him. ‘Oh, and you can pay me on Saturday

morning.’ With this she set off back down the stairs. Nathan

Brinderling smiled to himself. ‘She would have made a goodwarder at Lincoln,’ he muttered under his breath, as he entered

the room.

‘Do you think you will be all right here?’ Sheryll enquired, poking her head round the door.

‘Yes it’ll do nicely,’ he assured her with a nod of his head,

as she closed the door and went back down the stairs.Dropping his small case on the floor, he cast his eyes

round the spotlessly clean, but sparsely furnished room. Itcontained a wash basin, a wardrobe, an old sideboard and a



single bed, a picture of what looked like the local church hungon the wall. He looked through the mirror over the sink; there

was a rasping sound as he scratched his unshaven chinruefully. What he saw wasn’t a pretty sight.

‘Not exactly the Ritz,’ he told himself, a little ruefully, as

he ran his eyes around the room.‘Still,’ he thought with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘It’s better

than what I’ve been used to over the last two years.’

Kicking his shoes off, he flopped down on the bed, placinghis hands behind his head he looked up at the ceiling,

concentrating his eyes on a crack that ran across it, as he

thought over his next move. He certainly wasn’t going to gethimself put away again, he told himself. From now on he was

going to play it straight. After a few minutes he got up andemptied his pockets out on to the well-worn duvet.

He had a twenty pound note, a tenner, a fiver, and one pound forty in loose change.

‘Thirty six pounds forty,’ he sniffed, looking disdainfully

down at the money. ‘I’m not going to get very far on that.’

He scratched his head. He knew the amount of money hehad wouldn’t be enough. At least he didn’t have to find any

money until Saturday. It was Wednesday today; that gave himthree days. He had one problem. Where was he going to get

some money? The amount he had wouldn’t last long; in fact itwouldn’t be enough to tide him over until he could earn a

wage. The first thing he had to do was to get himself a job. He

smiled grimly to himself; who was he kidding, he wouldn’t get paid before next week; he hadn’t come across a firm yet that

paid wages in advance.‘It’s no good,’ he told himself out loud with a slight shake

of his head. ‘I’ll have to do one more job.’

He punched his right fist into the palm of his left hand inexasperation; he had intended to go straight. Shrugging his

shoulders, he took his jacket off. He pulled his face as he

smelled the stale sweat under his arms. Opening his case hetook out his razor, then, picking up his towel he went into the

bathroom and turned on the shower. After a good scrub and ashave, he felt much better. He dressed and put on a clean shirt,



then, sitting on the edge of the bed, he thought over in his mindwhat was to be his next move. First of all he told himself, he

had to check out the area. Slipping his jacket on again, heopened the door carefully and checked the landing; it was

clear. After quietly closing the door behind him, he descended

the stairs. Sheryll was just coming out of the lounge as hereached the bottom.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you going out?’

‘I’m just off to the shop, I’ve run out of fags,’ he answeredlamely as he reached out and opened the front door to leave.

‘Don’t forget, dinner’s at six-thirty,’ a voice shrilled from

the kitchen.He smiled at Sheryll, the smell of steak pie drifting along

the hallway made him feel hungry.‘Smells good,’ he told her as he went out of the door.

The boarding house was situated on Hendleby Road. Itwas just beginning to spit with rain as he decided to walk away

from Spawlsby, to what seemed a quieter area. The rain was

getting heavy as he passed the post office. A couple of hundred

yards further on, he came across a bungalow that stood well back from the main highway. A red car stood in the driveway.

He pulled up his coat collar as he stood for a few seconds andlooked up and down the road, to check there was no one about.

It was deserted. With his hands deep in his pockets he strollednonchalantly up the long path and approached the front door.

‘The trick,’ he told himself, ‘was to check if the property

was occupied without arousing any suspicion.’ The rain waslashing down as he confidently reached out and rang the

doorbell. There was no response as it echoed through thehouse; he rang again. A pool of water was forming around his

feet as he waited for a couple of minutes, then he reached out

and turned the door handle; it was unlocked. He gave it a pushand the door swung open; he couldn’t believe his luck as he

cautiously stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind

him. He frowned as he looked down at the pool of water thathad formed inside the door. After taking a couple of minutes to

get his bearings, he stealthily made his way into the smallhallway; the kitchen was his first stop. After checking the



drawers in the unit, he cast an experienced eye around theshelves, he noticed a sugar caddy which hadn’t been placed

with the tea and coffee containers; his eyes lit up as he reachedup and took it down from the shelf and forced the lid off. It

was crammed with notes. He smiled inwardly as he quickly

counted it out. One hundred and twenty five pounds.‘That will do for a start,’ he muttered under his breath as

he pushed the roll of banknotes into his pocket; then he went

into the dark lounge. The curtains were drawn. He couldhardly see where he was going as he leaned forward and felt

his way across the room.

‘Ouch!’ he exclaimed, as he knocked over a standing lampwith his head. There was a crash as it hit the floor, smashing

the bulb, causing him to trip up and fall over it, landing on hisknees. He winced with pain as his kneecap came into contact

with something on the floor; rubbing the painful areavigorously he looked down. The object glinted in the dark

amongst the shards of glass from the broken lamp bulb. He

picked it up; it was a man’s wrist watch. Dropping it in his

pocket he was about to get to his feet when he saw whatlooked like a hand sticking out from behind the settee. The hair

on the back of his neck stood up as he righted the standinglamp and hoisted himself up onto his feet. Reaching into his

pocket, he pulled out a book of matches; striking one of thematches, he looked down.

‘What the hell!’ he gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he

gazed down at the body of an elderly woman; it was obviousthat she was dead. Her unseeing eyes were staring vacantly.

Her face was purple, almost certainly caused by the ligatureround her neck. He reached out and checked her pulse. There

was no sign of life. Swiftly blowing out the match, which was

beginning to burn his thumb, he carefully backed out of theroom.

His brow creased as the enormity of the situation that he

had stumbled into suddenly hit him.Here he was robbing a house with a dead woman’s body in

it. If he left any incriminating evidence, he was going to be thenumber one suspect.





Lethal Response

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