Scimitar Read online

  Scimitar follows the interlocking lives of three groups of people. It begins with the lives of two boys, Jack and Arthur, who both live in a northern mining town. When the two boys are thrown together attending the same school they become friends. Meanwhile another young man, Robert, is courting the love of his life, Kerry, and takes advantage of a warm summer evening to propose to her.

  As time passes the boys grow apart. They are both clever and follow their school careers by going on to university. The young man and his wife settle into married life and eventually are blessed with the birth of a daughter. Time moves on inexorably until the lives of three of these people dramatically collide with horrendous consequences.

  Another young boy, Daniel, is woken in the night by a noise but he can’t decide whether it is actually happening or if it’s part of a vivid dream. He recalls the dream in the morning but with it comes the conundrum of a remembered message. No matter how he tries, he can make no sense of it. A greeting on his friend’s calculator suddenly triggers his memory of the message and leads to its solution. But the solution, if it is a solution, is even more disconcerting than the original cryptic message.

  Daniel is not prepared to believe that the messages are real and prefers to consign them to his dreams although he acts on the ‘advice’ he receives and eventually plucks up courage to talk to Sophie, a young girl in his class. They become friends and eventually she tells Daniel about her mother who was murdered when Sophie was very young. Daniel seems to be blessed with wisdom and understanding beyond his years and comforts her.

  At university, Sophie meets Dr Jonathan, her course tutor. They share a passion for history and when her tutor offers to help her with her reading list she readily accepts. Circumstances begin to spiral out of control and eventually Daniel, despite his better judgement, is drawn into the situation. The voice in his head seems to have returned, as troubling as ever and, as last time time, Daniel acts on the advice he seems to be given.

  Other books by Terry Wheeler available as Kindle books:

  Eric the First

  - a 12 year old boy approaches his teen years and wonders why life is never simple

  Eric the Second

  - Eric’s continuing adventures, as he rounds off the school year

  The Twin Keys of Lapis

  - a time travel adventure in which not everything is as it seems

  Sarah

  - a secret discovered and a chance sighting lead Sarah to discover more than she expects

  The Long House Mystery

  - a quarrel, a hidden case and a deserted house lead Ralph into an unexpected adventure

  Coming soon:

  The Balafreys

  - the second book of Lapis in which time travel proves to be more challenging

  Eric - The Early Years

  - his family reflect on Eric’s birth and we see him developing his unique take on life

  Eric - On The Threshold

  - about to take his GCSE examinations, Eric and his friends have to make decisions

  The Axeford Saga

  - young people from Axeford tell of their lives

  Scimitar

  Terry Wheeler

  2015

  Scimitar is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © Terry Wheeler 2015

  The author would like to acknowledge the help and advice given by Samantha Hepburn who proof read the book and offered advice. It is always invaluable to have another person’s point of view. He would also like to acknowledge his wife for her patience in giving him time to write.

  If you would like to comment on this book you can contact the author by email at [email protected]

  Chapter 1

  What do you do with a dead body? That’s what Jack wanted to know. That’s what he needed to know. Urgently. Until today it had never been something that he’d thought about but now everything had changed and he had to come up with a solution to his problem.

  One part of Jack’s mind was fizzing with delight at his discovery. What a story it would make. It was almost unbelievable, the stuff of fantasy, the kind of thing you dreamt about. The other part of Jack’s brain was more rational. He knew he couldn’t tell anyone about his discovery and a dead body meant that someone had killed the man. What if the murderer was watching? Would he, Jack, be the next dead body?

  Looking down at the dead man, he realised it was time to do some very quick thinking.

  He knew, of course, that he should call the police — and he intended to do that just as soon as he’d thought things through a bit more carefully. He needed time to make sense of the thoughts that were tumbling round in his head and, the moment he’d done that, he would inform them of what he’d found. A short delay wouldn’t make much difference. The dead man, he reasoned, wasn’t going anywhere.

  After a moment’s thought he reached two conclusions. The first was that the police would take over and the dead body would no longer be Jack’s problem. That would be good. The second was that he’d have to explain what he was doing here. That would definitely be bad.

  Close on the heels of those two thoughts was the nagging worry that he would automatically become a suspect. The police may well think that he had killed the man. He sighed; life was never easy. Unless you were dead, of course, and then it didn’t matter any more.

  There were flies on the man’s face. Jack half expected him to move his hand and swat them off. It gave him the creeps watching the flies walking over the guy’s face, over his eyelids and into his nostrils. He felt the muscles in his stomach tighten and he broke out in a cold sweat. The flies were crawling inside the man’s head, in through the gaping hole in his forehead. Jack’s vision began to blur. He turned his head and threw up.

  Something told him that chucking up here was not good. Now there was evidence linking him to the body and the murder scene, and his situation was getting worse by the minute. He should have been terrified but mixed in with his panic he felt a curious thrill; this was a real adventure, not something from a book or a TV cop show, it was actually happening and he was in it. For a moment he allowed himself the indulgence of telling his friends about it and he imagined himself the object of their admiration, but then common sense kicked in — he had no friends. He would have to deal with this on his own and it would remain his secret — but not his alone, somewhere out there, he didn’t know where and he didn’t know who, but somewhere out there was the murderer.

  He racked his brains trying to think of a good reason for his being here and came up with nothing. Why would an eleven year old boy be inside a disused shed on a closed down, derelict factory site? And more pressing, why wasn’t he in school? The problems were multiplying faster than he could find answers.

  It would take some explaining. Part of the problem was that he couldn’t tell them the real reason why he was here, that he had no friends, that he hated his new school, that the boys in his class picked on him and that he’d bunked off. That put him in the wrong straight away. And he couldn’t tell them that this was such a great place to hang out: it was full of locked doors, empty warehouses and piles of junk — he spent hours here just nosing around.

  He could say that he’d come here because it was quiet and away from the other kids but that wasn’t a very convincing excuse, especially when there was so much open countryside around. And in any case, all the other kids were in school — exactly where he should have been. He could say that he’d come here looking for something but then they’d ask how he know it was here. Why had he crawled through a hole in the perimeter fence? He could just hear the policeman.

  ‘Don’t you know you a
re trespassing? Trespass is a criminal offence.’

  And the policeman would ask him what he’d come looking for. What could he say then? It would be useless to say he’d been playing with a football and he’d kicked the ball over the wire — it still wouldn’t explain why he’d come so far into the site or why he had crawled into the shed through a loose board at the side.

  The door to the shed was padlocked. He’d checked that before he’d walked round it. He cursed his curiosity. If it hadn’t been for a couple of loose boards at the side which left a gap just big enough for a boy to crawl through he’d have walked away.

  He moved away wrinkling his nose; the body was beginning to smell and his vomit had done nothing to improve the air quality in the shed. He looked around to see if there was anything he could use to scrape up his vomit or to cover it over. The place was thick with dust. Clearly it had been shut up for years, but there were tracks from the door to the body where it had been dragged in and lots of footprints. And then there were his footprints from the hole in the wall leading to the body.

  His mind was working overtime. He couldn’t erase his footprints without it being obvious. He’d have to leave in the same way because the door was padlocked. At least that would leave two clear sets of footprints — his coming and going through the loose boards and the others, coming and going through the door. If they followed it up they’d realise that the hole in the wall wasn’t big enough to get a man’s body through so he might get away with it.

  The only thing left to sort out was why he was here. The truth would be too difficult so he was stuck with making up a story. There was always the good old standby of chasing a dog.

  ‘You see, officer, he was limping badly,’ he said out loud, practising his speech, ‘and I thought he was hurt. I couldn’t leave him when he ran into the site. I thought he came this way and when I couldn’t see him I wondered if he’d crept in here through the loose boards. I went to the door but it was padlocked so I crawled in through the gap and this is what I found.’

  It seemed plausible but could he keep a straight face when he told it to the police? And where was the dog now?

  ‘Well, I forgot about the dog when I found the body and realised I’d have to call you. I mean, a dead man is more important than a hurt dog, isn’t it, officer?’

  He smiled. That was a good touch. But would they fall for it? He had no other ideas and so he was stuck with it.

  His smile faded as soon as he realised that he’d probably be taken back to school by one of the officers. Then he’d have to face Sarky, the head teacher. He’d get a caning and then there’d be a note home and his Dad would probably take his belt to him — suddenly things were looking much less promising.

  He took one last look at the body. He was tempted to go through the pockets but he knew that the forensic squad would pick up his fingerprints so he left it and backed towards the loose boards.

  The gap seemed smaller from the inside and he only just managed to wriggle back out. The light was bright after the darkness of the shed and he stayed crouching down while his eyes adjusted to the brightness.

  ‘So, what have we here?’ a voice said.

  Jack thought he must have jumped at least two feet in the air and his heart was beating so fast that he felt as if it was going to explode in his chest. There was something in the intonation of the man’s voice that scared Jack. The man might be dangerous. He sounded desperate; perhaps he was the murderer.

  ‘No, don’t turn round,’ the voice said just as Jack was about to look round.

  ‘Put your hands above your head and lean against the shed.’

  Jack was scared and did as he was told putting his hands out against the hot wood of the shed. He kept his eyes on the ground wondering how long it would be before he was stretched out beside the body in the shed.

  ‘I was just looking for me dog, mister,’ he said. ‘He’s around here somewhere.’

  ‘I’ve been watching you, sonny. There wasn’t any dog, then or now. And it certainly wasn’t a dog you found in the shed was it?’ He laughed. ‘Why aren’t you in school like a good boy?’

  So the man knew about the body. For some reason he didn’t understand, Jack decided to tell the truth. After all, if this man was going to kill him it wouldn’t make any difference and he’d rather die with a clear conscience than be telling lies.

  ‘I don’t like school. No one likes me. I often cut off after registration. They never miss me.’

  His confession was greeted with a prolonged silence. At last the man spoke.

  ‘I guess we’ve both got secrets, then,’ he said. ‘But remember, it’s not wise to tell secrets to other people. People can get hurt doing that,’ he added.

  ‘Can I take me arms down, Mister?’ he asked.

  He was beginning to feel a bit light-headed. He caught the smell of sick on his breath. Fear was beginning to melt his insides and he was afraid that he was going to wet himself. He was in trouble, real trouble this time, and he didn’t like the feel of it at all.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ the man said. ‘I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to trust you. Don’t do anything, don’t even look round. Stay here until you’ve counted to a hundred. Slowly. Then go back to school. If I ever find out you’ve said anything there’ll be trouble and you’ll be sorry. And if you cut school again I’ll know and you’ll have me to deal with.’ He paused and Jack concentrated on not wetting himself. ‘So you won’t say anything to anyone. Deal?’

  ‘Deal!’ Jack said.

  He heard a movement behind him. It sounded as if the man had already gone but Jack was still so scared that he did what the man had told him. He stayed exactly where he was with his hands stretched above his head against the shed and counted to one hundred, out loud just in case the man was listening. You never know, he thought, the man might just have gone away a bit so that he could get a better aim before shooting me. The picture of the man in the shed with the hole in his head swam before his eyes.

  'Ninety-nine, one hundred.'

  He lowered his arms, easing his shoulders, and realised that he was shaking. He looked round but there was no sign of the man. His bladder was about to burst and he peed against the side of the shed. It brought him some relief but not much. What if the man was still there, out of sight and watching him? He sat on a heap of wood that had been thrown down, old planks that had curled and rotted with age, and rubbed his shoulders. He was still shaking; he couldn’t stop and his hands wouldn’t do what he wanted.

  As soon as he had calmed down a bit he retraced his steps to the hole in the perimeter fence. He put a good distance between himself and the factory, heading out towards the open countryside. When the trees thickened and there was enough cover he left the road and ran into the shade of the trees.

  He was too confused to think straight. What should he do? He could tell the police. He knew that it would be the right thing to do but what about the man? He had sounded quietly confident, as if he knew who Jack was. And what if the man knew where he lived? No, he couldn’t take that risk.

  He wished he hadn’t bunked off school; none of this would have happened if he'd stayed there. The man had told him to go back to school. What if he was still watching him? He looked round. He couldn't see anyone — but then, he hadn't seen the man before. Jack cursed his stupidity; the woods were too easy a place for another killing and he started to panic. His head began to hurt, right between his eyes where the hole had been in the man’s head.

  If he went back to school and made sure he was seen by one of the teachers that would give him an alibi — well, sort of. But could he get back in without being seen and would any of his teachers have noticed that he hadn’t been in their classes? Problem after problem. He wished even more that he hadn't bunked off. He’d have to catch up on the work and do his homework as well. But he would be alive. It was his only chance.

  Jack slipped back into school. No one seemed to have noticed that he’d been missing for
most of the morning. None of the boys in his class had missed him — well, it had only been a games lesson. Only Pete, his friend in a different class, asked where he’d been.

  ‘Were you in the medical room?’ he asked Jack. ‘Only you still look a bit pale.’

  ‘I was sick,’ Jack said.

  Telling the truth, even if it wasn’t the whole truth, made him feel better.

  But feeling better didn’t last. He woke in the middle of the night dripping in sweat. The dead man was leaning over him. When he opened his eyes he could see right through the hole in the man’s head. He turned his head away but the man followed him, never leaving his line of vision. When he closed his eyes the man was still there, projected on the inside of his eyelids. He tried to turn away and then, leaning over the side of his bed, Jack was violently sick.

  Tortured by demons, he slept little after that. His mother was worried.

  ‘It’s probably just something he ate,’ his father said. ‘You know what boys are like.’

  Jack felt better with the coming of the daylight and persuaded his mother to let him go to school; it was better than being at home with just his thoughts to occupy him.

  ‘I told you,’ his father said at breakfast, ‘just a passing bug.’

  How Jack wished it would pass but he had the sneaky feeling that it was something that was going to stay with him. His mother looked so worried that Jack was tempted to tell her what he’d seen but he knew that this was not something he could ever share. Coupled with the image of the dead man there was the threat of the unknown man outside the shed. ‘Remember, I’ve got my eye on you and I’ll be watching you.’ Who was he?

  Jack was too scared to do or say anything.

  Chapter 2

  Arthur Campbell was boiling with rage; he’d just had his head flushed in the toilet. Not for the first time in his life he had been utterly powerless to prevent unpleasant things happening to him.