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gjgriffithswriter
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: GJG
ISBN-10: 1512106984
Type: Fiction
Pages: 264
Copyright: June 18, 2015
ISBN-13: 9781512106985
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
NOW ONLY 0.99
This is a thriller of the “How&Why’d they do it?” category and the book stands alone with its intriguing trail of catch-up between the police and the criminals. Arson, fraud and murder!
A crime thriller in the "Columbo style" of a mystery where you see the crime committed then watch all of the recriminations unfold around it while detective Shantra pieces clues together and tracks down the felons.
A crime that goes badly wrong in its execution, and goes on to tragically affect the local school community, produces a trail of chaos, violence and murder. It’s a winding trail that the reader must try to follow and which two ex-pupils from the school, one a detective and the other his violent quarry, take around Britain only to end at its shocking conclusion.
In So What Do I Do?, the third novel in the So What! series, we see the return of a few of readers' favourite characters from the previous books. Constable Nigel Shantra returns as a detective, determined to bring to justice Kyle Crabbe, the psychotic adversary of his from the first So What! novel. And just what does a class of cheeky chimps, and a large black spider monkey, have to do with the traumatic events surrounding Hodgson's Hide - the legacy of retired Technology teacher Gil Hodgson?
When a conspiracy to defraud the local populace, devised by two apparently respectable but unscrupulous pillars of the community, goes disastrously wrong it results in an intriguing case for detective constable Shantra to solve. The traumatic events that ensue will prove to affect the haplessly incompetent pair of criminal perpetrators, hired by the swindling conspirators, as well as the teachers and pupils of Birch Green High School.
Excerpt
PART ONE: FIREWORKS
Chapter 1
Gil could tell that something was wrong, since every fibre of his senses had gradually, delicately and surreptitiously, become finely tuned to pick up on Jean’s every painful movement or hidden discomfort. The suppressed, almost silent groan forced its way stealthily from between her gritted teeth, as Jean lifted her compact and lightweight binoculars to her eyes.
‘I think it’s a sparrow hawk – over there on the right, on the ground. I’m sure it’s got a blue tit in its talons,’ she whispered, cheerfully.
Gil ignored her comment and stared at his wife, the worry creases deepening across his brow and converging from his cheeks and temples to meet in the corners of his sad grey eyes. Jean knew he was staring at her but chose not to notice his concern for the tenth time that morning.
‘Don’t look at me,’ she snapped, still whispering. ‘Turn your binocs on the bird, quick or you’ll miss it. There, on the right, under the shrubs. I’m sure I can see blue and yellow feathers… Poor little thing – I hope it died quickly.’
But Gil was still watching the woman he had loved for more than forty years. The one person who understood him, and somehow put up with his tetchiness, while still caring about him. The grumpy moods he’d had in front of Jean had become very few in the last ten years, ever since she had relied on Gil and her wheelchair to lead some kind of life. The life that she now wanted to leave behind. Oh, he still ranted and raved against the World and the Fates; tears and profanities pouring out in his frustration. But never in front of Jean. He was glad to perform all the duties required of him, as a devoted husband and carer, with a smile and a joke. He knew that remaining light-hearted and cheerful was best for them both. Moaning would not help he told himself. You just have to get on with it. That’s all there is to it!
Jean, however, knew better and loved him all the more for his constant devoted displays of his love for her. That was one more reason for her wanting to die. The pain of feeling a burden to Gil far outweighed the intense, nagging physical pain that daily invaded her spine and limbs. This ever present pain she could bear most of the time, but today it was particularly gruelling, wearing, and dragging her into a void that she hated.
Gil and Jean Hodgson had been visiting Hodgson’s Hide quite regularly for the past five years, mainly during the school holidays when the large wooden hut was not used for the students’ lessons. They rarely found themselves sharing it with other bird-watchers or even with the school children of Birch Green High School. When the bird hide had been dedicated to Gil on his retirement from teaching, it had been anticipated by all those involved that there would be a constant stream of enthusiastic nature lovers, visiting it to observe the birds and small mammals that came to the nearby pond. For a while that is exactly what happened and the Hodgsons had compared notes with several regulars like themselves. They had written copious notes about the blackbirds, robins, blue tits and various finches, with details of behaviour and diet at different times of the year. The couple even had some hastily scribbled words about nuthatches, tree creepers, woodpeckers and blackcaps. Occasional sightings of raptors like the sparrow hawk caused their writing, talking and photographing to cease because then Hodgson’s Hide became a chapel of hushed awe. But not today.
‘Jean, when did you last take your pain killers?’
Without thinking Jean reached up to pull her woolly hat back a little from her steel grey fringe and the effort made her wince again.
‘Gil, it was about an hour before we left home. You know it was.’ She sighed and the irritation in her voice was obvious. Irritation because Jean knew he had seen the painful strain flicker across her features.
Gil did a quick mental calculation while looking at his wrist watch. ‘Well that was… well, over three hours ago, so you could take some more now with a cup of tea from the flask. Or water if you want; I’ve brought a couple of bottles.’
Jean avoided his gaze, sighed again, wanting to scream and scream. All she really wanted at that moment was to marvel at the magnificent bird of prey feeding on a blue tit just a few metres away, unaware of the elderly couple and their whispered discussion. It was yet another discussion about her disability and the damn agony she seemed to constantly suffer recently. When her attention was gripped by the natural scenes before them in the school’s nature corner she was allowed to forget the stabbing, shooting aches that ran from her spine to her arms and face. That was what she wanted now – just a few more minutes of respite and wonderment. Gil understood all this.
He was ferreting about in the rucksack looking for her pills. Jean’s irritation was about to boil over in her confusion and anger with herself.
‘Gil, Gil! Stop looking for my tablets. You won’t find any because they were the last three I took this morning.’
‘What! How come? I could see at least six in the packet last night before we went to bed. You only took three today and –‘
‘No, I took three more in the night when I couldn’t sleep. So they were the last ones this morning.’
‘Oh, love, why didn’t you say?’ He stared at the grubby wooden floor, scratched at his bald pate and tried not to let an edge of his own irritation creep into his voice. ‘I was going to collect your new prescription from the pharmacy on the way home… I could’ve gone on the way here if you’d said before…’
Jean was not listening. She was staring mournfully out of the narrow observation window, annoyed that the sparrow hawk had flown, leaving behind a scattering of tiny blue, yellow and grey feathers. ‘Sod it!’ she growled at the world. Jean swore much more often these days. Gil and she both had noticed the repeated use of the same expletive, but they didn’t mention it.
‘Well, we’d better go home then,’ said Gil. ‘I’m not having you suffering in silence, getting colder and colder now it’s autumn.’
He walked to the door, opened it and turned to help manoeuvre Jean’s wheelchair to the special ramp at the entrance. As he stood in the doorway for a few seconds two young men hiding in the shrubbery, fifty metres away, used the same profanity as Jean and ducked back into hiding.
‘Friggin’ ’ell, it’s old Hodgson,’ muttered Glyn Parkhouse, the beefier of the two. ‘What the smeg is ’e doing here? Fought he’d retired.’
‘We’d better come back later, eh, Glyn?’ said Dobbo Dobinson, his skinny companion. ‘Dodgy innit?’
‘S’pose so. Just hang about ’ere a couple o’ minutes first. Keep yer ’ed down. Right!’
‘Right!’
When Gil took hold of the wheelchair handles Jean said, ‘What are you doing? Let go, will you!’ Gil closed the door again and sat on a bench next to Jean. ‘Well, I thought we’d call it a day – go home. I can collect your new prescription on the way home and you’d have more pain killers a lot sooner. You need them now to be honest, love.’
‘No, I don’t!’ The irritability was back. She hated herself for sounding so grouchy with Gil. But she quickly changed her tone and forced a smile.
‘Gil, I haven’t said I wanted to take my tablets, have I? I just want to stay here a bit longer, that’s all. You missed the sparrow hawk in all this chat about pain killers. Anyway, they’re not killing the pain completely any more. They just dull it down a bit until I take the next lot. I’m staying for another hour or so. The sparrow hawk might come back, or we might get the mistle thrush come back for those hawthorn berries, like last week… I’m staying.’
‘If the pills aren’t working, Jean, we need to see the doc. Increase the dose if it’s safe or change the tablets for stronger ones.’ He paused, unsure about whether to continue with what was constantly on his mind. ‘You know, you shouldn’t just take them like you did in the night. It could be dangerous, specially after what happened before.’ His voice had softened and now it faltered. ‘You should’ve woken me, love. Don’t you think?’
‘Oh, Gil, not now. Not here. I was feeling good. I always do when we come here. I enjoy the bird-watching so much – and the flowers, and the trees. And it reminds me of how much the school appreciated all your years of teaching – Hodgson’s Hide – lovely. It’s my happy place… Just another hour, please.’
‘The dark nights are drawing in sooner now. Dusk soon. Maybe we could come back on Wednesday,’ he replied, hopefully.
‘We can’t come back Wednesday because Molly and Oliver are coming round with little Matty and Joshua; and probably Mark and Vicky will come as well, with their little ones… They’re ringing later to confirm they can come. It’s Guy Fawkes Night on Wednesday, Gil, and I want to get things ready for the evening. You know: parkin cake and baked potatoes, sparklers and a few little treats for the children. You’ve got to finish making the Guy.’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot… But if you’re not up to it we’ll cancel. Molly will understand.’
Jean gave him a ferocious glare. ‘Just you dare. I’ll be all right, don’t you worry.’
‘Hm… OK then, maybe another hour, but I’m going to leave you here while I nip to the chemist to collect your medicines. It’ll only take me twenty minutes in the car.’
‘Yes, OK, you go off and I can take my tablets when you come back. There’s still some hot tea in the flask. It’ll help if I sip that while I’m waiting. That sparrow hawk might come back to make me forget things.’ She returned her gaze towards the fluffy pile of feathers.
‘If you’re sure you’ll be all right then, Jean. I’ll be off then.’ Gil paused to kiss her on the cheek and his grey stubbly cheek rasped the waterproof collar of his coat. As he straightened up Jean could see the doubt and concern in his eyes.
‘Go on then, you soppy date. The sooner you go the sooner you’ll be back.’
Jean turned her head to point her binoculars at the hawthorn hedge in the near distance, as Gil left the bird hide.
While cutting the top off a giant size Flaming Rainbows firework Glyn was reminding Dobbo about their task. He poured some of the gunpowder from the firework into the palm of his hand.
‘So I’ll chuck in the meths an’ the powder from this one first, then you bung in the fireworks you got. Right, Dobbo?’
‘Yeah, man, yeah! An’ then we light the roman candles! Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it, Glyn. No worries innit!’
‘Make sure ya ’ang on to the roman candles for us ter light one each, cus they burn for longer to set the rest on fire.’ Glyn was still not sure that Dobbo understood the correct sequence of the events they were about to unleash upon the local community. ‘So when we chuck in the roman candles we leg it! Right!’
‘Yeah, man, like friggin’ ’ell! Run like friggin’ ’ell!’
‘We gotter make it look like some kids was messin’ about wiv fireworks in the hide, an’ then they done a runner when they set it on fire.’
‘Yeah, yeah! No-one’ll know it was us, man. We’ll be far away. An’ then I get my ’undred quid, right?’
‘Yeah, man, cash. But we gotter wait fer old Hodgson to go. We ain’t meant ter kill anybody. Anyways I liked ’im. ’E was strict but ’is lessons was good cus ’e ’elped yer a lot. Makin’ stuff outer wood like.’
Glyn was unusually thoughtful for a few seconds. ‘Yeah, ’e was funny sometimes… Yeah… Called ’im “the monk” we did…’
Dobbo grinned, then looked puzzled as he watched Gil Hodgson return to his car parked nearby. ‘E don’t look like a monkey, innit. Why ja call ’im that?’
‘I dunno do I! It’s just what we called ’im. I’m just sayin’ he was all right, that’s all.’
‘So why ja wanner burn it down?’
‘I’ve waited five years fer this, man. I ’ate this frigging school an’ I’m settlin’ old scores wiv ’em. Specially the headmistress. She ’ated me! Got me done wiv the pigs! This hut is frigging important to ’er an’ the school so I’m gonna burn it down!’
The probable truth was that Glyn had been angry inside from the day his mother had walked out of their family home, blaming it on himself and his behaviour, like most young kids. He became completely disaffected from school and his aggressive behaviour in the classroom was something that his teachers were unable to cope with. As the sanctions applied to Glyn over the years piled up the focus for his anger became the school and its teachers – particularly Mrs Cranmore. What Glyn didn’t know was that Mrs Cranmore, the headteacher, had left Birch Green High School to be in charge of an exclusive private school far away, in North Yorkshire. What Dobbo didn’t know was that Glyn was being paid a lot more than one hundred pounds to do the terrible thing. That would remain Glyn’s secret and an extra bonus for him was that it could help him get a lighter sentence, keeping him out of prison for a little longer. According to Drak, who had come up with his money, “the man” who wanted the bird hide gone had some influence with magistrates.
‘Get down, Dobbo! Wait till ’e’s gone.’
The pair watched, breathless, as Gil started his Volvo estate and drove away. Dobbo started to stand, the pain from his cramped and crouched thighs had become unbearable. Glyn pulled him back down before he could straighten up.
‘Down, smeghead! He might come back. We gotter wait a bit longer ter make sure.’
‘I just wanner get on wiv it, pal!’
‘Just give it a few more minutes will ya.’
Inside Hodgson’s Hide the hot tea, the lack of sleep and the concentrated effort, of scouring the tree canopy with her binoculars, had resulted in Jean dozing in front of the corner observation slot. The bird hide could have been in the nearby countryside of the Peak District, such was the peaceful quiet that had settled around it on that autumnal afternoon. Instead it was located in the school’s nature corner, carefully restored and nurtured by the children and their teachers to create an important collection of natural habitats, a wildlife solace. The only sound behind the breeze and the birdsong was that of Jean’s breathing as she gently snoozed.
She failed to hear the fireworks pair creeping towards the door. Dobbo took out a cigarette lighter to fire up the fuse of a Flaming Rainbow roman candle.
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