It was a bitterly cold day with leaden skies and biting winds. He was waiting for me at the cottage.
‘Nice of you to join us Honeybun, stayed up late waltzing? Got a headful of sequins eh?’
‘Honeybone! Sir, and it’s not ballroom it’s swing.’ I felt myself redden as I followed him through the open doorway. I was used to his jibes but they still got to me, somewhere in the pit of my stomach. They gripped a bit of gut and squeezed, it was like my schooldays all over again. I’d been with DS Lawrence for just over two years. He’d have a dig, I’d go red, job done.
‘I’ve been on duty since six this morning Sir,’ I told him. ‘Uniform roped me in to search the woods.’ I heard him take a long drag on his cigarette, ‘I had to go home and change I was clarted up to high heaven in mud.’
He turned and threw the butt over my shoulder ignoring my reason for being late. I tried not to inhale as his fetid breath covered my face, smoke still seeping from his nostrils.
‘Alicia Renshaw. Missing, presumed dead looking at all this blood,’ he said, standing in front of the fireplace.
I walked across the stone flags of the kitchen and followed his gaze to the beetroot tar drools that had seeped over the fireside tiles and onto the carpet and I turned away. How could anyone bleed so much?
‘What’s a young woman doing in a dump like this Honeybone?’ She lives right on the edge of wood, a disused quarry as a neighbour, miles from anywhere and in a cottage that’s only fit for demolishing.’
‘According to the postman who found the door open Sir, she’d lived here with her dad until he died about six years ago. She er’ played around a lot, always different men about, the postman said.’
‘He didn’t say anything about a Mr Sandman?’
‘No sir.’
‘Well according to that note,’ he said, pointing to the fridge, ‘a Mr Sandman came calling.’
I walked across to the fridge and saw that it was covered in bits of paper, reminders to pay bills and a yellow post-it note held by a Blackpool tower magnet, it read: Mr Sandman 6.30.
‘Could be any one of them I suppose, one thing’s for sure, they’ll be splattered with her blood. Best not speculate until we find her Honeybone.’
‘Do you really think she’s dead then Sir?’ I asked him as I took a sample bag from my pocket and put the yellow post-it in. ‘She couldn’t have just walloped one of them and run off.’
‘Empty cottage, door open, bottle of gin and sliced up lemons on the draining board, all her clothes still upstairs and the blood! I don’t think she popped out to pick a bunch of bluebells do you Honeybun?’ He looked towards the window behind the sink. ‘I sometimes wonder about you lad, It would help if you knew summat about ‘em.’
‘Something about who Sir?’
‘Women Honeybone. Women.’
I folded my arms bunching them up tight. Protection mode I thought, as I remembered a course I’d done on psychotherapy. I pushed my hands deep into my pocket. I felt hot and itchy around my collar. Ignore him. Ignore him I shouted inside my head, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted a sweet bitterness.
‘It would be easy to get rid of a body round here,’ he went on, ‘with all the mine shafts and underground workings.’
I watched him as he stared through the grimy panes of glass.
‘Can you smell it?’
‘What Sir?’
‘Fear, this place stinks of it. We’re looking for a psychopath. ‘Get the dogs in Honeybone.’
I got out my mobile and passed on the order. I could smell the blood now, it had got into my nostrils and I grabbed hold of a chair as I felt the room swirling. I dashed outside and wretched my guts up.
‘C’mon Honeybun,’ he shouted, ‘let’s get on with it, you carry on down here, I’ll see what I can find upstairs.’ His voice faded. At least he spared me the humiliation of facing him as I went back into the cottage.
After we’d done a complete search he went outside. Was there anything I had missed? A calendar, a diary, did she keep a journal an address book. I grabbed the washing up bowl from the sink and began emptying canisters and tins into it. I pulled out drawers from the dresser tipping them onto the floor. Kneeling down I sifted through papers; shopping coupons and an assortment of pens. There was nothing about Mr Sandman or any other man, just normal stuff. A few receipts, cards, a photo… A photo! It had slipped in between the pages of an old recipe book. It was taken at Christmas and showed her standing on a pier eating a bag of chips. She looked happy, they both did. He had his arm around her and was pulling her in tightly towards him. I shoved it into my pocket and continued searching.
We hadn’t found her mobile phone. Where would she have kept it? I rushed across to the window. He was still on the path by the gate. I dashed back to the scullery again and turned out the pockets of the coats that hung behind the door for a second time. Could she still have it on her? Outside I heard the search team returning to the cottage and I dashed back to the window. The men were shaking their heads and had spread a map out in front of Lawrence. After a few minutes they began to walk towards their vehicles when I heard Lawrence shouting after them.
‘What’s this I hear about you getting Honeybone in to do your dirty work? Out at six this morning and a hefty dry cleaning bill by the sound of it.’
‘Not with us sir,’ one of the men called back.
‘It looks like your boy’s moonlighting,’ laughed another.
I saw him turn to look for me through the window and I caught his eye for a split second.
I turned and ran out the back door and into the woods. If only I could find the place and be a step ahead of him, just for once.
In panic I fled through the trees and scrambled through the undergrowth, thrashing overhanging leaves and brambles away from my face, not caring that branches were tearing at my skin or that bracken was wrapping its tendrils around my legs.
Come on, come on where are you, which bloody shaft? I snarled between clenched teeth, my face cold and wet with sweat. I had to find her and get that phone. I stopped and got to my knees, raking through the slime carpet of dead vegetation. I could hear her laughing, boasting about all the others. It had to be a crime of passion hadn’t it? I thought as I felt my flesh creeping and my limbs trembling. Where the hell was she?
I got to my feet again and every tree, every bit of undergrowth looked the same, hideous and sinister. I winced as my foot caught in a root and then, without warning I let out a shout as I slid through a covering of undergrowth and began falling. I tried to grab at the sides of the shaft, but I landed at the bottom of the shallow mine. Shivering with terror in the darkness, I clawed at the casing of bricks and wet earth with my hands, my nails tearing and ripping from their beds. If I could just get a footing…… My phone started ringing! It would be him… Silence it! I struggled to get my hand into my jacket pocket, it wasn’t there. I listened again and realised that it rang out from somewhere in the undergrowth above me. Mr Sandman….bring me a dream….make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen.
And then I froze as I felt the icy cold flesh of a hand beside me. In the distance I heard the dogs!
(c) 2024 Lillian Bradbury.
In this chilling tale, we follow a detective duo investigating a gruesome murder scene in a remote cottage. As they piece together the clues, they uncover a mysterious note mentioning “Mr Sandman.” The story takes a dark turn as the younger detective’s past comes back to haunt him, blurring the lines between investigator and suspect. With its atmospheric setting and psychological tension, “Mr Sandman” keeps readers on edge until its shocking conclusion.
“Mr Sandman” is just one of the captivating stories in Lillian Bradbury’s collection “Welcome to my World.” Bradbury, a talented writer from Yorkshire, weaves tales that range from the whimsical to the deeply moving, all set against the backdrop of picturesque Pickering. If you enjoy stories that transport you to charming English towns while exploring the complexities of human nature, you’ll find yourself enchanted by Bradbury’s prose. Why not treat yourself to a literary journey through Yorkshire’s landscapes and characters?
Explore “Welcome to my World” on Amazon
