Джим Фузилли - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 150, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 914 & 915, November/December 2017

“We were in the van, my brothers were in the front, Shane was driving... me and Lauren were in the back. We were up the top end of Bad Bargain Lane, fly-tipping some old worn-out tyres, when Shane saw the two boys and called them over. We knew Thomas because he was a neighbour, and he recognised us and came over... no one was about... no houses at the top end of the lane. Shane grabbed Thomas Slater and Wayne grabbed the other boy and just murdered them. No words, no plan... they just did it. My brothers are like that... they even say the same thing at the same time, like two bodies are sharing the same brain. So they took all the boys’ clothes off when they had strangled them and burnt them, burned the clothing, I mean... then, at night, they went to this house with an overgrown garden and buried them there, in the back garden. Shane said that if the two old men who lived there heard something they’d still be too frightened to come out. So that’s what they did and me and Lauren Sullivan watched them and Lauren was saying ‘wicked... wicked...’ and clapping her hands, ‘this is so wicked.’ ”

Hennessey paused. “You mentioned a third victim?”

“A little girl,” Francis Beadale spoke calmly, “about a year later. She was called Rose... Rose was her surname.”

“Anne Rose!” Yellich gasped. “Your brothers murdered her? We never linked her disappearance to the disappearance of Thomas Slater and Harry Riddle,” Yellich explained to Hennessey. “It was a long way out of York, and her clothing was left in a posed position... neatly placed along a footpath... each item exactly ten feet from the next item, a different victim profile... different M.O.”

“Yes,” Hennessey replied softly, “I remember that case.”

“Me and Lauren were with Shane and Wayne when they took that little girl and strangled her. They buried her near the coast. I can take you right there; I can show you where to dig.”

“Your conscience getting the better of you, is it, Francis?” Yellich spoke in a despairing tone.

“Nope...” Francis Beadale shrugged his shoulders. “I was seven years old; Lauren was about ten... there’s nothing on my conscience.”

“So why help us?”

“I want something in return,” Francis Beadale smiled.

“What,” Hennessey asked, “what can we do to help you?”

“Get the charges against me dropped...”

Hennessey sighed. “You’re in here for six months for receiving stolen property... and you’re prepared to give information which will get your own brothers sent down for three life sentences, just to get out of a six-month period of custody? Your own brothers...”

“Yes... I don’t like it in here; I want to go home to my mum... She looks after me and lets me do things. Here I have to do gym, and I have to get up in the morning, and I don’t get to say what I want to eat... but my mum lets me stay in bed and lets me eat what I want to eat. If I say I want fish and chips for supper, I get fish and chips for supper... and if my brothers are away it means there’s just me and my mum in the house.”

Hennessey and Yellich both sank back in their chairs. Hennessey looked into the eyes of the smiling Francis Beadale.

He thought it was like looking into two bottomless pits.

© 2017 by Peter Turnbull