Killing The Taxman

Chapter 1

WEST GARSIDE - YORKSHIRE

WEST GARSIDE - YORKSHIRETEN MONTHS LATER.

TEN MONTHS LATER.NOVEMBER

NOVEMBER‘It’s not even my f*****g dog,’ Charles Manson grumbled, his breath misting in the cold as he walked Benedict, his mother’s spoiled brat of a spaniel through the ice-sharp winds in Shallito Woods.

‘Come on, come on. Do your business and let’s get home, for f**k’s sake,’ he swore at the dog, who persistently refused to do ‘his business’ but Charles dared not take him home without the beast having done a s**t. He would only do it in the house otherwise.

The arctic wind from the north cut across the deserted woods in needle-sharp gusts into his face, a face already reddened with cold, his eyes teared by the driving icy wind. A pale sun shone weakly through the canopy of trees overhead, casting long latticed shadows that cut across the footpaths as if to obscure them. The trees were bleak as the wind whistled through the shadowy bare branches and Charles shivered as another icy blast cut through his clothing.

‘What the f**k am I doing out here, freezing my nuts off?’ he grumbled again. ‘Come on,’ he shouted at Benedict, named after Pope Benedict, but the dog took no notice and ran across to sniff at a bush before lifting his leg as a thin stream of acrid yellow urine trickled onto the ice-rimed branches. Why his mother named the beast after a Pope Charles could not imagine, considering that his mother was not even Catholic.

‘Come on, come on,’ he shouted again at the dog, who at last began to do his business, but then he ran off again to follow a rabbit or squirrel trail. Or maybe it was a fox he could smell. But who the f**k cared what it was the dog was after. Just get back here so we can get away and back to Mother’s house!

Just get back here so we can get away and back to Mother’s house!Charles did not know whom he hated the most: his mother or her f*****g dog.

Charles Manson—how he hated that name (and the jokes and sneers just because he had the same name as a murderous cult leader in California)—hurried after the dog, yelling for him to come back.

At last, the beast took some notice and trotted back slowly towards Charles, who bent down to clip the lead back onto Benedict’s collar (always Benedict in full, never Benny or Ben) and as he looked up and glanced across the small clearing towards a large oak tree some forty yards away, he saw it.

With trembling fingers, he took out his mobile phone and dialled 999.

‘Police Emergency! How can I help you?’

‘Oh God,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘There’s a woman hanging from a tree in Shallito Woods!’