by Neil Mach
‘Out to Burleigh? Is that right?’
‘Supposed to be there at ten. What time is it now?’
‘Six minutes to. It’s about seven miles from here. I’ll have to put my foot down. We’ll make it.’ Of course, this gave Constable Lavery the excuse he wanted — to drive like a flipping maniac and to impress her. He roared along the country roads at speeds more than 100 in places. He was obviously trying to make a big impression.
‘Let’s get there in one piece,’ Hopie told him, with a shrill tone. She clung to the edge of her seat with tight fingers. Bands of sweat formed on her forehead.
‘What is it Hope?’ he said, as he licked the stupid protruding lip. He took one hand from the steering wheel and placed it on her knee. ‘I’m a trained police driver, love. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Get your hand back on the wheel,’ she yelled as a giant truck approached them and lit-up a million front lights.
‘Damn fool,’ shouted Lavery. He had to wrench the steering wheel to one side and take twelve yards of the grass verge. He almost collided with the juggernaut. ‘That’s better,’ he said, once he’d got the cop-car back onto the concrete. Then he put his foot down again.
Just after ten o’clock, they reached the centre of the village. The Constable pulled into a gap by the Market Cross. ‘Where to now?’ he asked.
‘Are we at Burleigh?’
‘Yup.’
‘The Whitwick Oak please.’
‘What is that? A pub? A farm? I’ve never heard of it. ‘
‘I think it’s a tree.’
‘What? Since when does a tree have a name? Must be a pub or something…’
‘Apparently, it’s a famous landmark. A tree near Burleigh.’
‘We might have to scoot around, to see if we can find it. I don’t hold-out much hope though, Hope. Hah! We can search around for it if you want. But I don’t expect we’ll have any luck. Still, while we’re here, why don’t we get a bite to eat? I know a little diner that’s near.’
‘You don’t know the Whitwick Oak?’ She rubbed her hair in frustration.
‘No, do you?’
She gave a little puff then bent to find her phone from her handbag. The moment she did this, he charged off again. It made her drop the phone and spill the contents of her bag all over the mucky floor.
‘Stop…’ she yelled. ‘Why did you do that? For heaven’s sake, Jimmie. Stop being an arse.’
‘What?’ he shouted back, without slowing. ‘I thought we’re trying to find a tree.’
The police car raced along the main thoroughfare, then Lavery skidded into a narrow lane. He thundered down that too, crashing the wing mirrors into twigs and hedgerow.
‘Will you freaking slow down?’ Hopie yelped. ‘You’re getting me bloody annoyed...’
So Lavery jammed the brakes on so-hard that the seat-belt bit into her chest and the pain made her squawk. ‘Ouch! Whaddya do that for? You’re behaving like a right twat-hammock today, do you know that?’
‘Make up your mind love. Stop. Go. What’s it to be? I’m waiting for explicit instructions. You’re the one on a secret mission. I’m just a Home Office driver. I’m a flunkey.’
‘Really, Jimmie, you’re more than I can bear sometimes. Just find a place to stop safely so I can make a call.’
The officer drove along the lane so slowly that a lame tortoise could overtake them if he wanted. Then he found a farm entry-gate and parked the car. He switched the engine off and pushed his car seat back as far as it would go. He put his hands behind his neck and closed his eyes.
Hopie checked her phone, five past ten. She called the office, and Sarah-Jane picked up.
‘Hi girlie, it’s me, Hopie. This Whitwick Oak? Where is it? The constable can’t find it, do you have a grid reference?’
‘One moment...’
Sarah-Jane provided the coordinates and Hopie repeated them as loudly as she could while writing the numbers in her diary. ‘Thanks, babes.’ She turned to Lavery.
‘Get that?’
‘Get what?’
‘Did you receive the grid reference I just shouted?’
‘No. Why? Was that for me?’
Hopie flexed her fingers and gave a glare. ‘Do you know how to use this machine? Yes or no?’ She indicated the on-board computer. ‘Enter the coordinates…’ The constable gave a dramatic sigh and tapped the screen back to life. Hopie repeated the coordinates she’d been given, and Jimmie typed them into the contraption and pressed GO.
‘It’s along this lane, ha! Exactly as I thought.’ He gave a self-satisfied smirk. Then pulled his seat into position and fired-up the engine.
What a dick!
*
She gazed into a muddy field as they approached the grid reference they’d been given. In the distance, she saw an ancient tree situated on a squat mound. The huge thing slanted precariously to one side and seemed to possess naked branches that resembled deer antlers. The spines pricked into ashen air. There was nothing near the tree except a stone-wall, and even that was some way away. So, the thing stood alone, independent and eye-catching. She wondered why she’d never noticed the tree before, then realized she’d never travelled through these parts.
She thought she could make-out Moondog by the tree. She concentrated on the trunk and thought she could see him by the blackened bowl. But it was as if he was made of bark too, and he looked rutted and crinkly. Even at fifty yards, she could see his curly brown hair as it bounced in the cool breeze. She noted he wore a hefty coat, made of something that seemed bushy. She also noticed that he shifted his collar closer, perhaps to shield from the biting gusts of wind that seemed to hurtle across the field.
‘Right I’ll be off,’ Hopie said to Lavery.
‘Don’t I get a kiss?’
She glared.
‘Only joking,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll wait until you’re done.’
‘No need.’
‘It’s the least I can do. Since I was late for the date.’
‘Whatever.’
Hopie opened the police car door, untangled her legs from the passenger side, and stepped into the muddy masses that surrounded the meadow gate. She slammed the door deliberately hard because she wanted Jimmie to know exactly how disappointed she’d been about his boorish conduct.
Just as she began to make her way towards the main field with the tree, the Policeman’s window slid down, ‘If you need me,’ he shouted, ‘Just shriek, baby. I am always here for you.’
She didn’t bother to reply, but instead, she began a soggy tramp across assorted cowpats and puddles to arrive at an unpleasantly manky gate. She figured she had to climb over the thing because it had been padlocked shut. She lurched over the wobbling cold metal, before collapsing unceremoniously into the oozing mud on the other side.
‘Crapola…’ she muttered. She grabbed a gate-rail to steady herself. Then slipped, slid, and shimmied her way across the greasy, muck-spread field. ‘I need wellington boots for this kind of work,’ she cried out loud.
Once she was close enough to make eye-contact with Moondog, she allowed a cute, half-hearted smile to leak out. She halted in front of him and said: ‘Sorry.’
‘No probs,’ he replied. His indifference knocked her for six.
‘Really? I thought you’d be angry. Angry that I’m late...’
‘No need to apologise. I don’t mind at all. Quite content.’
She didn’t know if he was sarcastic, so she added, ‘Are you sure you didn’t mind waiting?’
‘Nah.’
‘Wow, thanks. Um, so what do you want to see me about?’
‘Are you ready to do this?’ Moondog came close. In fact, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. It made her go funny as if she suddenly got the jitters.
‘Yo, um, what?’ she said.
‘Are you ready to start investigating?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she looked into his cobalt eyes.
‘Did you know you’re being followed?’
‘What? Me? Er, by who? I mean whom. Ahem, I don’t know what I’m saying. I feel kind of nervous…’ she gave Moondog a meek smile. ‘Who’s following me?’
Moondog cupped her hands in his own, and they felt snug and warm. ‘Me, to begin with.’ He gave an intense gaze.
‘You? Er, um, why are you following me? ‘
‘He is too.’ Moondog dropped her fingers then pointed to the blue lights. The top of the police car could be seen, out over a distant hedge.
‘Who? Him, nah...’
‘I thought things were made it clear to your co-worker that you should come alone,’ Moondog said. He seemed peeved.
‘Yes, but how would I get here? I don’t own a car… And this tree’s in the middle of nowhere. How would I get here?’
‘That’s exactly why I chose such a place — because it’s in the middle of nowhere. It’s not overlooked. So, we wouldn’t be seen together. I asked you to come alone. I stipulated that.’
She glanced at the big tree. ‘It seems a lonely and unloved place, I agree. But why can’t we be seen together?’
‘Men have used this oak for a thousand years…’ he told her as if he was changing the subject ‘This a favoured meeting place, and a sacred spot. And it’s where rivals have met — over centuries — to discuss how they must proceed.’
‘Are we rivals?’
‘Maybe we are… What do you think?’’
She pouted. ‘You said you followed me?’
‘I did not want to follow you. But it came about. It was a mere coincidence. Who is that fella in the police car?’
‘Er, yeah that’s Jimmie, he’s just Jimmie — he always has my best interests at heart.’
‘Are you sure he has your best interests at heart? I saw the same man yesterday. After we had our meeting in the cake shop, he had parked his car in a narrow gap and had been watching our meeting from across the way.’
‘He does that sort of thing. He shadows me,’ said Hopie.
‘Why? Is he your boyfriend?’
‘No, of course not.’ She raised her voice a little too high. So, she stopped herself and lifted an eyebrow instead. Then she shuffled her feet around in the mud.
‘Why does he follow you then?’
‘Er? To be honest, I think it’s because he’s fond of me. He’s over-protective I suppose,’ Hopie rubbed mud from her heels as she cleared her throat. ‘He’s not a problem, is he?’
‘He could be. He followed you home yesterday. He waited outside your lodging. It’s a nice place by the way. A porter’s cottage?’
‘How do you know where I live?’
‘I followed him — he followed you. He watched your house — I watched him. He waited outside your cottage; I waited to see what he’d do next. He didn’t move. I didn’t move. I moved away first. That’s where I left him, outside your cottage, after midnight.’
‘He waited outside my place till midnight. What’s wrong with him?’ She looked into the distance at the blue lights. She felt she needed to explain: ‘Jimmie has shadowed me for years; we went to a school together. That’s when all this started. Although recently he’s getting more obsessive.’
‘Right…’ said Moondog with a decisive wave. The motion suggested the difficulty had been settled and they could move on. ‘I think we ought to get started on some enquiries. So, I need your help… ‘I need to know where the dog’s heads were sent, can you get the addresses for me?’
‘Yea, I can. The Chief wants me to make this work. He won’t mind me giving you information about witnesses.’
‘Really? Are you sure? Don’t the police have rules about confidentiality?’
She was surprised by the question. ‘I expect we do…’ she said, ‘Why? What are you thinking?’
‘I think that we want to keep things hush-hush. For example, we don’t want your old-school sweetheart Jimmie blabbing his mouth about things. Imagine if this got out — imagine if it got into a local newspaper — it might cause a scandal.’
‘Why?’ She felt miffed that he’d called Jimmie her sweetheart, so she stamped her foot and made a sour face.
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Er?’ Hopie began to bite the inside of her cheek and felt stumped. So, she looked at her shoes. They were plastered in cow-dung.
Moondog shrugged. He closed the space between them and spoke directly into her ear, ‘The Chief. He’s your uncle, isn’t he?’
‘Bloody hell! How did you know that?’ She licked her lower lip and cleared her throat. ‘Er, don’t get offended, yeah? But I don’t want that information to get around town. People might get the wrong idea; you know what I mean? Nepotism and all that. It’s kind of against the rules. I assumed my little secret was safe... even my Sarge doesn’t know that the boss is my uncle.’
‘Well, the secret’s safe with me. But I was told, so it’s out there — so that you know. So, tell me about this Chief, your uncle…’
‘He had me transferred over from Rothley. That’s a town twenty miles up the road. He told my Mum that Hugh-Lupus is safer. He said he wanted to keep an eye-out on me, to make sure I’m safe. He’s the district boss you see, the ward Chief Inspector. Two years from retirement. A good guy, he’s my mother’s brother. His wife died a year ago, and I suppose that I feel sorry for him. What else do you need? ‘
‘You have a lot of guys watching over you, don’t you?’
‘Do I? Yes, I suppose I do…’ she rubbed her hair, ‘, I hadn’t thought about it before — you’re probably right.’
‘You’re looked on with fondness —that’s a good thing. Do you mind me enquiring, do you have a real boyfriend? ‘
She pushed her shoulders away and returned a stare, ‘I don't know why you’re asking such a thing. Is that in your brief?’ She frowned.
‘I’m just checking to see if anyone else will start following you around, that’s all.’
‘Oh, right.’ She felt her toes curl as she pulled her knees together. ‘I haven’t found the right type. All the men I meet are losers.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t pry. Forgive me. Anyway, I need you to get those details for me. I need you to do it shrewdly, though. Do you know what I mean by that? I need you to get the particulars without drawing attention. Do you understand? You might be able to use your relationship with your uncle if that helps… But I don’t want old Sarge to know about this. I don’t trust him. Neither do I trust Jimmie.’
‘I think I can do it.’
‘Good. Bring the details to Miss Stook’s cake shop for lunchtime tomorrow. Come on your own. Get there when you can, no fixed time. I’ll wait.’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’
‘I don’t know why you’re thanking me.’ He placed a strong hand upon her shoulder. She felt a sudden rush of strength and potential. It was a thrilling charismatic charge that flowed into her like a wave of electricity. She didn’t flinch because the sensation felt splendid. Moondog was so strong. ‘I should thank you....’ he said. Then he withdrew his hand, and she felt the cool emptiness of disconnection. Moondog nodded. ‘Right off you go. Back to Jimmie. Back to the car. He’s waiting for you...’
‘What you gonna do?’
‘Me? I am going to stay here a while longer. I want to remain with this magnificent oak. This old fellah brings strength and knowledge. He has an unwavering and serene sense of soundless truth. He and I will interconnect some more.’
As she departed, she rubbed her ears and plodded through the muck and slime. For some reason, she felt sad, though she didn’t know why. She twisted her neck to take a glance at Moondog and saw him in the distance. He stood by the tree, like an empty silhouette. She was astonished to find she’d already travelled quite a long distance. She reached the metal gate in double-quick time and twisted her neck to find she could no longer see his cold-blue eyes or bubbly hair. When she gazed back from the car, she found he wasn’t the shape of a man at all. He’d blended into the background; he’d lost his material character as if he�
��d lost physical substance. Moondog had dissolved into nothingness. He had simply faded from view. With a damp flutter of her lashes, she gave up looking. She opened the police-car door and jumped in. The heater produced a warm, familiar stink. She plonked herself onto the wipe-clean seat.
‘All done?’ asked Jimmie Lavery.
‘Take me to the nick,’ she told him, without looking at his stupid face.
*
Back at the police office, Sergeant Moyes continued grunting and cussing. ‘What did the psychic guy want?’ he shouted as Hopie stepped through the door. ‘Why did he want to meet by a tree? Why you alone? Did have that nose ring stuck through his nostrils like a prize hog? What can he do that we can’t? Did he tell you? Did he enlighten you? Has the Chief taken leave of his senses?’
‘Too many questions,’ Hopie complained. ‘Don’t nag... you’re doing my head in Sarge.’
‘What did he say?’ Sarah-Jane joined in. ‘Did he invite you for a drink? Does he fancy you? Do you fancy him? Are you going on a date?’
Hopie coloured and pushed her fringe. ‘Shuddup the both of you...what’s got into you?’
‘Oooh… He does, doesn’t he? He fancies you, doesn’t he? I bet he does. I hit a nerve. When are you two going out?’
‘Shuddup I say. He’s a nice guy, that’s all...’
‘When are you going on another date with him?’
Hopie refused to comment.
Sergeant Moyes crossed his arms and looked at both women. He sighed heavily, ‘Sometimes I wish you two was lads. So, we could talk about rugby and motor cars. Sometimes I hate being here with you two daft bints. You two are always going on about boys, music, and fashion. All the lads in the station are jealous of me —but I don’t know why. Sharing an office with two tarts must be a dream, they tell me. I tell them it ain’t what they think — being stuck indoors with two stupid bints does my head in. Young women these days are crazy... I tell them.’
Sarah-Jane gave a controlled headshake. ‘Sarge, I take offence at being called a bint.’
‘And a tart,’ added Hopie.
‘Sorry,’ the middle-aged man grunted. ‘But, you two are too much. I’m painting behind the radiators this week, why don’t we talk about that? Why don’t we discuss what primer to use? Or chat about the Aylestonians? The Stones are playing Oakham this weekend. We never chat about rugby, do we? What do you reckon their chances are?’