by Neil Mach
Rob searched for something that he recognised, but there were no paths on this area of scrubland, and it became very dark. All she could see was a blank area of muddy bogs, wispy grasses and scrubby bushes. It was hard to orientate yourself without obvious landmark. Rob waved his torch around, and finally gave up. It became obvious that he was hopelessly lost.
‘Rats,’ he muttered. ‘I am going to have to turn my light off to preserve the battery and we will try to hear for road-noise. The cars can’t be far away, can they? If I can hear the road, we can head back towards it and start all over. Tell me if you see headlights…’
She shook her head as he turned the torch off.
‘Neither can I, Princess.’
She begun to feel cold and looked at Rob and saw he suffered from the chills too. He wasn’t wearing proper outdoors clothes, just stupid builders’ stuff. His work boots and socks were a mess, his jeans were spattered with damp mud and he wore a sleeveless sweatshirt. He pulled his arms close-in to preserve heat. He wrinkled his forehead and rubbed his hands. ‘Well, I guess this place will be good as any. We could rummage around for ages but what’s the point? I feel tired and hungry. And unpleasantly cold. Are you cold as well, Princess Bitchface? We’d better start a fire, hadn’t we? Then we can have fun.’
He pointed at the wet grass. ‘Sit,’ he instructed.
She shook her head.
‘Sit, miss dirty, or I will make you sit.’
She shook her head again.
Rob dropped the leash and headed for her with a look of anger in his wild eyes. He drew back his hand to slap her across the side of her head. She staggered for a moment, pitched to one side, then fell onto the damp turf. Rob switched on his torch again to check she would stay down. He licked his lips and watched her squirm in discomfort. ‘You see, Princess Bitchface, you’re not the dominant one anymore. I am. It’s not a woman’s world after all is it? No matter what you think. I won’t have disrespect from a female. Got that? My wife says you are bold and energetic in the office...Well you’re not now, are you, right?’ He tugged her outer coat. ‘I am going to take this coat from you, because I need your clothes… I’m cold, you see. If you need warming, we might cuddle later if you want. First, we are going to have a party. It’s a bonfire party. How would you like that?’
Hopie wriggled and tried her best to kick him in the ding-dongs. She missed but made a valiant effort to connect. Rob caught her ankle and twisted it around with a bone-crunching wrench. She made a muffled sound to express her bitter discomfort.
‘All right, Princess Bitchface… I don’t want to punish you… But you are testing my patience. I am going to take your coat now, because I need it. Guess what? There’s not much to burn here, is there? How will we make a bonfire? Can you guess? You can’t? Did you shake your head? Well, here’s what we’ll do, we’ll burn your other clothes, won’t we? All of them, I mean. We will start with your shoes and socks…
Hopie recoiled and pulled her knees against her chest into the foetal position.
‘Don’t feel so big now do you, Princess Bitchface? Not as pushy as when you are in the office, are you? I know everything about you because Sarah-Jane comes home, and she tells me everything — she tells me how you’re pampered, sheltered and you’ve been spoiled your whole life. And she tells me how you rule the roost, and how you lord it over everyone, even the big Chief. She tells me that you push your big ideas on everyone when nobody wants them. And she tells me that you can be a right little princess. She tells me you always get your own way. Sarah-Jane tells me everything. That’s why I am going to take you down a peg. That’s why I am going make a bonfire of your clothes and dump you here. You must learn to be deferent and respectful. And don’t get all fidgety when I start the fire. Enjoy the party, I know I will...’
Hopie yawped.
Rob stood astride her and switched his torch off. He fumbled with the box of firelighters and pulled a white block from the container. ‘What will we burn after your shoes? Your underwear?’ He held a white tablet between his teeth and flared a safety match.
The bright phosphor turned his eyes crazy-bright and his skin flickered with a red-gold tinge in the darkness.
That’s when the shadow-creature pounced.
*
The shadow-creature moved sideways, deadly-slow, emerging from the gloom. It was an unhurried and cunning beast, furtive like a cat.
But the figure was no cat.
The shadow-creature was man-shaped: or at least it had twin legs, a thin neck, two arms and a torso. It was a shadow-threat that bore little resemblance to a man, though it wasn’t a cat either. From Hopie’s perspective, rolled on the damp floor, in reduced visibility, the creature looked like a shadowy spectre. It closed in on Rob from the emptiness of the night. She saw the spectre lean back and deliver three punches to Rob’s half-twisted body. Each punch crashed into his bones faster than any punch she’d ever witnessed, suppressing him with mighty power. The blows were delivered in a highly concentrated sequence that seemed to be aimed at Rob’s kidneys. Each punch was conveyed with remarkable energy.
Rob barely had time to recover from the rapid succession of strikes, before the shadow-creature followed up with a flawless roundhouse-kick that took away his legs. Rob collapsed to the ground — with twisted limbs a testament to the over-powering strength of the spectre’s blows.
The shadow-creature then went to Rob’s mangled body, perhaps to verify he’d been knocked out by the punches. The black-clothed figure crouched to check a vein on Rob’s neck then came for Hopie.
Hopie remained in a foetal position, and drew her knees closer, expecting the spectre to attack her next. She cringed fitfully and blubbered. But the spectre spoke in a soothing and reassuring voice from behind a black mask, ‘Hopie, don’t fret... I’m a friend. I’m here to save you.’
She wanted to say, Moondog, is that you? But discovered she couldn’t speak because her mouth had been jammed with sticky tape. She felt a strong arm take her by the elbow, then it lifted her to her knees. The arm pushed her up onto shaky legs, where she stood, twisted and trembling. Hopie caught sight of a cutting blade, as it flashed in a rare glint of moonlight. She groaned. But the spectre said, ‘Don’t move. I must slice the tape so you can breathe...’ The spectre held the top of her head in a tight grip, then Hopie heard two chafing nicks as the tape was cut. The gag was pulled away in one quick, fluid, movement.
Once the tape had been released, Hopie took a euphoric lungful of liberation. This was followed by the longest and noisiest cough ever. She looked at her chest and saw how it expanded and dipped madly. For a moment, she thought she might heave. Then the shadow-spectre pushed her head down, so her stomach churned, but her airway opened. After that, Hopie felt a whole-lot better. She produced some froth from her mouth but spat it away. Hopie managed to pull her head up to look her saviour in the eye. At the same time the figure cut-away some tape from her arms. In that instant, Hopie knew it was not Moondog who had saved her from the abduction. Her rescuer, the shadow creature, was a woman.
The woman pulled a ski-mask from her eyes to reveal a pile of burnished, crow-black hair, parted at the front and feathered down the sides. She had an opalescent face, with fleshy lips, large eyes both the shape of lozenges, and a pair of V-shaped brows above them that pointed to the ever-darkening skies. Her polished-oak skin seemed to gleam in the dark.
‘Who or what are you?’ Hopie asked.
The figure smiled, revealing a set of white teeth, ‘My name is Ascension.’
‘How did you know I’d be here? Why did you save me?’
‘The covert cameras. They sent an alert.’
‘The cameras? The same cameras Moondog set up to film the people who are after the leopard?’
‘Yes, the same ones...’
‘Is that where I am? I thought I recognized this place... Gosh, I knew it seemed familiar.’
‘That’s where you are. At the place of the Reed Leopard. ‘
‘How did you know about the secret cameras? They’re hidden. And anyway, how did you get Moondog’s alert? They come through on his phone. I don’t understand…’
‘Can’t you guess? Don’t you know who I am?’
Hopie shook her head.
‘I’m his wife... I am married to Moondog.’
Hopie studied the shadow-figure, ‘Of course...’ she declared. ‘That figures... Now it all dovetails. I understand everything at last. It all makes sense. His reluctance, his gentlemanly behavior. My goodness, I’ve been a proper fool, haven’t I? What has he told you? Oh cripes, he probably said I’m a ditzy little fool.’
‘, I’m pleased to meet you… Moondog is extremely complimentary about you, to be fair…’
‘Your existence explains a lot... a whole lot,’ Hopie laughed. ‘I suppose you get the same alerts from his hidden cameras, don’t you? Yes, it all makes sense…’
‘Now, we must leave — keep close.’
‘Where is Moondog?’
‘He’s on family business. He’ll be back soon. He sends love and says he wants to give you a proper goodbye…’
‘What will happen to this screw-up?’ Hopie looked at Rob’s body. It was laid-out obliquely on the soft earth. ‘I don’t want him to harm any more people... But we can’t leave him here, can we? He’ll croak. He’ll get exposure…’
‘We leave him for now... but someone will be alerted about his location before he succumbs, trust me. The rest is up to you Hopie. I imagine you’ll attend the station and press charges. I expect you’ll tell them you managed to escape... but you won’t mention me or my involvement. Please don’t do that —we must now run… You reasonable on that ankle?’
‘I’ll be fine…’
*
Moira Furnace
He did not say goodbye, he promised he would say a proper goodbye... but he didn’t. Hopie trudged behind Sergeant Moyes at the Moira Furnace car park. They jumped muddy puddles at the place chosen by Moondog for a final meeting.
‘Somewhere lonely, with no cameras…’ Moondog had insisted. ‘But somewhere with a teashop on site,’ Moondog always required a teashop. Hopie smiled at this thought.
So Hopie and the Sarge had arrived at the furnace in time for the meeting. The furnace was a famous landmark twenty minutes from the town of Hugh-Lupus. It matched the exact criteria Moondog required plus it looked spooky. Hopie scanned the car park for Moondog’s fabulous electric Hummer but it was not around. That was to be expected, ‘He would have hidden it under a tree along the road some-place...’ she muttered.
‘What?’ grumbled Sergeant Moyes.
‘Oh, nothing — just talking to myself.’
‘Well don’t. I’m nervy enough already.’
‘What have you got to be nervy about?’ Hopie swayed her arms in grand old style, like a solider on parade. She felt excited that she’d be seeing Moondog again.
‘I don’t know...’ Moyes said.
‘Is it because you wronged him?’
‘Wronged him? Did I? I don’t think I ever wronged him. I hoped I would never see him again, if that’s what you mean. To be honest, it’s a chapter of my life that’s best forgotten. Then, out of the blue, we get this phone call. The lady on the line says we must meet Moondog. She says we need to clear-up the main points. I suggest he meets you alone, but she demands I must come along too... In fact, she asks for the Chief, but I told her flat-out that was a no-no. That was pushing it.’
They arrived at the main furnace building; a huge brick-built edifice that resembled a giant skull. It looked frightening, even in broad daylight. ‘One of the most haunted places in the country,’ Sergeant Moyes told her.
‘Will we enter?’ Hopie said with a wide grin.
‘No, Moondog’s lady said we would meet him by the canal. On a bench.’
‘Oh, right.’
*
As they approached the canal-side Hopie felt unbearably sad. As if she would be overwhelmed by a wave of melancholy the moment, she was reconciled with Moondog. Sergeant Moyes read her glum expression and said, ‘You’ll be fine, you’ll get re-motivated, shake off the dust, then continue. We all will. We’ll move forward with our lives.’
Hopie didn’t answer, but appreciated the Sarge’s wise words, though tears welled in her eyes and her skin began to blotch.
At the edge of sparkling water, on the lonely canal bank, they saw a podgy, middle-aged woman, dressed in a blue suit, seated on a bench. It was not Moondog who waited for them. It was his London agent. The woman turned her head and looked them up-and-down, because they made a heavy stomping sound behind her.
‘Hello, hello, hello...’ she said, with a light smile. The woman rose to greet them and placed a white bag on the slats.
‘No need to stand, ma’am’ Sergeant Moyes declared.
‘Oh yes, of course there is. I must say hello to this fine girl. Hello, my dear,’ she grasped Hopie’s hands and stood to look into her face. ‘What a treat. What a treat. To meet you at last, my dear.’
‘Thank you,’ whispered Hopie, unsure what to say.
The woman closed into Hopie’s personal space, then did something unexpected — she kissed Hopie on both cheeks, as if she was a relative or close friend.
‘Er?’
‘You must wonder who I am. Sorry, you must be taken by surprise.’ The woman gave Hopie a hug, like a favoured Aunt might do, then held her to look into her eyes. ‘I am Tibby. Tibby Fromstein. I’m Moondog’s production assistant. I keep things tickety-boo when he’s not around. He asked me to meet you here...’
‘Where is Moondog?’ Hopie said.
‘Ah, he’s busy, very busy. He says sorry he can’t make it. Not his thing, really. Meetings. He doesn’t like formality, you see. The rigours of life on the road, and so forth. But he sends his complements. Also, his kind regards.’
‘Shall we get on?’ Moyes muttered.
‘Ah, you must be Sergeant Moyes. I’ve heard about you. We’ve never actually met, but we talked on the telephone once. I’m sorry I excluded you, but I have heard so much about this wonderful young woman... so many good things, and I was excited to meet her. But now, you’re right, we must sit down and check over this paperwork.’
‘Paperwork?’
‘Well, yes. There are fees pending for Moondog’s services. He also wanted to pass over relevant papers that he obtained during his investigation. ‘
It was going to be one of those meetings, thought Hopie. She should have brought a pen and pad. To take minutes. She had prayed it would be an opportunity for her to say goodbye to one of the most remarkable people she’d ever met. But, it seemed, the meeting was merely a legal formality, to get invoices agreed. ‘Is Moondog well?’ she heard herself asking, even though she told herself to shut up.
‘Oh yes, he is very well,’ Tibby replied. ‘He’s very well indeed. He’s off on another of his adventures. He doesn’t cling to any place very long, as you know. He clings to life, but never to any place…’
‘Yes, I er —’
‘Anyway, let’s get started,’ Tibby dipped her hand into the bag to pull out a package. She handed Moyes a brown envelope. ‘These are invoices and details of expenses claimed by my client, everything is in order and below the estimate.’
‘Thanks, I will get them sent over to the finance people with a covering report.’
Tibby nodded: ‘Moondog wants me to review the cases with you, point by point. All his findings are in the large envelope, in a blue folder marked case notes but he wanted me to offer an explanation…’
‘Great.’
Meanwhile, Hopie watched the ducks dabble on the bright water, as they waited for her to throw them some bread. They seemed happy to be alive. But she didn’t — she felt under-valued, under-loved and undesirable. Tibby turned to give a tiny smile, and even touched a hand against her shoulder, to make her feel included. It helped lighten her mood.
‘You called my client to investigate two issues — the first one unof
ficially known as the case of the dog’s head mutilations.’
‘Yes. How did he get on with that?’ asked the Sarge.
‘It’s complicated, I confess. I got confused when Moondog explained it. The boring details are in the file. Essentially, the way it’s been explained, the dog’s heads got delivered to the wrong addresses. Somehow, one of the dog heads was mistakenly put into a dustbin belonging to another neighbour. That neighbour is entirely innocent. It was the fault of a courier service. The other head was left on the wrong doorstep. Apparently, these are common complaints made by households when they order things online but are not at home to receive them. Moondog interviewed the target’s wife. The intended target, by the way, is a manager at the packaging Fulfilment Centre at Belvoir. Do you know it?’
‘Yes, they are the biggest employers around here.’
‘Yes, at the Belvoir Fulfilment Centre they store, pack and deliver goods that are ordered on the internet. The intended victim of the dog’s heads was having an affair with a key member of staff. We have protected names here, but the key member of staff we refer to in the report is a senior warehouse operative at the Belvoir Centre. So, we have a clear idea of his means, motive, and opportunity. The suspect sent the dog’s heads to scare his boss, acting out his revenge and to intimidate. We think he got the idea from a Hollywood movies… you might have seen it, where a mafia underling sends a horse’s head to a boss as a warning. The message in this case was: leave my wife alone. Moondog was surprised that the police did not resolve this case themselves. He found a clear a paper trail that lead directly to the main suspect, but the evidence was never followed by police...’
‘Maybe we got confused by different addresses,’ offered Sergeant Moyes.
Tibby cocked her head and shook it. ‘Moondog believes the police spent too much time trying to uncover his identity rather than investigating the series of crimes that happened under their noses. But that’s another matter, and it’s not the subject of this meeting.’