“Oh no,” Knowles said with a wry smile. “That would be asking too much.”
***
Derek sat down on the only free chair in interview room two. Across the table, Robert Dawson stared at him, glassy-eyed.
“Right, Robert, let’s have a look at the record of your arrest, shall we? We’ll start there and see how we get on.”
Dawson’s only response was to curl his lip in a sneer, so Derek turned his attention to the file. “All right, it seems from what you said during your arrest that you admit to attacking this boy outside the quarry. Is that right? You’re ready to admit to that?”
“I’m not admitting to anything,” Dawson said. “I didn’t do anything.”
Derek sat back in his chair. “You do understand that I’m here to help you? If I’m going to arrange your defence, I need you to cooperate.”
“Did my old man send you?”
“No. I’ve been appointed because you told the custody sergeant that you wanted legal advice but you couldn’t arrange it yourself. I’m here to help, but if you don’t want me to act on your behalf, I can leave, and the sergeant will arrange for someone else. But you may have to wait some time before anyone else can come. It’s up to you.”
“All right. I suppose you’ll do.”
“Good,” Derek said. “So we’ll start with the fight. There were two eye-witnesses that saw you attacking the boy, and from what I’ve seen on the file, you’d be best advised to stick with what you said when you were arrested. Admit to the assault and perhaps, if we put our heads together, we can come up with some other offences to be taken into account.”
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Other offences—things you’ve done in the past that you haven’t been caught for. If you admit them now, the police will be able to clear those offences up and the court will take your cooperation into consideration when they’re deciding on a sentence.”
Dawson frowned. “You mean, if I own up to more stuff, they’ll go easy on me? That’s stupid.”
“Maybe, but it’s the way things work.” Derek closed the folder and looked Dawson in the eye. “But then, there’s the problem of the missing boy. Do you know anything about that? Anything at all?”
For a fraction of a second, a flicker of doubt showed in Dawson’s expression. But then the stony mask of indifference was back. “No. I don’t know anything about it. The last time I saw the kid was yesterday. Yeah, I gave him a thump, but that was it. Some old bloke turned up with his dog and I walked away.”
“And you didn’t see this boy, er, Jake, again? You haven’t seen him or heard from him today?”
Dawson shook his head.
“And there’s no possibility that the police will find a witness who’ll say otherwise?”
“No. No way. Like I said, I saw the kid yesterday, and I thumped him. End of story.”
Derek exhaled noisily, then he picked up the folder and stood up. “Right. That’s it for now. I need to find out what’s going on and see how the police want to proceed. I’ll find out what I can and start making the arrangements. In the meantime, I strongly advise you to say nothing to the police unless I’m with you. Understand?”
“Yeah,” Dawson said. “But…they won’t try and blame me for the kid going missing will they?”
Something in Dawson’s tone caught Derek’s attention, and he hesitated before replying. “It’s unlikely. So long as you’ve told the truth, and you really don’t know anything about it, I can’t see that they’ve got anything to go on.”
Dawson nodded, then he sat still, staring into space as if he’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone. “I don’t know anything about it,” he murmured. “He just disappeared. I don’t know anything about it.”
Derek knocked on the door, and as he waited for it to be opened, Dawson’s muttered mantra sent a shiver down his spine. Disappeared, he thought. Why would he use the word disappeared? And somehow, he knew that whatever happened, Dawson’s parting words would stick in his mind for a long time. A very long time indeed.
2014
CALLY FOLLOWED EVERYONE ELSE and trudged into the tent, ducking her head to pass beneath the sagging nylon. The late afternoon sky had turned grey, and the atmosphere at the dig was tense. Cally hadn’t been missing for long, and when she’d strolled up to the base camp as if nothing had happened, everyone had been very relieved. But their happiness had quickly turned to anger and recriminations, which in turn had given way to a moody silence.
And then Professor Leyland had called them all into the finds tent for a meeting, and from his stern tone and the look on his face, Cally knew that whatever the professor had to say, it wasn’t going to be good news.
She took her place next to the other volunteers. Dean tried to catch her eye, but she ignored him and watched the professor, waiting for him to start.
“All right, you all need to listen,” Leyland said, although no one else in the tent was speaking. “I’ve called you in here because I’m seriously thinking of sending you all home—permanently. I have a good mind to kick you all off the dig.”
“What?” This cry of dismay was from, Josie, one of the Ph.D. students. Everyone else stood in silence.
“Now, as you know, this dig was beset with problems from the start,” Leyland went on. “I had to go to a great deal of trouble to get permission before we could even start surveying this site. And I’m sure you all know why it was so difficult.”
“The druids?” Cally chipped in hopefully.
Leyland stared at her. “What? Who told you that?”
Cally blinked. And she heard someone let out a muffled snort of laughter. Dean! He’d made a fool of her again. She suppressed the urge to glare at him. Instead, she kept her composure as best she could and maintained eye contact with the professor. “I’m sorry. It was just something I heard.”
“You heard wrong,” Leyland said, and there was a coldness to his tone that Cally hadn’t picked up before. He’d always been kind to her, encouraging her questions and listening to her ideas. But here, in the confines of the tent, she was seeing a different side to his character.
Leyland looked around the group. “Would anyone else care to venture a baseless theory? Or perhaps you know the real reason?”
Josie cleared her throat. “It was all that stuff about the boy—the one who went missing.”
“Exactly,” Leyland said. “The police didn’t want us here, and they kept us out for as long as they possibly could. They claimed they were still treating it as a crime scene, and they wouldn’t let us set foot in the place until they were sure they’d finished with the site.”
There were a few murmurs in the group, but Cally shook her head. “I don’t understand. What boy? And why was it a crime scene?”
Leyland drew a breath. “Four years ago, a boy from the town went missing. The police didn’t tell me the details because it’s an ongoing investigation, but it was in the press, and it’s clear that there were suspicious circumstances. And what’s more, there was a connection with this quarry.”
Cally thought back to the boy she’d talked to—Jake—and a chill ran through her, though she wasn’t sure why. “This boy, I guess they found him, though, didn’t they?” she asked. “And it’s safe here now, isn’t it?”
Leyland’s expression darkened. “That’s not the point, Cally. Of course, I assumed the site was safe, or I wouldn’t have brought any of you here. And I’m kicking myself for not warning you all properly about this. I’m responsible for that mistake, but I’m putting it right. I want you to understand that what happened here was very serious. The police thought the young lad might’ve been abducted. There was a gang that used to hang around in the quarry, and at least one of them was sent to prison. So when you went missing, Cally…” He broke off and ran a hand through his hair. “Can you imagine how I felt? Can you imagine what was going through my mind?”
Cally looked at Dean and the others, but it was their turn to avoid eye
contact. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t go missing, Professor Leyland. Honestly. It was everybody else. They ran off and left me on my own. They were just being stupid.”
“That’s not true,” Dean blurted out. “We were all just having a laugh, but you went off. We looked for you, but we couldn’t find you anywhere.”
“Rubbish!” Cally snapped. “You know that’s not what happened.”
“Cally, that’s enough,” Leyland said. “You might not know this, but when your friends came running up here to find me, they were genuinely worried. We all were.” He held out his hands as if entreating her to speak. “I expected so much better from you, Cally. What happened? Why did you run away?”
Cally recalled smoking the joint, remembering how ill and strange she’d felt. Yes, she had walked away from the group, and when she’d sat down she’d felt totally out of it. She had a sneaking suspicion she’d blacked out because suddenly, she’d been alone and disoriented. So when that boy had turned up, she’d talked to him, even though she hadn’t known who he was or what he’d been doing hanging around. Anything could’ve happened. Anything. And then she’d sat on the stone and been cold, so cold, and her head had been buzzing with whispered voices. And she’d screamed, hadn’t she? Cally wasn’t sure, and the whole bad trip was an experience she hoped never to repeat—not ever. But when it came down to it, it had been her choice. No one had forced her to smoke the damned joint, and no one had made her wander off on her own. It was all her own fault, and she couldn’t let anyone else pay for her mistakes.
She swallowed down her sense of shame and tried to ignore the rush of heat reddening her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Professor. I never meant to cause anyone any trouble. But you don’t have to send everyone home. I’ll go. I don’t want to interrupt your work. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Professor Leyland looked at her, and the seconds stretched out, longer and longer, then he turned his attention to the others. “And what about you, Dean? Have you got anything to say?”
Dean shrugged. “Not really.”
“Is that a fact?” Leyland let out a quiet snort. “Do you think I’m a complete idiot, Dean? Do you honestly think I don’t know cannabis when I smell it? Do you think I didn’t spot the signs the moment you barged in here?”
“I don’t know,” Dean said, and his attempt at a casual tone was a complete failure.
“Well I do,” Leyland said. “And not only is cannabis illegal, but you’re eighteen and old enough to go to prison for possession. And from what the others said, it sounds like you gave some to Cally. That’s supplying drugs, Dean, and Cally’s only seventeen.”
Dean hung his head. “It was only a little bit. Just one joint. That’s all I had.”
“I’ve known students get kicked out of university for less. And when you took your place on this dig, you all signed an agreement guaranteeing your good conduct. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Dean admitted. He looked up. “Are you going to tell my mum and dad?”
Leyland hesitated, then he shook his head slowly. “Right now, I’m honestly not sure. Legally, you’re an adult, so you ought to face the consequences, but having this on your record could seriously damage your chances of getting into a good college. It might be better if I discuss it with your parents. If I tell your school or the police, things could go badly for you. But either way, I want you off this dig right now. Get your things and go home.”
“But, my mum will go mad,” Dean said.
“Too bad,” Leyland replied. “You should’ve thought about that before you brought an illegal substance onto my dig.”
Dean’s shoulders slumped, then he walked out the tent, grumbling under his breath. The others watched him go, but still, nobody said a word.
Cally sighed. “I’d better go too. I’m sorry, Professor.” She turned, but before she could take a step, Leyland called out to her.
“No, Cally. You can stay. You made a stupid mistake, and you’ve apologised, but I’m satisfied that there was no intent on your part.”
“Oh,” Cally said. “That’s…I mean, thank you. I won’t let you down.”
“I know that. And I know that you have a bright future ahead of you—anyone can see that. But let this be a lesson to you. You can have all the potential in the world, but make one bad decision and you could be throwing your academic career away. Do you understand what I’m saying, Cally?”
“Yes. I understand.”
Leyland let out a heavy sigh. “All right. That’s it. Let’s call it a day and go home. We’ll come back in the morning and start work in earnest. Yes?”
A murmur of agreement ran through the group, and as they all filed out the tent, Cally made herself a silent promise: She’d never talk about the weird sensations she’d had on the black stone. She’d never mention her experiences to another soul. And she’d definitely keep quiet about the boy she’d talked to. He’d just been a kid that’s all. A kid passing through. And after what the professor had just said to her, she’d be mad to even mention Jake’s existence. So she’d forget all about him. That was by far the best thing to do. Any other course of action would be asking for trouble. And that was the last thing Cally wanted. The last thing in the world.
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The Darkeningstone Book II
Michael Campling
Somewhere, Sometime, The Stone is Listening.
CHAPTER 1
3650 BC
HAFOC PAUSED AND SNIFFED THE AIR. The evening was crisp and cool and his mind whirled with a confusion of scents from the forest; the deep sweetness of the soft earth mingled with the mellow scent of forest flowers. But there it was—the hint of bitterness he’d been hoping for: wood smoke. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Thank you,” he whispered. The spirits had not helped him in his hunt today, but they’d brought him back to his tribe. At last.
Hafoc started forward, turning his head as he walked, tracking the scent of the fire. He would soon be back with the others. Just in time. The sun was already low and the shadows beneath the trees were already as dark as a demon’s eyes. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked. Had he heard something? He walked on, raising his right hand over his shoulder to touch the shafts of the arrows he carried on his back. Good. There were plenty there. It’s not as if I’ve had the chance to lose any of them today. He stopped. Ahead, something stirred in the undergrowth. Hafoc dropped into a half crouch. He swallowed hard. First there’d been sounds behind him, and now in front. Had he allowed himself to be surrounded? He drew an arrow and held it against his bowstring, but then he hesitated. Should he draw his knife instead? He glanced down to the knife he wore sheathed on the strap across his chest, but it was already too late. As he watched, the tall ferns in front of him whispered and swayed as something pushed its way through the fronds. Hafoc set his jaw and raised his bow. Despite himself, he took a faltering step backward. And to think that, only a moment ago, he’d thanked the spirits for keeping him safe.
From the shadows, a low growl. A wolf. But was it alone, or was the pack even now circling around him? Hafoc tilted his head. Where are you? Another growl filtered through the undergrowth and Hafoc fixed his eyes on the place. He drew back his bowstring, but he couldn’t loose the arrow yet. He couldn’t be sure of a good hit and if he missed, he would not have time for a second shot. The trees nearby were too spindly to climb. His only chance of survival was to make a kill. If there was a pack, he needed to break it up long enough to make a dash toward the camp. And then he’d have no choice but to hope a cry for help would be heard.
The creature crept closer. A trickle of sweat stung Hafoc’s
eye. He blinked and took a steadying breath. He was ready. A dark shape moved through the undergrowth, but just as Hafoc prepared to let his arrow fly, the creature’s growl changed, growing louder as it turned into a gruff bark that was too low, too grumbling to be the yap of a wolf. Hafoc sighed and lowered his bow. The dog barked once more, then, still growling, it pushed its way out of the ferns. Its ears lay flat against the top of its head and it kept its body low, ready to launch itself at Hafoc’s throat.
Hafoc stood straight and looked the dog in the eye. He knew its brindled coat, the shape of its muzzle. “Nelda, I almost put an arrow in you.” He put his arrow back in its quiver and held out his right arm, forming his hand into a fist. The dog raised its nose and sniffed. For a heartbeat, it stared at Hafoc and then it stood taller, its body relaxed. It raised its ears and gave a small grunt of recognition. Hafoc smiled. “Good dog,” he said. “I must be nearer the camp than I thought.”
It wasn’t long before Hafoc heard the distant murmur of voices from the camp. He stopped and cocked his head, listening. All seemed well, but he turned to scan the forest behind him. Earlier, he’d heard a noise at his back, and since Nelda had appeared in front of him, the dog could not have been the culprit. He’d only heard it once, but Hafoc would not rejoin the tribe until he was sure he wasn’t being followed.
Nelda watched him for a moment, then moved toward the camp. If there was a threat, she would’ve heard it long ago and let him know. Hafoc sighed then followed Nelda, changing the way he walked so he made some noise as he went along. It was always better to be heard as you approached the camp. A stealthy visitor’s only welcome would be an arrow in his chest. Hafoc deliberately brushed against the branches of a bush and the sound, unnaturally loud in the stillness, made him wince. A dog barked and its warning was quickly taken up by two or three more. Nelda paused and pricked her ears. She gave an answering bark then trotted forward. The voices from the camp stopped and Hafoc knew that men were even now taking up their weapons. He squared his shoulders and strode onward. He did not hesitate until he stepped into the fire-lit clearing.
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