Redhead

by Ian Cook

  “The abstract face with stylised feathers again,” Jim said. “But wasn’t it someone wearing a headdress – red feathers – that Rebecca saw?” said Larry. “Where is she, anyway? She ought to see this – where did she go?”

  He was interrupted by an urgent shout from one of the workers, who came rushing to the house.

  “Professor! Professor! Quick! Come quick! The girl – the girl – we heard screams.”

  As Larry and Jim crawled out of the house, more terrible screams could be heard in the distance. The voice was unmistakeably Rebecca’s.

  The screaming stopped as the young, red-haired native girl ran up to them, wild-eyed. “Come, come! They are killing them. It’s a sacrifice,” she cried.

  “What the bloody hell!” said Jim, breaking into a run towards the cliff path. Larry stumbled after him as fast as he could, the others following.

  Moments later, Jim, Larry and the girl stopped in their tracks, aghast at the horror of the scene.

  The old lady was kneeling beside the mutilated corpse of her son, moaning softly. Her grandsons were standing silently besides her, paralysed with shock.

  Blood covered the stone platform and dripped to the ground.

  Rebecca sat on the platform, shaking and clutching together the remains of her blouse.

  Larry put his jacket around her, and she fell into his arms, sobbing. “The young girl told us,” he said quietly. He gently lifted up Rebecca’s head and looked at her. “I think it’s about time you left Easter Island.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Charles sat there shaking his head in disbelief.

  “We just had no idea all this was going on. You should never have gone there – we shouldn’t have let you go. Of course, it’s a bit remote out there – but I never imagined – I mean who would have thought things like that could happen anywhere.”

  He continued to look perplexed. “We were all a bit worried, you know. We didn’t hear any news of you for quite a while. I spoke to Juan Perez in Santiago. His man, what’s his name – Pablo – said some out of the ordinary things had been happening, but we didn’t have any details. He certainly didn’t say you’d witnessed a murder like that – or that there had been an attempt on your life. Sounds like they’ve deliberately shut the story down.” He looked hard at her. “Look, Rebecca, why don’t you take a few days off.”

  Rebecca frowned.

  “Don’t argue,” Charles said. “Take the rest of the week off. We’ll use what you’ve filed. Write up the whole story in detail at home, and let me have it later this week.”

  “But I’m perfectly okay now. I’ve already had time to recover.”

  “You look done in. Go home!”

  Rebecca ignored him. “Have there been any more ritual murders?”

  “Yes, there have been – one or two. Details are still coming in. But I don’t want you anywhere near this story now. You’d be asking for trouble.”

  “And where were they?”

  Charles put a hand to his forehead. “The Middle East again. One in Egypt – we’ve just heard. Don’t know yet if it’s another redhead.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s been anything about people having visions? Redheads, I mean?”

  Charles shifted in his seat. “Couple of reports from Scotland, that’s all. They’ve had a red-haired man disappear as well. But then Scotland isn’t exactly short of redheads, is it – and the Scots are known to like a dram or two.”

  “Professor Burton suggested I should go to Aberdeen, to hear the paper they’re giving at a conference. It’s the sort of background I need. I know this story’s going to get bigger.”

  Charles looked at her and shook his head in disbelief. “I suppose Scotland’s safe enough. But to be honest, we’d much rather you switched to something else. It’s too dangerous for you to do it.”

  “Okay, I get the message,” said Rebecca. “But you are interested in this story, aren’t you?”

  “Yes – but not at the risk of your life.”

  She left his office and made her way over to Syreeta, who was working on a local government corruption story.

  “What did Charles say?” Syreeta asked.

  “He thinks I should drop the story. Take some time off.”

  “Sounds sensible. You know we’ve all been very worried about you.”

  “Time off is just about the last thing I want. I can’t stop now – I’m far too involved in it. You can understand that, can’t you, Sy?”

  Syreeta looked dubious. “So, what do you do next?”

  “Off to Aberdeen to hear Larry and Jim’s paper about their work in Easter Island.”

  “Oh well, you should be all right there,” said Syreeta.

  Rebecca sat down at a computer and searched ‘Larry Burton archaeologist’. She soon tracked down his academic details: Professor Laurence Burton: University of London, worked all over the Middle East, long string of publications, including two books on archaeological findings in Anatolia.

  Before she left the office, she went over to Syreeta. “Please don’t worry. Nothing very dramatic is going to happen in Aberdeen.”

  Seeing Rebecca leave, Charles emerged from his office and beckoned to Syreeta. “Syreeta, have you got a moment, please.”

  Syreeta remained at her work-space for a second or two and then walked into his office.

  Charles seemed embarrassed. “Close the door,” he said. Evidently something was wrong. She pushed it shut.

  Charles took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking things over – and I’ve decided to put you on to Rebecca’s story. Putting it frankly, she’s been too shaken up by recent events to be able to handle all this properly.”

  Syreeta protested immediately. “But this is Rebecca’s thing.”

  “Listen, I didn’t go into any detail with Rebecca, but it seems all sorts of weird things are happening to people with red hair.”

  “What sort of things?” asked Syreeta.

  “The story hasn’t really broken yet, but Rebecca’s not the only one. Just odd reports are coming in – from around the world. Redheads having strange visions and psychological crises – personality changes – that sort of thing. And it’s getting quite serious. There’s been another redhead murder, maybe two. I didn’t exactly tell Rebecca, but we just can’t take the risk. She’s been through enough already – and I’m taking it as a warning.”

  “To be honest, it’s not that easy,” Syreeta said.

  “Look, this story is simply too big for one person. We may have to get a team on to it. And we can’t afford to wait either. Go through what Rebecca has filed and the recent reports. I need two thousand words by Thursday – you’ve got a couple of days.”

  “You really expect me to take over her story?”

  “If you don’t want to do it, say so, and I’ll put someone else on it.”

  There was a look of consternation on her face.

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “Go and see Rebecca and write it together if you like. But get something to me by Thursday.”

  “But what do I say to Rebecca?”

  “You’ll think of something,” said Charles, picking up a phone. Syreeta reluctantly nodded agreement and left his office.

  CHAPTER 37

  For once it was not raining, and the wintry Aberdeenshire countryside looked stunning. A few hardy sheep grazed the stone-walled fields, and in the distance the hills were hung with mist. The roads were quiet, and Jim was enjoying the drive while Rebecca studied a map.

  The shock of the sacrifice of Señor Nata and the attempt on Rebecca’s life seemed to have shaken Jim out of the coolness he had shown towards her on Easter Island.

  He and Larry had decided to get her away from the island as quickly as possible. Pablo had become unavailable to help. Diego Garcia, as Chief of Police, had seemed quite happy just to take a few brief statements and gave the distinct impression that he would prefer it if all visitors to the island would simply pack their bags and leave.

  When he
arrived back in the UK, Jim immediately phoned Rebecca and offered to meet her at Aberdeen airport. Seeing him there, she couldn’t help feeling relieved that he was once again affectionate and concerned about her.

  Jim rested his hand on hers. “Have you managed to recover from all that business?”

  “Oh, I’m getting over it. To be honest, though, I’m still having nightmares.”

  “Rebecca…” he said. He fell silent, put his hand back on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead.

  She glanced over at him, sensing that he was trying to find the right words to say something important.

  “Rebecca – I’m really sorry if I seemed, you know, a little distant after that dinner on Easter Island.”

  “That’s okay. I thought you might have suddenly gone off me.”

  He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Far from it.”

  “Funnily enough, Pablo acted, you know, a bit out of character, as well. He behaved so differently towards me the next day. Quite cold.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” said Jim. “There was something very odd about that place. Whatever happened to you that night coincided with the appearance of the Southern Lights. Seeing them in the middle of the Pacific was very unusual.”

  “Oh well, as long as everything’s okay here,” she said.

  Jim turned to her. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but wouldn’t it be better if you just dropped this redheads story?”

  “I can’t. I’ve invested too much in it now. Time, as well as my money. That’s the trouble with being freelance. Anyway, I think it’s going to get a lot bigger.” She decided to change the subject. “I still can’t find the Newton Stones on the map,” she said, as they drove into the small town of Insch.

  “Well, we’re not missing any interesting papers at the conference today,” Jim said. “And I’ve always wanted to see the Newton Stones. They’re supposed to have very mysterious inscriptions.” He glanced over at the map. “It can’t be that difficult to find them. I remember Larry telling us to look out for a stream called the Gadie Burn. I bet he’s already there.”

  “Do you and Larry have a lot in common?” asked Rebecca.

  Jim’s eyes lit up. “Yes, I’m very lucky. He’s the best. He’s a professor at the London School of Ancient Civilisations, as well as Visiting Professor here at the University of the East of Scotland. He’s quite an expert on the ancient Near East, especially Anatolia.”

  “I think he’s a very kind man,” said Rebecca.

  “He’s a man of principle. Typical of the sort who witnessed the last of the British Empire, I guess.” He looked at her as if wondering whether she would appreciate what he was talking about. “You know, the old style of academic who really looks after his students. He’s very modest and completely unmaterialistic, you know. He just lives in a small flat near the British Museum. Though he’s rarely there.”

  “Has he got a family?” asked Rebecca.

  “His wife and daughter were killed in a car crash, years ago – in Turkey. He was driving, and it almost destroyed him at the time. Since then he’s just thrown himself into his work. He never remarried.”

  “That’s terribly sad,” said Rebecca. “It’s awful when you lose family like that.” Before Jim could comment, her phone rang. She put it to her ear.

  “Hi, Sy,” she said brightly, her mood changing instantly.

  Syreeta sounded anxious. “Becky, I need to talk to you – it’s about work. I’ve been putting off speaking to you about it. It’s not my fault. The thing is, I don’t know what to do.”

  “What’s the problem, Sy?”

  “I need to meet you.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Rebecca asked.

  “It’s about your story. Charles wants a two thousand word piece by Thursday. He asked me to look at what you sent him. He says he wants us to work on it together.”

  “Why, for crying out loud? What’s he playing at? And what’s the great hurry, anyway? He told me to take a break. Anyway, I don’t actually think I need help.”

  “Of course not, I know. Could we just meet up and talk about it?”

  “Can’t we talk about it on the phone? I’m up near Aberdeen with Jim. We’re taking a break from the conference.”

  “This story is getting too big. Charles is worried someone else will do it. If we don’t do it, he’s going to put someone else on it. It’s a bit of a mess – I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s a bit over the top.”

  “Well, it’s got to be written up now. I thought it would be easier if I flew up to meet you.”

  “Oh well, I suppose so,” said Rebecca. “Tomorrow I’ll be in Aberdeen.”

  “Okay. I’ll catch you in your hotel tomorrow. You’re at the Curzon, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. But I’ll be at the conference all day with my phone switched off. You can text me when you arrive. Sorry, I have to go. Bye for now.” She ended the call, feeling irritated at the unwelcome interruption.

  “Everything okay?” said Jim, glancing sideways.

  “Just work catching up on me. I thought I was entitled to a break.”

  She looked at the map again. “Perhaps we should ask?”

  “Good idea. Let’s try here,” suggested Jim, and he pulled up outside what appeared to be a general store.

  CHAPTER 38

  A bell jingled as they entered the shop, and at first glance the place appeared to be empty. Then they noticed the shopkeeper kneeling down, stacking packets of cereals, half-hidden by a display. In the dim light at the back of the shop, an old lady, who could have been his mother, was making sandwiches, presumably for sale in the shop. The shopkeeper got up and went to the counter.

  “Can you help us, please?” Jim said. “We’re looking for the Newton Stones.”

  “Oh, you’re very close,” replied the shopkeeper, looking through the window and noting the direction their car was facing. “Just go back the way you came towards Inverurie. You’ll see a lane on the left going over a bridge. The Stones are about a quarter of a mile down the lane in a clump of trees.”

  At that moment, a sleek black cat leaped up on to the counter from behind the shopkeeper and started to sniff a box of fruit pastilles.

  “Now, Tam, you know you shouldn’t be here,” he said, gently picking up the cat and placing it on the floor. The cat ran to the back of the shop.

  “Sorry,” said the shopkeeper. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. Look for the rooks. There’s a rookery there.”

  “Much appreciated,” Jim said, and turned to leave the shop.

  But the front page headlines in the morning papers, on display on the counter, had caught Rebecca’s eye. The one on the front page of the Hibernian stood out:

  ‘MORE REDHEADS MISSING’

  She picked it up and started to read. Damn, damn, damn, she thought. That’s it – everybody’ll be on to my story soon. Then she checked the front pages of every daily paper in the shop. The story about the missing redheads was in all the Scottish dailies, but it was not in the nationals. And the big story – the murders – hadn’t broken. She gathered together copies of all the Scottish dailies.

  “I’ll take these, please,” she said, paying the shopkeeper. She pointed to the headline in the Hibernian. “Have you heard anything about this?”

  The shopkeeper and the old lady exchanged uneasy glances. “There’s something very funny going on, that’s for sure,” the shopkeeper said. “All these red-haired people going missing.” Rebecca looked at him enquiringly. “Well, you know – the first one was in Shetland. A mother out walking with her baby in a pram. They never came home. No sign of them – just the empty pram.” Rebecca paled slightly. “Then two brothers up near Inverness – out hill-walking. Never returned – the search party never found them.”

  “Did they all have red hair?” asked Rebecca.

  “Every one of them. Weird, isn’t it? But the worst case was yesterday – a whole family. Right here in Insch. Mum, dad and two
children out for a stroll. Only thing they found was a scarf belonging to one of the children. Apart from that – nothing.”

  The old lady had finished filling the rolls and came up to Rebecca. “You’d better take care yourself, lassie,” she said, looking at Rebecca’s hair.

  “Oh, I shall. Thank you,” Rebecca replied. But she felt a sudden chill go through her whole body.

  “Any people with red hair should be careful around here,” the old lady went on.

  Rebecca held up the newspaper. “But why do you think it’s happening?”

  “Oh, there are a lot of old superstitions around here,” the old lady answered.

  Rebecca wanted to hear more, but Jim was standing by the shop door. “Come on, Rebecca. Larry will be wondering where we are.” He waved to the shopkeeper as he opened the door. “Sorry to rush off, but we’re supposed to be meeting somebody there.”

  Rebecca reluctantly joined him, calling her thanks over her shoulder.

  They left Insch and followed the instructions they had been given. The main road to Inverurie ran parallel to a small river, signposted as the Gadie Burn where it ran under the road. After making the left turn, they crossed a small white bridge spanning the river and started to drive down a narrow lane. A clump of trees could be seen in the distance, small black specks circling in the sky above it.

  Rebecca was quiet and preoccupied, thinking about the conversation in the shop.

  “Do you think I should dye my hair a different colour?” she asked Jim. “Blonde, perhaps, or dark brown?”

  “Up to you. If you want a good story, maybe you should leave it as it is,” replied Jim. “Depends how brave you’re feeling.”

  She thought his comment sounded rather harsh. “Thanks a lot – really helpful. Perhaps I should just cover it with a headscarf, or get myself a beanie hat.”

  But Jim was no longer listening. They had reached the clump of trees. “This could be it,” he said, seeing Larry’s car and parking next to it.

  They couldn’t see the Stones at first, but a pathway led into the trees. The rookery was very active and the air was filled with the sound of incessant cawing. Thin sunlight filtered through the last of the autumn leaves, so that the ground was dappled with light and shadows. They followed the path through the trees to a small clearing.