Dead in Devon

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Dead in Devon Page 10

by Stephanie Austin


  Despite the glorious weather, I seemed to have the moor to myself save for a few black-faced sheep grazing amongst clumps of gorse. I pulled in off the side of the road and parked on the car park, little more than a level area of gravel beyond the grassy verge. There were no other cars there.

  Little grew up there above the height of bracken and gorse, and the treeless moorland gave me sweeping views. I stared across the landscape, a stiff breeze flirting with strands of my hair, and breathed in deep. To the north of the road, the rocky outline of Great Mis Tor dominated the skyline. To the south, the land fell away gently, and I gazed across hills that were tinged with bronze, russet and purple, fading to blue in the far distance. I locked the van, walked away from the road over short grass scattered with tiny black piles of sheep droppings and found a sun-warmed rock, where I could park my bum and eat my sandwich. I shed my jacket, folding it under me for a cushion and watched a pair of buzzards circling in the immaculate blue above my head.

  Perhaps I have the soul of a cleaning lady after all. A hundred yards or so ahead of me a stunted hawthorn tree, grown hunchback against the prevailing wind, clung with gnarled roots to a low cairn of rock. It would have made a wonderful photograph, a symbol of the struggle of poor living things against the pitiless elements − except that tangled in its branches was a shredded plastic bag.

  I couldn’t bear the sight of the thing flapping away like a flag, the thought that it might be there for years, a horrible intrusion in an otherwise unspoilt wilderness. I had to remove it. I left my bag and jacket where they lay and threaded my way through the gorse to the cairn of rocks. I could see where the sheep had made a path before me, leaving tiny clouds of wool hanging on the tips of the thorns.

  Reaching the foot of the tree involved some awkward clambering, treading carefully, searching for footholds among the knotted, witch-like fingers of its roots. It was a few minutes before I managed to scramble to the top. Moss grew thick on the northern side of the trunk, a sign of clean air. I breathed in deeply and then turned around to get another look at the view: then dropped down behind the tree, crouching as low as I could behind the rocks, my heart thumping with shock.

  Vlad and Igor were walking across the grass towards me. They must have spotted the van parked by the side of the road. They could scarcely miss it. I always park across the lane from Nick’s shop and they’d probably seen it there. It wouldn’t take a brain surgeon to work out who it belonged to.

  I risked a look over the rocks in front of me. Right now they were going through the pockets of my jacket, and laughing. I saw my bunch of keys tossed in a glittering arc into the bracken. Igor began rooting through my bag. He found my phone and passed it to Vlad, who stood scrolling through, looking for something: the photograph I had taken of him. He gave a bark of laughter and showed something to Igor. He must have found it. I didn’t need to see his thumb working to know he was pressing delete, before he flung the phone into the bracken along with my keys.

  Meanwhile, Igor was happily chucking things out of my bag. He found my silent dog whistle and blew it several times, shrugged when it made no noise, and tossed it over his shoulder. A tampon went flying, then my diary; then he found my purse, opened it and emptied out the change.

  I dodged back behind the rock, out of sight. Perhaps now Vlad had got what he wanted and erased the photograph, they might both drive off and leave me alone.

  ‘Juuunoooo.’ It was Vlad calling, his voice mocking. ‘Where are you hiding, girlfriend?’

  He and Igor weren’t going to go away. They were coming to find me.

  What the hell was I going to do? There was no one else for miles around, no cover to hide me beyond the rocks I was cowering behind. I couldn’t stay where I was and there was nowhere I could run to without them seeing me. Even if I could make it back to the safety of the van, my keys were gone. I crouched silently, willing myself to stay calm, to breathe evenly, not to give in to the panic that was fluttering in my throat. They must know where I was hiding; before long, they’d be coming to get me.

  I dared a glance over the rocks. The two of them were striding towards the cairn.

  I looked around: short grass, broken rocks and stunted thorn bushes; open country, nowhere to hide. I glanced up at the tree. I could climb it, but it was so small and stunted that its branches wouldn’t put me beyond their reach. I could sneak in amongst the rusty bracken, crawl on hands and knees, but my movement through it would be slow, noisy and easy to detect. Better to run, try to reach the road and pray a car might come along, pray the driver would stop for a wild-eyed woman with wilder hair, out on the moor, crazily flagging him down.

  ‘Juuunoooo.’

  They were closer now. I bolted, veered away from them in a wide arc, racing across the grass towards the road. They spotted me as soon as I emerged from the shadow of the rocks and shouted. I kept running. I’d been a good runner once. If only I’d kept up the training. They split up, Igor breaking into a shambling jog after me, Vlad sprinting on ahead to cut me off before I could reach the road. I stopped, breathing hard, blood roaring in my ears, then jinked back the way I had come, back towards the cairn, forcing them both to change tack.

  But we all knew they had me. I couldn’t keep this up for long. Sunlight flashed on something silver in Vlad’s gloved hand: a blade. I scrambled back up the rocks to the tree, stood up and screamed for help at the top of my lungs. A cruel wind whipped my voice away, carrying it off like a lost soul, rendering my screams useless. Igor and Vlad were closing in on me from either side.

  I bent down, picked up a rock the size of a tennis ball and hefted it, assessing its weight. Igor laughed. But I wasn’t going down without a fight and he didn’t realise he was dealing with the captain of the school cricket team. Let’s see how funny he found it when he was wearing a chunk of granite in his teeth. I bowled it overarm, aiming at his head. But throwing a rock is not the same as throwing a cricket ball. It fell short. I was out of practice.

  Out of practice and out of luck. I scrabbled among the stones at my feet, searching desperately for another likely missile. Too small would do no damage, too big would be impossible to lift. My hand closed on one, sharp and pointed, barely more than a chip. I stood up and aimed it like a skimming stone, straight at Igor’s head. It spun through the air and struck him on the cheekbone. He bellowed, stopping to clutch at his face. When he took his hand away I could see a trickle of blood. He snarled and broke into a stumbling run towards me. Frantically I hunted for another stone, my breath coming in short, panicky gasps.

  As I struggled to dislodge a rock lodged between two roots, a long mournful howl echoed across the moor. For a moment I froze, then looked up. Igor and Vlad hesitated, glanced uncertainly at one another. Then there was silence, the only sound was the faint mewing cries of the buzzards, circling in the sky above. They shrugged and started towards me again, Vlad grinning as his hand closed more tightly around his knife. I clawed at the rock by my feet, scrabbling with my fingers, tearing my nails as I fought to prise it loose from the earth.

  But something had heard those blasts Igor had made on the silent whistle. Something was answering the call. Another baleful moan sounded, only this time it was closer. A thing unseen was crashing through a stand of nearby bracken, making the ferns rustle and wave wildly, a thing that growled and snarled and sent the sheep scattering in all directions. The bracken parted and a great black shape came thundering out.

  It stopped in front of them, blocking their way: a mass of quivering muscle, fur bristling around mighty shoulders and ridging along its spine, its torn ears flattened against a broad skull, lips drawn back from fearsome fangs. It growled, rumbling rage deep in its throat, fury blazing hot in its eyes.

  ‘Duke!’ I whispered in awe.

  Vlad and Igor took a step back and Duke let off a volley of raw, threatening barks. They stood motionless, Vlad’s grip tightening on the blade. Duke sank low, his belly almost brushing the ground. He crept forward, shoulders pumping
like a lion stalking its prey, gathering himself for a spring, all the time a terrible, low moaning tearing itself from deep within his throat. I could see Vlad weighing up the odds. He might manage a lucky stab, but he risked getting his tonsils ripped out.

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he and Igor began to inch backward, Igor making stupid ‘nice doggy’ noises, neither of them taking their eyes from Duke, who inched ever closer as they crept back.

  Without warning, he charged. Both men turned and fled. Duke leapt at Igor, felled him like a tree, then shook him, crushing his forearm in the vice of his jaws. I could hear the bones crunching from where I stood. He screamed out, but Vlad had kept on running, and was already climbing into the BMW.

  Duke released his grip, chasing off towards the car. Vlad slammed himself inside as the dog launched himself at the driver’s door, claws slipping, scrabbling against the window as he slathered and snarled through the glass. I heard the engine start up. Sobbing and gibbering in pain, Igor floundered to his feet and lurched across the grass. Vlad reversed sharply, shaking Duke off and swinging the car around so that Igor could clamber in the passenger side. I yelled at Duke to come to me, terrified that Vlad would run him over.

  Igor wrenched the door open with his good arm and flung himself aboard. Before the door was closed, the car lunged forward in a crash of gears. There was a crunch of tyres spinning on gravel, a spraying up of tiny stones, and then the car sped off up the road. Duke gave chase for a few long, loping strides, but slowed and lost interest. I stumbled down over the rocky cairn and my legs gave way beneath me. I sat on the ground and sobbed. Duke baulked of his prey, ambled over beside me and lay down in a disgruntled fashion. I threw my arms about his neck and hugged him.

  ‘Awesome!’ I whispered in his ear. ‘You were awesome!’

  It wasn’t me who called the police. I don’t know how long I sat, clinging around Duke’s neck, blubbing into his fur, but after a while he’d endured enough, got heavily to his feet, and snuffled among the gorse where he found and devoured the half-eaten sandwich I had put down on the rock what seemed like a lifetime before.

  That brought me to my senses. I needed to find my keys, and my phone. I picked up my bag and began hunting around in the scrubby bushes. I located my empty purse, my diary and the tampon, and was still scrabbling among wicked thorns, trying to find my keys and phone, when I heard a piercing three-note whistle in the distance. Duke’s head came up, he gave a single slow wave of his tail and barked in greeting. I recognised the whistle too. It was Micky. I scanned the horizon but couldn’t see him. He was probably still far away, his whistle carrying long-distance.

  Duke began to lope off. He stopped at the top of the cairn and looked back at me uncertainly. The whistle came again. And with no further thought, my hero disappeared over the cairn and was lost to sight.

  I continued searching painfully among the thorns, my fingers bleeding from repeated stabbings. I had to find my keys. I wanted to get off the moor, I wanted to go home. But more urgent than any of that was the need to ring Nick, to warn him that Vlad and Igor could be on their way. I had to find my phone. Happily, I located the dog whistle. I couldn’t be sure whether it was that, or all my screaming and hollering that had drawn Duke’s attention, but I didn’t intend to leave it behind.

  ‘Have you lost something?’

  I looked up. A couple of walkers with woolly hats and backpacks were striding in my direction.

  I put on a smile as they came towards me. ‘I dropped my bag and lost my phone … it’s here … somewhere,’ I added, looking around helplessly. ‘You don’t have a mobile on you, do you? Would you mind phoning my number?’

  The woman had already produced her phone. I gave her my number and within a few seconds mine began to vibrate noisily among the yellow flowers of the gorse. We located it about three feet from where I’d been looking. Thank God, Vlad hadn’t torn out the sim. It would still work. We also found my keys. I thanked the couple profusely.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ the man asked, eyeing me doubtfully. I probably looked a wreck.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I responded, sucking blood from my finger. ‘I’m going home now. I think I’ve had enough of the moor for one day.’ Concerned, they wanted to stay and chat. I just wanted them to get going so that I could phone Nick.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure you’re OK …’

  ‘Yes. Thanks again.’ I waved at them and hurried away towards the van.

  It had a flat tyre. Vlad must have stuck his knife into it when he and Igor arrived. I couldn’t help thinking about the old quarries and mine workings there were roundabout, all the places my body might have been dumped, never to be found again. I phoned Nick’s number, unlocking the van door and tossing my bag inside whilst I paced fretfully, willing him to answer.

  ‘Nick, are you all right?’ I blurted as soon as he picked up.

  ‘Is Juno?’ he asked. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘Vlad and Igor—’ I began.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your friends …’

  ‘No need to shout! I see them this morning. We talk. We come to arrangement. Everything is all right now. They go home.’

  ‘I … I don’t understand …’ I said stupidly. ‘You’ve seen them?’

  ‘We friends again,’ he told me happily.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘Friends?’ I shouted down the phone at him. ‘They just tried to kill me!’

  ‘No, no, Juno …’ Nick began soothingly, before the phone was obviously snatched out of his hand.

  ‘Juno, where are you?’ It was Paul’s voice.

  ‘I’m up on the moor,’ I told him.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I am now.’ I gabbled an account of what had just happened to me, ending with the flat tyre.

  ‘I’ll come and get you. Tell me exactly where you are.’

  I told him where I was. ‘But it’s all right, I can manage, I’ve got a spare.’

  ‘I’ll be there in about half an hour. You sit tight.’ And he rang off before I could argue any further.

  Suddenly drained of energy, I sat in the van, and rested my head against the steering wheel. After a few minutes, a car pulled up beside me, blue light flashing, and I started nervously. It was a police car with two officers inside. The driver wound down his window and gazed at me from pale-blue eyes. ‘You all right, miss?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, Officer,’ I lied, trying to sound bright, as he climbed out of his vehicle. ‘I’ve just got a flat tyre.’

  The other officer also got out and together they walked around, making a great business, it seemed to me, of surveying the van. ‘So you have,’ he remarked pleasantly. ‘Have you been sitting here long?’

  ‘I’m waiting for the AA.’

  ‘Ah!’ The driver glanced at his colleague. ‘It’s just we had a rather strange report about twenty minutes ago. A call came in from a gentleman birdwatching up there.’ He pointed towards a distant tor. ‘He was using powerful binoculars. He said he’d seen something strange going on, a woman being chased by two men, a woman with long red hair,’ he added, scrutinising me with eyes narrowed, ‘like yourself.’

  ‘Really?’ I gazed at him, all innocence, raking a hand through the tangled mass of my curls and pulling out a frond of bracken.

  ‘I think he must be quite an elderly gentleman,’ he went on. ‘He felt he was too far away to render you any assistance and so he called us on his mobile phone. He also mentioned something about a huge black dog.’

  I gave what I hoped was a convincing laugh. ‘It wasn’t that big! I think it was a Labrador. It belonged to the two men. I was just over there having a sandwich and the dog came bounding up to me … very friendly. They’d stopped their car you see, to let it out for a walk. They were just running about, playing with it.’

  ‘And were you running about too?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ I was aware of just how idiotic I was making myself sound. ‘I love dogs,’ I e
nded lamely.

  ‘And you didn’t scream for help?’

  ‘Well … yes! But it was only a joke …’

  ‘So, it was all a game, then?’ The officer was eyeing me dubiously. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, I can understand that perhaps to someone watching from a distance it might have looked a bit strange …’

  ‘And this dog didn’t bite anyone?’

  ‘No, no!’ I assured him, laughing. ‘It was all just a game.’

  The police officer favoured me with a long, thoughtful stare and I knew that he didn’t believe a single word that I had said. But there were no mangled corpses lying anywhere, so I don’t suppose he cared. ‘Well, as long as you’re all right, miss,’ he said eventually.

  I saw Paul’s van approaching and let out a grateful sigh. ‘Ah, here’s my friend coming to my rescue, come to change my tyre.’

  ‘Oh really, miss?’ The driver smiled as he slid into the front seat and closed the car door. ‘I thought you said it was the AA you were waiting for.’

  ‘So, why didn’t you tell them the truth?’ Paul asked.

  It was later, much later. We were lying in bed in his caravan, my head on his shoulder, his fingers playing idly with a strand of my hair.

  ‘I don’t know really,’ I admitted, sighing. ‘I didn’t want it all to rebound on Nick. If I’d told the police, he would have had to answer a lot of questions. I didn’t want to get him into trouble.’ More than that, if I’d told the truth, I knew they would have gone looking for Micky and Duke. The police don’t like dogs that attack people, even people intent on murder.

  Paul laughed softly. ‘You didn’t want to get Nick into trouble? Earlier on you said you were going to kill him.’

 

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