At least it didn’t until Claire suddenly jolted upright.
It wasn’t a subtle movement. Everyone saw it.
“What’s wrong?” Adam asked, but there was something about his tone that suggested he already had an inkling.
“Martin.” It was all she said, and then they were moving, picking up their weapons as they went.
“Jennifer, you stay here,” Adam said. It wasn’t an order, but Collins knew he wouldn’t have argued. “If we’re not back within the hour, go to the Refuge.” He turned to Collins. “You can come with us. This might answer some of your questions.”
Collins followed them out to the yard. He started for his Cavalier, but Mason grabbed his arm and steered him towards the Land Rover.
“You’ll be safer with us.”
The idea that he might not be safe hadn’t been too prominent in his mind. He had been thinking about Martin Gates. It hadn’t been a massive leap to connect him with the ‘Martin’ Claire had referred to. The fact that he was being referred to here only added to the confusion he was feeling. He knew he should be asking questions. He just didn’t know where to start. And things were moving so rapidly, he didn’t have time to sit back and consider everything. He liked to work in a logical manner. True, he was quite capable of throwing himself into action if the situation arose. Probably not as much as he would have done ten years ago, but he was confident he could still handle himself. Nevertheless, his strength was in analysis. He liked to gather the facts together and connect the dots. Right now, there seemed to be dots flung far and wide and he hadn’t got time to work out whether any two of them might join up.
Adam drove. They were heading towards the village.
Claire twisted in her seat to face him. She looked very serious.
“We haven’t got a lot of time, Inspector, so I won’t explain everything now. If you need to know at the end of all this, I’ll fill you in afterwards. Right now, we need you to trust us.”
In spite of the fact that they seemed to have appeared from nowhere, and there was a strange quality to them that he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t think of a reason not to trust them. Still, he was curious.
“Why do you need me to trust you?”
“Because we need you to help us.”
He waited for the rest.
“We can’t be seen at Forest Farm. But we think Martin is in danger, so we need someone to go and help him.”
“Why can’t you be seen?”
“That’s what I’d need the time to explain.”
He glanced at the men on either side of him. “Am I going to get a choice in this?”
She smiled back at him reassuringly. “They aren’t there to threaten you, Inspector. Their job is to protect you.”
They were in the village now. The Land Rover passed the opening that led to the farm.
“We’re going in the back way,” Claire explained, seeing the puzzled look on his face. “It attracts less attention. We’ll be there in a few minutes. I need to know whether you’ll help or not.”
“What difference would my presence make?” Collins asked. “There are already soldiers up there. Surely they’d be better equipped to help.”
“That would be true if they knew what to expect.”
As he asked the next question, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. “What should they be expecting?”
Five
Still stunned from the battering he’d taken, Ian struggled to focus for a moment or so. He was confused at Martin’s demand that they leave. In spite of having just been assaulted by the contents of his bedroom, the very fact that it was his bedroom and therefore familiar to him offered some comfort.
There was also something familiar about the man standing in the doorway, though that offered no comfort at all. And when he realised why, he felt violated. It wasn’t the man himself. It was what he was wearing. The clothes were Ian’s. He remembered wondering where the jacket had gone only a day or so ago. Now he knew. This bastard had been in his wardrobe and stolen it, together with the rest of the clothes he was wearing. Only the shoes weren’t his, and he guessed – correctly – that the only reason for that was because the stranger’s feet were too big.
“Who the hell are you?” he managed at last. Even as he spoke, he was struck by the fact that Martin hadn’t said anything since the newcomer had arrived. Surprising when you considered that he’d been very vocal up to that point.
The stranger wasn’t paying attention to Ian, though. Instead, he was looking intently at Martin.
Ian knew the look. It was one he’d seen before – and probably used himself. A look that said I think I recognise you. But I’m not quite sure.
Martin had his back to Ian, so he couldn’t see whether the expression was mirrored, or if it suggested that he recognised the stranger. When Martin took a couple of tentative steps backwards, Ian thought he might have a clue.
“I know you.” Although it was a statement, there was still a hint of a question, as if the man was still unsure. The wrinkled forehead suggested that he was struggling with his memory.
In another situation, Ian might have assumed the stranger was distracted, possibly even vulnerable. He had no sense of that here. The eyes may have been on Martin, but he was aware of being watched. It was more a feeling than anything, but he had no doubt that if he made a move of any description, the man would take it all in – probably even anticipate it.
And there was menace there as well. If he did anticipate a wrong move, he would intercept it with violence. The eyes were dark and cold, bereft of emotion. There would be no compassion. He would do what was necessary, regardless of the consequences for others.
The world Ian had thrived in could be cut-throat at times. But all that was at stake in business was money and reputation. No one got physically hurt. This man was capable of going well beyond hurting people. Ian recalled the description he’d been given of what had happened to the Payne’s dog. At times over the last day or two, he’d wondered whether Martin had been responsible. Not any more. The cause of the labrador’s death had been pure evil. And pure evil was standing in the bedroom doorway now.
“You’re a Gates.” He smiled and nodded to himself as the connections were finally made. If there was any humour there, it was unquestionably dark. “How are your parents?” The question was laced with malice.
Ian had to raise his hand to stop Martin walking back into him.
A mocking smile acknowledged the effect he was having on them. His eyes shifted and looked over Martin’s shoulder. Ian realised he was looking at Tanya.
“Brazen,” he commented. His eyes slid back to Martin. “Just like your mother.”
There was a tension in Martin’s shoulders. Ian recognised it because he was feeling it himself. An outraged anger at having a loved one spoken of in those terms, mixed with a sense of helplessness because you know the stranger has all the power.
Instinctively, he reached out to put his arm around Tanya.
“Fool.” The stranger let the word hang in the air for a moment. “You want to protect her, and yet she has done nothing but betray you.”
He felt Tanya tense under his arm. But this wasn’t anger or outrage. His stomach suddenly felt hollow, an aching void, as he realised why. He was aware of her looking at him, but he bowed his head. He didn’t want to see the guilt in her eyes, and he didn’t want to see the triumphant mockery on that creature’s face.
It shouldn’t be a surprise, he tried to reason with himself. He had suspected it for long enough. That didn’t make the pain any easier though. Her semi-nakedness made matters worse, of course. She still hadn’t pulled the sweatshirt on. He knew that she, like him, had been frozen by the appearance of the man in the doorway. So it wasn’t that she was deliberately flaunting herself. He knew that. But it was still maddening to think that the slut was showing her breasts off like that. Far from wanting to comfort her, right now he could have happily slapped her.
Which brought h
im up short. He’d never felt like that. No matter how angry he was about anything she’d done, not once had he been inclined to lash out physically. Verbally, yes, but even that had been pretty low-key in the grand scheme of things. Right now, though, he could cheerfully throttle her.
Even as the thought passed through his head, he snatched his arm away from her. The urge had been almost overpowering. It would have been so easy then to slip his hands around her throat, and pay her back for all the times she’d been unfaithful. All the times she’d worked late, or stopped over at a conference, or been out with “the girls”. The lying bitch! And he’d known it all along. Deep down, he’d known she was cheating on him, whoring around, laughing at him for being such a mug...
“You are right to be thinking that,” the stranger said. “She has used you. She deserves to pay for what she has done.” He spoke firmly, evenly. His diction was wooden, like a foreigner trying to get to grips with the language. But the words were compelling, pushing him.
Ironically, they also brought Ian to his senses. Keeping his eyes fixed on the pieces of shattered glass in the carpet between his feet, he began to breathe deeply. Slowly, he began to refocus. He knew Tanya’s infidelity was real. He knew she had betrayed him sexually, and probably in other ways too. He also knew in his heart that their marriage had been over a long time ago. The truth was that he had fought that, pretended to himself that everything was all right, or that even if it wasn’t all right now, he could make it all right. But it wasn’t, and it never would be. So they had to move on with their lives. Causing her physical pain wasn’t going to solve that. Feeling those urges had been alien to him. He hadn’t understood why he felt that way, though he had been willing to give in to the compulsion. Then the stranger had spoken and he’d realised where those impulses had come from.
Clenching his fists, he looked at the sneering face across the room.
“You might as well give in to it. If you do not, I will do it for you.”
“No you fucking won’t!” Ian leapt forward, shoving Martin aside. The distance to the doorway was a little over ten feet away. Around three paces. He managed only one before he was lifted up and thrown backwards. The chest of drawers behind him stood about waist high. He cleared it, smashing into the wall and the edge of the window frame, the impact jarring his whole body. His head snapped back against the wall and he slumped, sliding sideways off the top of the chest and landing in an untidy heap on the floor.
He could feel consciousness slipping away. The sounds from the rest of the room were growing distant. Fingers stroked his face, a hand gripped his arm. They felt light, feminine. He was glad she’d come to tend him. She may not have been the best wife a man could have, but he knew there was goodness inside her.
“Do not bother with him.” The voice sounded as if it was in another room. “He will be dead soon enough. As will you be.” There was a pause, a slight shift. Ian thought it was because he was slipping deeper into unconsciousness, then realised the stranger must have turned his attention to Martin. “As will your family, Mr Gates.” Darkness overcame Ian. The last words he heard were: “Tonight we will finish what we started.”
Six
When he’d heard the voice, Martin had known it was the Raven. The possibility of him turning up was the reason why he had been urging Ian and Tanya to get out of the room. But the voice was the clincher. The slow, careful way he used the language, together with the harsh coarseness of the sound. It seemed like a cross between the husky rattle of a long-term smoker and the hoarseness of a football fan who’s spent an intense ninety minutes on the terraces. There was no mistaking the voice. If you’d heard it before, you’d recognise it again. And he did. Twenty five years after he’d last heard it.
He knew what the Raven would look like before he turned. It had been a hazy image in a dream for so many years. But now it was vivid in his mind. The voice alone was triggering memories. They were surging up, pouring uncontrollably into his consciousness. After such a long time, the face should have been an indistinct blur to him. Instead it was more familiar to him than his own father’s had been. Then again, Patrick had aged fifteen years since he’d last seen him. The Raven hadn’t aged at all. For him, only days had passed since he’d last been here.
Images from the woods flashed behind his eyes. Darkness, interspersed with flickers of firelight. Orange flames, half hidden by the trees that lay between him and the fire. Up ahead was the unknown. He was frightened, and yet compelled to go on.
Clothing was scattered on the path. He knew that was inappropriate. But he was eight years old. He couldn’t begin to comprehend why they were there, or why he knew it meant there was something wrong. At first, the discarded clothes were spaced far apart. As he came nearer to the clearing, their appearance was more frequent. And not just a single item at a time. Two or even three would materialise out of the darkness, dropped in a heap on the ground. One pile included a man’s shirt and a skirt. He didn’t stop to examine the underwear that peeked out from between the two garments. The quantity of clothes struck him as odd too. Certainly there were more there than his parents, brother and sister could have brought with them on their own. Not unless they had each decided to slip on multiple items of clothing. He lost count of the pairs of trousers he’d seen, and the dresses and skirts, not to mention the wide and varied range of underwear.
They were in the clearing. He knew the clearing well. It was a safe place to come if you wanted to play. Some older lads had set up a rope swing to one side. They’d tied a section of branch to the bottom of it. Depending on how brave you were, you could use it to sit on, legs either side of the rope, or you could stand on it. There was a hollow in the ground over there, so you could climb on to the branch easily, then launch yourself out into space. It gave a sense of danger, but you knew you were safe really. Martin had spent hours up here. Using the swing, making dens, playing hide and seek. Sometimes he came with his mates, but he was just as happy up here on his own. Firing make-believe guns at make-believe bad guys. He was the Lone Ranger or Robin Hood. But, like any other little boy, always the hero.
He didn’t feel heroic now. Creeping through the woods, his only illumination coming from the fire in the clearing. And around the fire were others.
In the bedroom of the farmhouse, he flinched as he recognised Mrs Payne. She and her husband had moved to the village a year or so earlier to take over the Post Office. He didn’t know how old she was. When you’re eight, everyone over the age of twenty is old. So seeing her naked had come as a shock. She was standing apart from the others, swaying gently as if she was listening to music, her hands were gently caressing her breasts and stomach. Another figure came into view. It was a man. He reached out and cupped one of her breasts in his hand, then squeezed it. As he turned, Martin recognised Mr Salthouse, who worked on one of the other farms in the village. Mrs Payne reached down with one of her hands. Martin followed the movement with his eyes and was astonished to see Mr Salthouse’s erection. He hadn’t realised that could happen. Mrs Payne began to stroke it.
Movement to the left caught Martin’s eye, and he looked over, grateful that he didn’t have to watch any more of that. He didn’t know what was happening, but it didn’t seem right, whatever it was.
Without realising, he had continued to move towards the clearing, even as he felt stunned at what he’d seen the postmistress doing. It was by moving forwards that the others had come into his line of vision. He had a relatively unobstructed view of the clearing now, and could see that there were easily more than twenty people in it. Almost all were naked. Every face he saw was a familiar one from the village. There were others there whose faces were concealed from him, either looking in another direction, or because they were lying down. The lying down was disturbing to him. Because they weren’t lying on their own. And in reality, they weren’t just lying. They were moving, rhythmically, parts of them rising and falling. He felt ill. A heavy ball was growing in his stomach, a weight that he would o
nly come to understand twenty five years later. Fear and horror combined.
Overhead, the trees rustled in the light breeze. And something else rustled as well. The birds he had seen over the past few days. Gathered together now to watch their master at work.
His father was standing next to the only stranger in the group. Martin knew him now. Patrick’s face was a picture of torment as the Raven spoke to him. From this distance, Martin couldn’t hear a word, but his father’s expression told him enough. His cheeks glistened, though whether it was sweat or tears Martin couldn’t tell. The pair of them looked to the side, and Martin followed their gaze. With a jolt, he realised his mum was lying on the ground. He could see her face because her head had been propped up somehow. Her feet were pointed towards him, legs apart. He saw two pairs of hands on her body... God! He couldn’t bring himself to think about it even now, a quarter of a century later. She turned her head to one side, and he saw another erection was close to her face.
“Brazen,” the voice cut through his thoughts. “Just like your mother.”
Martin was rigid. The horror of what he’d just replayed to himself. He didn’t remember that from the dream. There was no doubt in his mind that what he’d just seen had really happened. He felt anger towards his mother. How could she do that? She was always so prim and proper, and there she had been... The thought didn’t bear completion. He also felt angry towards the Raven. His sneering voice goaded him, forcing him to confront the memories from the past. He wanted to lash out, to punch and kick the bastard until his head was nothing more than pulp. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to get close to him. Even as his attention turned to Ian and Tanya, taunting them, Martin sensed the creature’s power. The frustration at his own impotence burned inside him.
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