‘What story?’ Clare asked. She was sure she did not want to hear it, unable not to ask.
‘They say it’s the devil’s haunt.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I used to ride my bicycle as a youth past here. That’s what we always knew. As I said, it’s just folklore, an old superstition.’
‘Have you been in here before?’
‘Not likely. The place scared me to death then, even does now.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ Clare said. ‘I’m scared enough for the both of us.’
‘It doesn’t worry me,’ the younger policeman said. ‘The imagination plays funny tricks on you.’
‘Enough talk,’ Clare said. ‘What have we found so far?’
‘Bugger all,’ the young policeman replied. ‘We’ll not find anyone in here.’
***
‘Vic, this is a wild goose chase,’ Constable Dallimore said.
‘Do you want to tell Sergeant Yarwood that you’re cold and you want to get back to the car, is that it?’ Oldfield replied.
‘Vic, it’s not that, but there’s nothing here. We’ve covered the area as requested. What more can we do?’
‘You may be right, but you know Tremayne, and Yarwood’s not a person to give up so easily.’
‘Okay, I’ll take the left-hand side, you take the middle, and young Mike can take the right-hand side. Once we get back, that’s it. Agreed?’
‘And tonight the beers are on you if we find something.’
‘Agreed,’ Dallimore said.
Oldfield took his phone out of his pocket, attempted to call Clare: no signal. He assumed it was the trees blocking the signal.
The three, Oldfield, Bill and Mike, all constables, all drinking pals, spread out. They were no more than sixty yards from each other.
It would have been just a five-minute walk if it had been light, but in the dark, it would take ten. Bill, over on the far left-hand side, could see a cottage down below, its lights ablaze. In front of him, he could see nothing other than the light from his torch. Oldfield, in the middle, moved forward; the night was silent. Mike, the other constable, walked briskly.
The three kept in contact by calling out to each other.
Meanwhile, Clare, at the other end of the wood, was following a similar plan, and she was on her own. She could see the torches of the other policemen with her, but they were of little solace. She knew in her bones that something was wrong. She tried to rationalise it as she scoured the area, hoped her fear did not show, knew that it did.
‘Vic, there’s nothing here,’ Bill shouted from his side of the wood.
‘Nothing here,’ Mike yelled.
‘Yarwood, can you hear me?’ Oldfield shouted. No reply.
Clare, on her side of the wood, had attempted to shout to Oldfield, but she had no voice. The fear in her was now palpable. She called to the other two flanking her, but there was no response, although she could see their torches.
The police sergeant quickened her pace, tripped over a fallen branch. She attempted to call out, with no success. With no option, she continued, moving the torch up and down and to the left and right. The torch on her right was no longer visible. She looked to the left, only darkness.
Fear gripped her; she moved towards the left, hopefully in the direction of the police cars, although she could not see them. Clare attempted to run, tripping over again. Her torch switched off when she fell over. She switched it on again: nothing. With only the light from her phone, she attempted to get out of the wood, all thought of Adam Saunders forgotten.
In the distance she could see the road, and she felt calmer. With a bearing, she could feel her strength returning. It was only two minutes to the edge of the wood, she was certain of it. She increased her pace once again, only to fall down. The ground was wet, her hands were in water. Lying there, catching her breath, she pointed her phone in the direction of the latest obstacle.
‘Help!’ she called out, her voice returning.
‘What is it?’ one of the policemen came over to her.
‘Over there.’ She noticed that he was using his phone as a light as well.
He helped Clare to her feet and then pointed his phone in the direction that Clare had indicated. ‘That must be Adam Saunders,’ he said.
‘Does your phone work?’ Clare asked.
‘It will once we’re out of this infernal place.’
‘What happened?’ Clare asked.
‘I could ask the same of you. One minute you’re there, the next you’re gone. I called out, but there was no answer. I was heading out of this place, but I got lost.’
‘The same with me,’ Clare said.
Two minutes later, Oldfield appeared. ‘We heard you shout. Is that Adam Saunders?’ he asked.
‘You’ve met him. What do you reckon?’
Vic Oldfield moved over to the body lying face down in the small pond. ‘I’d reckon so,’ he said.
‘What happened to your torch?’ Clare asked.
‘It just gave up on me. It must be the cold in here.’
‘Yes, that must be the reason,’ Clare agreed.
Chapter 21
‘You’re confident it’s Adam Saunders?’ Tremayne asked. He had driven up to the crime scene as fast as he could after Oldfield had phoned him. He had seen the wood from a distance; it had looked depressingly ominous from back there. Now that he was closer he could understand why certain people would see something sinister and threatening. He had to admit that close to the wood it definitely felt colder. He looked at his sergeant, saw that she was not in the best condition; he could only sympathise as it had been her who had discovered the body.
‘Have you told his father?’ Oldfield asked.
‘I phoned him on the way here,’ Tremayne said. ‘Not much else I could do, seeing that he called us first.’
‘He’ll be here soon,’ Clare said.
‘Just make sure he doesn’t get in the way of the investigation. It is murder, I assume?’
‘It doesn’t appear to be an accident, unless he tripped, banged his head and fell into the water.’
‘But you don’t believe that, do you, Yarwood?’
‘Odds on, he was murdered.’
‘By who?’ Tremayne tested his sergeant, looking for the correct response.
‘Not by the gods, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Then who?’ Tremayne said.
‘As you’ve said before, the answer lies in Avon Hill, but if he’s been murdered, then it’s human intervention, not godly.’
Jim Hughes arrived within the hour, but not before Charles Saunders. He had been insistent on seeing his son’s body, although he hesitated before entering Cuthbert’s Wood. Oldfield took him in. The two police officers who had accompanied Clare and Oldfield into the wood initially were taking control of the crime scene until a couple of uniforms from Bemerton Road Police Station arrived. Crime scene tape had been strung around a few trees, and the father had complained when told that he could not approach any closer.
‘Is that your son?’ Oldfield asked.
‘They’ve killed him, haven’t they?’
‘Who are you referring to?’
‘Not now, not in here,’ Saunders said.
‘Why?’
‘This is their place.’
‘We’ve two police officers here, a team of crime scene investigators on the way with floodlights and generators. That should be enough protection.’
‘When will you remove my son?’ Saunders asked.
‘That’s up to the crime scene examiner. Tomorrow, probably.’
‘After I’ve identified him, we’ll talk.’
***
‘How am I meant to find anything in there?’ Jim Hughes said on his arrival.
‘We didn’t have many options,’ Clare replied. ‘We were looking for a missing person, not a body, at that time.’
‘That’
s as maybe, but it still looks as if a herd of elephants has been through there.’
Hughes and Clare stood at the entrance to the wood; Tremayne had gone back to the police station to update Moulton on the latest development. Vic Oldfield was down at the cottage identified by Charles Saunders as his son’s hideout. Oldfield knew that under other circumstances the father would have been held responsible for his failure to bring his son in for questioning, although that was now irrelevant.
Oldfield and Constable Dallimore checked the cottage from top to bottom, found nothing. The constable would ask Hughes to check it later, see if they could find any fingerprints, other than of the two Saunders, which judging by the amount of dust would not be difficult.
Jim Hughes and his team set up floodlights in Cuthbert’s Wood, a small generator supplying the power. Clare had to admit that it did not look nearly as spooky now that the area was bathed in light, although she remembered how she had felt in there before. She could only imagine the fear that a fifteen-year-old would have felt, and how unpleasant his death had been.
‘We’ll check the periphery, somewhere your lot have not marched through,’ Hughes said. It was late at night, and he was not in the best of moods: on the one hand, Tremayne was criticising his lack of experience, and then, the same day, he wanted his crime scene team to work through the night in temperatures close to freezing.
‘We only did what was necessary,’ Clare reminded him.
‘I know, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You’re convinced it’s murder?’ Both the CSE and Clare stood close to the body. Clare was no longer afraid, surrounded by another three people.
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve seen the branch?’ Hughes asked.
‘Not in detail. It was dark in here.’
‘If that had hit his head he would have been unconscious. Have you considered that?’
‘It’s possible, but we know what his father told us. We’re aware that the son was prowling around the Reverend Harrison’s cottage, and Avon Hill is nearby.’
‘Too much evidence to be circumstantial, is that what you’re saying?’
‘His death is too convenient. We know he would have told us more if his father had not been present that time at the police station.’
‘How did the father take his death?’ Hughes asked. He was bending down close to the body as he spoke.
‘Badly. Supposedly he intends to tell us what the son did not.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Mavis Godwin would not tell us, nor would Harrison. There’s no reason to believe that Saunders will either.’
‘What’s with these people?’ Hughes said as he continued his examination. ‘Some bruising on his back, tree bark in his hair. It’s all conducive to an accident.’
‘He’s been killed. Don’t expect me to go back and tell DI Tremayne it wasn’t murder. He’ll go spare if I do that. What about the branch that hit him?’
‘That’s next. I suggest you go and write up a report or something and leave me to it. Your constant questions are starting to annoy me.’
Clare realised that the crime scene examiner and the DI were similar in temperament. ‘I’m surprised you and DI Tremayne don’t get on better.’
‘Tremayne’s alright by me. He’s a prickly character, just need to give him back what he dishes out, and Clare, I’ve no issue with your being here, but I need to focus, as does my team. I’ll update you in two hours.’
Once outside the wood and back in a heated car, Clare phoned Tremayne. ‘Two hours.’
‘What’s Hughes’s preliminary findings?’
‘He said two hours, but there’s clear evidence that Adam Saunders was hit on the back of the head by a branch. That probably rendered him unconscious.’
‘Accident, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Not yet. It’s murder as far as I’m concerned,’ Clare said. The fear that she had felt before, the belief in ancient gods, dissipated entirely as she spoke to her senior.
‘And what about Oldfield?’
‘He’s checking out the cottage where Adam Saunders was hiding. He’ll be back soon.’
‘As soon as you two are finished there, get back to the station. We need to meet with the infamous Dr Wylshere, as well as his wife. I need you two to do some more research.’
‘Are we still planning a visit to Avon Hill?’ Clare asked.
‘I don’t want to go in there blind. The Wylsheres have some questions to answer first, and if Harriet Wylshere murdered Mavis Godwin, then we need to charge her. Any fingerprints at Mavis Godwin’s cottage?’
‘You’ve seen the report, guv,’ Clare reminded him.
‘I’m asking the questions here,’ Tremayne replied, true to form and blunt as usual. ‘Of course I’ve seen the bloody report. I’m talking out loud, running ideas past you.’
‘Understood, guv,’ Clare said, a smile creeping across her face.
‘The woman who visited Mavis Godwin wore gloves, not unexpected given the weather, and the cottage was always cold. The best we have are footprints.’
‘A large size for a woman, though.’
‘Large, but not conclusive. The best we can hope to do is to firm up Harriet Wylshere as the killer, but we’ll not be able to prove it was her.’
‘And she won’t confess.’
‘Who will?’
‘Whoever these crazy people are, they either believe this nonsense, or they’re scared stiff.’
‘Both, I’d say,’ Clare said.
‘Regardless, back in the office and then we’ll deal with the Wylsheres. By the way, any car problems?’
‘Not today.’
‘There you are, a load of nonsense, just superstitious paranoia.’
‘You’re right, guv,’ Clare said.
***
‘It’s grim,’ Oldfield said as he stood in Avon Hill.
‘It’s hardly my idea of a fun night out sort of place,’ Dallimore said.
After concluding their activities at Adam Saunders’ hideout, the two men had decided to check out the place that concerned them the most. The walk from the cottage to the village had taken twenty minutes down a narrow lane. On the way, they had passed a couple of cottages, the curtains twitching in the first one, a man standing in the garden at the second. Oldfield had attempted to engage in conversation, only to receive a begrudging grunt in return before the man walked away. A dog barked inside the cottage. As they descended the lane, the temperature yet again started to get colder.
‘This place interests you?’ Dallimore asked.
‘Whoever these people are, they’re bizarre. Too many unexplained happenings, and each time the evidence leads back to here.
‘Did you ever watch Brigadoon,’ Dallimore asked.
‘What about it?’
‘That’s what this place is like. You remember the movie when the village wakes every hundred years for a day.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at it, Vic. It’s eerily beautiful, just the sort of place that you’d see in an old painting. There’s the stream running down alongside the road, a few houses, cows in the fields. Apart from the occasional TV antenna and the electricity poles, this could be a place out of time.’
‘When do you get to watch movies like that?’
‘It’s on the television every Christmas. Scoff if you want, but that’s what this place is like.’
Oldfield had to admit that Dallimore was right, the village had a strange feeling about it. It was one o’clock in the morning, and every house they passed as they walked down the main street appeared to have a curtain that moved.
‘They’re watching us,’ Dallimore said. ‘I don’t like this place.’
‘Don’t tell me you believe that nonsense?’
‘What nonsense?’
‘Pagan gods, secret rituals.’
‘Are you telling me that this is what these people are involved in?’<
br />
‘It’s possible.’
‘For Christ’s sake, let’s get out of here.’
‘You believe it!’
‘I’ve a healthy respect for my life, that’s all. There are enough lunatics in this world without coming into their front parlour.’
‘Do you believe in paganism and orgiastic rituals?’
‘Of course not, but looking around this place and the faces behind the curtains, they could well do. I suggest we backtrack out of here and fast. Down here, we’ve no protection.’
‘We’re police officers, we’re trained to deal with these situations.’
‘We’re two men in a village that does not like us. When was the last time a police officer came down here? Have you checked?’
‘DI Tremayne came to the pub many years ago. He said they were not friendly. Apart from that, I suppose no one’s been down here, no reason to. It’s not the sort of place that would have any crime.’
‘Apart from orgiastic rituals and paganism.’
‘We’ve no knowledge of those sort of rituals,’ Oldfield said.
‘Then what sort?’
‘Human sacrifice.’
‘Hell, Oldfield, don’t stuff around. We’re leaving.’
Oldfield, taking heed of Dallimore, turned around and headed back to the turn off to Adam Saunders’ cottage and up to Cuthbert’s Wood. As they reached the corner, a group of men appeared.
‘What are you doing here?’ one of the men asked.
‘We’re police officers,’ Oldfield said.
‘Do you have identification?’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘It’s one o’clock in the morning, and two men we don’t know are prowling around.’
‘Is it any of your concern?’
Oldfield tried to look at the group in front of him, only they all had torches pointing at them. He estimated that there were six men in total.
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