Path of Needles

by Alison Littlewood

‘What? Oh – no, I’m not.’

  ‘Good. It brings it off, see,’ she said, ‘although it’s just an old wives’ tale. ’Course, I should know, being an old wife.’ She let out that laugh again, and Alice wished she would stop.

  ‘Not much on talking, are you, love? They used to give it to women in labour. It loosened ’em up, see, made it easier. But if you’re pregnant – same thing – not that you’d be drinking any gin, of course, if you was preggers, not these days.’

  ‘No. No, I wouldn’t.’ Alice managed a smile.

  ‘You should meet my Gary.’

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘He’s single. Are you single? Looks like you could do with someone. Take you out of yourself a bit.’

  ‘Oh.’ Alice remembered the man she’d seen walking the dog after Little Red had been found. She tried to remember his face. Was he someone she’d want to see again? She didn’t want to think about it, not out here. ‘No,’ she lied, ‘no, I’m not single.’

  ‘Pity.’ The woman bent and picked up a plastic lid. She held the tub against her body while she pressed it down. The berries inside rolled back and forth. ‘Well, love, I’m done.’ She walked towards Alice and she felt the urge to back away, but resisted it; in a moment the stranger would be gone and she would be alone. She could look at the tree.

  As she passed, though, the woman reached out and grasped Alice’s arm, and she looked down and saw gold, the glint of too many rings on the clawed fingers. She forced an uncertain smile. She could smell the old pink fleece the woman was wearing under her coat, a scent of dog and unwashed clothes.

  ‘You should get yourself a good man, love,’ the woman said, and then she let go and bustled away, the branches rustling as they closed behind her.

  Alice stood in the clearing alone. Get yourself a good man, the woman had said. Hadn’t Alice told her she wasn’t single? So why had she said that? Or was she just being talkative, trying to say she should get another, better man – one like her son?

  It didn’t matter; it was the tree that concerned Alice. Instead of going closer, though, she circled it, keeping her distance. There was something about it she didn’t like. The juniper was a small, dense conifer with a twisting trunk. It wasn’t like the specimens in the newer arboretum. It was older; this place was older. Alice glanced around, noticing for the first time that there was a ring of bare earth running all the way around the tree.

  She scraped at it with her foot and dust rose from the ground. There were tufts of grass at its edges but they looked sick, attenuated and yellow. She crouched, glanced towards the tree as she touched her fingertips to the dry earth. Then she put her fingers to her lips: was that salt she could taste?

  And yet the tree grew. Its berries were swollen, full and ripe.

  I planted one in my garden, and it grew, but it’s not nearly as fine as this.

  Alice walked towards the tree. She took hold of some of its needles and they felt fat and a little waxy. There was nothing odd about it; it was she who was being caught up in strange ideas. She bent and peered under the lowest branches. Nothing was growing beneath them. There was only a patina of long-dead needles fallen around the trunk.

  She touched her hand to the earth, not quite knowing why, and the dead needles slid under her fingers, at once smooth and sharp, and then she felt something else; it was a little stone, that was all, and yet when she withdrew she held it between her fingers.

  When she lifted it up in front of her face, she almost dropped it.

  She concentrated on catching her breath, put it on the palm of her hand and examined it. The thing was a tooth. It looked old, many years old, but perhaps that was because of the way the dirt had clung, accentuating each fissure on its surface. Alice didn’t want to be holding it any more, didn’t want to touch it, and yet she couldn’t cast the thing away. The tooth was a molar, but it looked too small. She ran her tongue over her own teeth and they felt huge in her mouth. She thought this was a child’s tooth. She couldn’t leave it here in the woods. She had found it and she had to take it: it was hers now. She would have to give it to the police, try to explain how she had come to find it. She wasn’t sure how she would do that.

  She glanced around, turned and started to push her way back towards the lake, heading down the slope. After a moment, she started to run.

  *

  Alice was led into a tiny room and she waited, unable to keep still. The tooth was in her pocket. Her mind couldn’t get away from the way it was nestling there against the fabric, dirt perhaps flaking from it and settling into the seams. Later she might put her hand in there, forgetting, and touch that same fabric. Then she remembered she had put it in the same pocket as the feather, her precious feather, and she grimaced. That was when the door opened.

  It was Cate, as she had hoped. She could have spoken to someone else if she had to, but it was Cate she wanted to see, Cate who’d had that look in her eyes when they spoke in Heath’s office, that odd note in her voice on the telephone. Now she would see that Alice was only trying to help.

  However, as the time came for her to speak, Alice paled. How exactly was she supposed to explain this? How had she managed to find something the police had not? And what had she been doing in the woods at all? Cate was waiting for her to speak, but she couldn’t put words together, couldn’t concentrate. It wouldn’t have to matter: it couldn’t. It felt as if things were coming into the light; and the important thing was that the killer was stopped, the one who was sullying the things she loved. They would find him and stop him and Alice would have done her part. Cate would understand that she had helped.

  Alice didn’t say anything. She simply put her hand in her pocket and took hold of the tooth and held it out.

  *

  ‘Don’t you see? I was right,’ Alice said. She realised her eyes were stinging and was dismayed to find tears had sprung into them. ‘There was an older case, more than one, even, but this one – there’s a body buried under that tree. Don’t you see that?’

  Cate stared at the tooth that sat between them on the desk.

  Alice went on, ‘Someone, maybe way back when that tree was planted, buried someone under there, but this time it was different; I think it was a child. It might have been someone they knew, someone they were related to; maybe it was even their child. Whoever it was, they’re buried under that tree. That’s where they got the teeth.’

  ‘You mean you think someone has been digging there?’ Cate asked doubtfully.

  Alice faltered.

  ‘You think the killer dug up this first body and took the teeth so that he could put them in Little Red’s mouth?’

  ‘Yes – no. I don’t know. The ground didn’t look disturbed. I never thought of that. I just—’

  ‘So how did you find the tooth?’

  ‘It was just lying there, on the ground. Under the tree.’ Alice blinked at Cate, her eyes unfocused.

  Cate looked puzzled. She sighed, and started again: ‘So there’s nothing to say there’s a body under there at all. You found something on the ground, something the killer might have left there, or dropped accidentally.’

  ‘No – I mean yes, I found it, that’s what happened. But I think I was meant to find it.’

  Cate didn’t have to reply: Alice could see the expression in her eyes. She took a deep breath and went on anyway, ‘There is a body under the tree, I feel sure of it. You can see it in the way the berries are – it’s – the tree’s feeding. It’s hard to explain, but you can feel it when you’re there. It’s like life feeding on death. And the ground around the tree, it’s been salted. Someone did that, like a ritual or something.’

  Cate shook her head and put a hand on Alice’s arm. ‘Alice, you should try to keep calm. Just listen to what you’re saying. I think maybe this has all been a little too much for you. I should never have brought you into it, but I did, and it’s too late now. The things you’re saying—’ She glanced towards the door.

  ‘But the tooth is enough, isn’
t it? You have to look under there. Aren’t you at least going to do that?’

  Cate paused. ‘We’ll look around,’ she said.

  ‘No, you have to look under. There’s something there, I know there is.’

  ‘Alice, you have to see how this appears. There’s no real connection, no story here, no Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. There’s nothing posed or deliberate. Its not like the other murder scenes, and there’s no body as far as we know. The killer could have kept those teeth for years, made use of them with Little Red and dropped one under the tree as he passed. It might help us find out where he went, how he got in and out of the woods, but nothing else.’

  Alice drew back her arm. ‘But there is a story here,’ she said, barely holding in the anger. ‘You don’t see anything at all, you never have. You always needed me.’ Her voice faltered and she took deep breaths, got control of herself. ‘There is a story, possibly the most important one of all.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘The juniper tree. “The Juniper Tree” is a story, one that almost holds the other stories within it. Don’t you see? The answer’s here somewhere, the answer to it all.’

  *

  ‘“The Juniper Tree” begins with a rich man and his wife who can’t have children,’ Alice said. ‘One winter’s day, the wife is peeling an apple under the juniper tree in their garden and she cuts her finger. She wishes for a child as white as the snow and as red as the blood.’

  Cate’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s like “Snow White”.’

  ‘Exactly. And yet, it goes on to be a different story entirely. When the child – a boy – is born, the mother dies of happiness and the husband buries her under the juniper tree.’

  ‘But the teeth we have are a child’s—’

  ‘Wait! The man marries again. This time the wife is wicked, but she gives birth to a girl, Little Marlene. Over time she starts to wish that their fortune would be inherited only by her own child, and so she begins to hate her stepson.

  ‘One day, her daughter asks her for an apple. The mother, feeling perverse, tells her to wait until her brother gets home from school. When he does, she offers him an apple, and when he reaches into the trunk where the apples are kept she slams down the lid and cuts off his head.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Red in tooth and claw, remember?’ Alice felt calmer now that she was relating the story.

  ‘Then Mum gets scared. She props the boy up, balances his head back on his shoulders and wraps a handkerchief around his throat. When Marlene pesters her for an apple again, she tells her to ask her brother. The girl does, and when he doesn’t answer she slaps him and his head falls off. She runs to her mother, terrified.’

  ‘Jesus. Nice story.’

  ‘Oh, it gets better. The mother pretends that it’s Little Marlene who’s killed her brother, but she says she’ll help cover it up, like the good kind mother she is. So she cuts him into pieces and makes him into a stew. Then she feeds him to his father, all the while pretending the son has gone off on a visit to some uncle.’

  ‘The teeth in the mouth?’

  ‘Well, maybe – it’s not mentioned specifically. In fact, in this story, the grieving sister gathers up his bones, wraps them in silk and places them at the foot of the juniper tree, where they vanish into the ground.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘That’s it, you see? After that, the tree bursts open, there’s mist and flame, and out of it all pops a fabulously coloured bird. It’s red and green and gold.’ Alice’s voice went far away. ‘I think that’s why I didn’t think of it before.’

  ‘What?’

  Alice stirred in her seat. ‘Nothing. The bird is obviously the dead child returned, transformed into something else. It goes off on its travels, singing a beautiful song. It’s so lovely that people pay to hear it. The bird gathers their payments – a gold chain, a pair of red shoes and a millstone.’

  ‘A millstone?’

  ‘Yes. A millstone.’

  ‘And red shoes. Isn’t that another fairy tale?’

  ‘It is indeed. See how the same motifs crop up? But this isn’t about the shoes. The bird goes back to the family home and sings its heart out in the garden. When they hear it, the husband feels happy and Little Marlene feels sorrowful, but the wife is afraid; she feels as if the world is about to end. The husband goes outside to investigate and the bird drops the gold chain around his neck.’

  ‘Oh. I see what’s coming.’

  ‘The bird has gifts for everyone. The girl gets the red shoes. When the wife goes outside she gets the millstone dropped on her head and she’s crushed to death.’

  ‘So how did the bird carry the millstone?’

  Alice shrugged. ‘It’s a fairy story, remember? It’s magical. The whole thing’s magical: the millstone … the bird.’ Her voice faded before continuing, ‘Anyway, there’s a thunderclap, smoke, flames, things like that, and when it clears, the boy is standing there, restored, as right as rain. They greet each other and then go in for tea.’

  ‘They what?’

  ‘They all go in for tea. I suppose it’s as good an ending as any.’ Alice half smiled. ‘Anyway, what I’m saying is, the juniper tree – it’s a part of it. The tooth wasn’t dropped there accidentally. The tree is a rare thing; it doesn’t grow naturally in those woods. It was planted years ago in the arboretum, the older arboretum, and that’s where the killer chose to leave the tooth.’ She met Cate’s gaze. ‘That’s why it’s so important that you take a look at what’s under there. There’s another body, I know it.’

  Cate stirred. ‘But it doesn’t fit.’

  ‘Fit? Of course it does.’

  Cate met her eye with a steady gaze. ‘Look, I’ll see what I can do. You’ll need to show us where it is. And you might need to speak to Heath.’

  Alice didn’t seem to hear her. When she spoke again her voice was distant. ‘I always felt there was more to this,’ she said. ‘It was only when I saw what kind of tree it was that I was sure.’

  ‘The tree?’

  ‘Yes.’ Alice closed her eyes.

  ‘How did you find this tree, anyway?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Alice?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe it.’

  ‘Well, maybe not.’ Cate paused. ‘But give me a go.’

  Alice sighed. ‘I’ve been seeing a bird in the woods: a blue bird. I followed it, and it led me to the juniper tree.’

  ‘Alice – are you all right? Are you even remotely aware of how that sounds?’

  ‘I know. But it’s true.’

  ‘Then it’s just a coincidence.’

  ‘Possibly – yes, it could be. But you know, it always struck me as strange.’ Alice looked up, her voice dreamy. ‘I always thought it was an odd story, and not only because of the way little pieces of other stories seem to appear within it. It was always just – weird, you know, because of the name: “The Juniper Tree”. I mean it wasn’t about the tree at all, was it, really? It has its role to play, but it always seemed to me that the story was about something else.’

  ‘What, Alice?’

  Alice turned. She could feel the way her eyes were glowing; she knew the policewoman would think she was crazy, but it was too late. ‘It was about the bird,’ she said. ‘It was always about the bird, don’t you see?’

  Cate didn’t say anything; she just stared at Alice.

  After a long moment, Alice changed the subject. ‘There was someone else there,’ she said, and she told Cate about the woman who had been picking berries in the wood. ‘Her son’s name is Gary. I don’t know the surname, but he’s on your register of people who were near the lake when the girl was found. I saw him giving his details to the police, if you want to track them down.

  ‘You know, I’m not mad. I know the bird probably just went to the tree because it liked the berries. Of course it’s a coincidence. But I’m not the only person who’s interested in it. There’s someone else in the woods, trying to find it.’ She told
Cate about how she’d met Bernard Levitt, waiting in his hide. It felt good, handing it all over to the police, everything she had seen and felt. ‘I don’t think he saw anything, but you never know. He might have seen something that day and assumed it wasn’t important. Something besides the bird, I mean.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Cate looked aside, peering into the car park at Newmillerdam as she went past. She wasn’t going there, not today; she wasn’t heading towards something but away from it, diverted from the main event. Alice would already have been collected and taken to the scene, leading police officers to where she’d found the juniper tree. Not Cate, though, not this time: no sooner had she been made the woman’s liaison officer than she had been sidelined. Perhaps Heath didn’t think she had the skills to manage the situation; he hadn’t said the words, but his actions couldn’t have made it clearer. Unless of course he just wanted to take things over himself.

  She frowned, lost in her own thoughts as she took a turn that led away from the woodland. Behind her, others would be on their way to investigate the lead she’d found; but then, if she had been the one listening to her own stammered explanation, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have turned her away too.

  At least they were going to investigate.

  Now she followed a winding road that led towards Crigglestone and the address she’d been given, passing a bus stop with a wide turning-circle and descending into a dip in the road before coming out the other side. The address was just off the High Street and as she took each turn she glanced at road signs, remembering her training: Always know where you are. She shrugged inwardly even as she did so. Would Stocky have been pleased to think his training had stuck? But he’d lost faith in her in other ways, more important ones, and that felt like such a long time ago.

  What she thought of now was Alice, wending her way through the woods, just following a bird, probably not paying any attention to where she was or where she went. She shook the thought away. Alice had to be right, didn’t she? If Cate had been misled, Heath would never give her another chance – if it wasn’t already too late.