“Mr Hardwick is one of you, rooted for generations,” Ravyn said. “His folks have been part of village life almost longer than there has been a village. You’ve known him all your years. He is no newcomer. Think of him, of his sister, of his parents and grand-parents. You’ve known them all. They are part of your lives.”
“I knew his sister,” said one oldster. “Pretty thing, she was.”
“His mum baked the best tarts for the church fete each year,” recalled a fat man.
“Mr Hardwick helped us when I couldn’t work,” said a burly villager. “And he never asked anything for himself.”
Ravyn shifted his gaze back and forth. The grimness that had afflicted the villagers as a group was dissipating under the weight of memories. Only a few spoke, but it was clear others had also been touched by one or another member of the Hardwick family going back generations. The mob was giving way to a group of frightened neighbours. The cloak of anonymity had dropped, leaving each with the responsibility for his actions.
“Yes, the loss of his sister did indeed shatter his life, left him scarred, but which of you wouldn’t be?” Ravyn asked. “Which of you would not be, as Mr Stoneman said, ‘a little potty’ if someone you loved was taken abruptly from your life?”
Most nodded in sympathy. A few were wet-eyed thinking of their own losses.
“Maybe she scarpered, maybe not, we don’t know,” Ravyn continued. “Mr Hardwick believes she was taken against her will. Who can say but that he is not right and prevailing wisdom wrong? Which would you rather believe, that she abandoned you or that she was taken, whether by Beast or man? Consider also, him living in the shadow of the Beast, growing old alone in its darkness.”
A bald man nodded. “Hard that, living in the lee of the forest.”
“The Beast is always waiting,” said an oldster.
A younger man grimaced. “Or a beastly man.”
A man older than Hardwick stepped forward. “Not to mention remembering to duck when the ghost of old Ned Bly gallops out looking for heads and purses.”
“Barmy and wary,” a villager said with a laugh.
“Besides, old Hardwick couldn’t outwrestle a puppy, much less a strapping girl like Lisa.” Frankie uttered a letch of a laugh, giving Hardwick a guilty, sheepish glance. “He’s all right.”
Ravyn finally relaxed.
Hardwick plucked at his sleeve. “Thank you, Mr Ravyn.”
“Go home, Mr Hardwick,” Ravyn said. “We shall talk later.” He turned to Dennis and Frankie. “You two reprobates escort him home safely. Understand?”
The men nodded.
Hardwick looked alarmed.
“So help me, if I hear of either of you playing silly buggers, I’ll toss you both in the nick for a week,” Ravyn said. “And there is no alcohol served in the Stafford jail.”
Their drunkenness dropped like a doffed cloak. The prospect of being without the water of life for even an hour, much less a week, was too terrible to contemplate. They tried to give him all sorts of oaths and promises, but Ravyn sent them on their way. The tide had shifted, but he knew it could turn without provocation or warning.
“As you know, Lisa Martin was found,” Ravyn told the crowd when Hardwick was beyond reach. “She is in shock, but unhurt. She has been transported to the hospital in Stafford for treatment.”
“Can she say what happened to her?” Wendell Stoneman asked.
“Not at this time,” Ravyn said.
“The sight of the Beast struck her dumb,” said a villager.
“The Beast struck down Annie Treadwell too,” added another.
“Miss Treadwell was not killed by any Beast.” In the silence that followed, Ravyn added: “Her death is being investigated as a murder. Please go about your business so we can do our jobs.”
Slowly, reluctantly, but eventually, the crowd moved on till the chief inspector and Wendell were the only occupants.
“I’m sorry, Mr Ravyn, things got out of hand.” He grimaced as his father howled from the back of the store. “It was dad who really got them going.”
“Things better not get out of hand again,” Ravyn said. “I hold you responsible for your father’s actions, as well as your own.”
Ravyn contacted PC Lessing, then drove to the house on Water Street. Though he saw no one, he knew his approach was keenly watched. He pounded on the door a full minute before it opened.
“I’m sorry to inform you that…” Ravyn started to say.
“I heard; every-bloody-body’s heard what happened to Annie, haven’t they?” Treadwell’s voice was guttural, his words slurred. “I blame you for what happened to her. Damn interfering busybody.”
Gail Treadwell appeared behind her son. “Mr Ravyn haven’t you already caused enough harm to…”
“Get back, woman!” Treadwell half-turned and cocked back his arm. “I told you to…”
Treadwell winced in pain. He tried to complete the blow aimed at his mother, but his arm was held. He struggled against the fingers gripping his flesh, but was forced to immobility by a twist of Ravyn’s wrist. It would, Ravyn knew, leave quite a bruise.
“Please don’t hurt him, Mr Ravyn.” Gail’s eyes were wide with terror and concern. “He’s been drinking. He’s not responsible.”
“Please step out of the house, Mrs Treadwell.”
She made her way past them. “He’s mad with grief.”
Several police cars screeched to a halt. A half-dozen constables clattered up the walkway. Ravyn passed Treadwell to one of them, who duly applied handcuffs to the struggling man.
“Mr Treadwell, I am going to search your house and grounds.” Ravyn showed him the authorization signed by his wife. “I have cause to think a crime was committed on these premises.”
“Go ahead,” Treadwell snarled. “There’s nothing to find. You won’t find anything happened to Annie here. Go ahead and search all you want, damn filth. You won’t find nothing!”
“Mr Treadwell,” Ravyn said. “Where is Constable Vainglory?”
Treadwell paled.
Chapter 10
In Hospital
“There has been no change in Miss Martin’s condition.” The doctor, a young man who dreamed of a Harley Street practice with private patients, frowned. “I’ve administered the proscribed treatments for profound catatonic stupor, but, so far, she has been unresponsive.”
“So far,” Ravyn said. “But there is hope?”
“There is always hope,” the doctor said. “I am confident her condition is temporary, but it could be days or weeks, even months, before we see improvement. It might also be years. There is no way to tell. She is deeply in shock. Her mind has fled within itself to escape the trauma behind the shock.”
“But she’s safe now,” Stark said. “Her mum is with her. She should know that. Shouldn’t she snap out of it?”
“I’m sorry, Sergeant, but she is beyond reason,” the doctor said. “To her mind, she’s still in danger. It’s as if you crawled into a dark closet to escape some peril. The danger passes, but you don’t know it. You’re afraid to open the door lest it might be out there. To the girl, she’s still in an unlighted closet, huddled in the dark. She has locked the closet door and we don’t have the key.”
“There has to be a way to break through,” Stark said.
“If they try to batter through,” Ravyn said, “it may only serve to drive Lisa deeper into darkness.”
“Just so,” the doctor agreed. “We have to tread carefully. I am going to refer her case to a specialist in psychiatry. Of course we’ll do what we can, but if we do not see any change in a few days, I’ll recommend transfer to a long-term care facility.”
“The nut house for her,” Stark muttered, frowning. “Bedlam.”
The doctor’s lips pinched in disapproval. “If you will excuse me, I have other patients, Chief Inspector.”
“Yes, of course,” Ravyn said. “Thank you, Doctor.”
The doctor started off, then turned back. �
�Chief Inspector, is a guard really necessary?”
“Yes,” Ravyn replied. “Absolutely necessary.”
The doctor sighed. “Very well. I’ll leave instructions with the nursing sister to notify me if there are any changes.”
When they were alone, Stark said: “I ruffled his feathers.”
“The doctor is a progressive young man,” Ravyn said. “He did not appreciate your use of antiquated and, to some, offensive terms no longer approved of by the medical profession.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The medical profession, in general, dislikes reminders of how little they actually know or can do,” Ravyn said. “The mind is still an enigma, but if doctors use certain terms and avoid others, they create the impression, especially in their own minds, of knowledge and competency not truly in evidence.”
“They changed the dog’s name,” Stark said.
Ravyn’s expression at Stark’s comment was milder than usual, a passive, yet disapproving look frequently reserved for politicians, congenital idiots and some superintendents of police. He did, however, raise a quizzical eyebrow.
“Sorry, sir,” Stark said. “It’s from a film I saw, an American one. A valuable dog is stolen, and the rather clueless criminals must hide it until the ransom is collected. One villain suggests that if they change the dog’s name no one will…”
“Ah,” Ravyn said, peremptorily. “Yet another reason to avoid most of modern cinema.” He shook his head. “Hollywood.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you are correct, in spirit at least,” Ravyn said. “It’s part of today’s culture. If a term sounds unpleasant, simply change it into something more agreeable to the senses, less disturbing to one’s sensibilities. It is a mindset working its way into even the villages of Hammershire, usually bastions of immutability.”
“I prefer to call a spade a bloody spade,” Stark said. “Sir.”
Ravyn almost smiled. “I am sure it is one of the qualities others find so endearing about you.”
Stark almost rolled his eyes. “Sir, if we can’t get something out of Lisa Martin, I don’t see how we can get any furtherer in finding out who took her or even where she was held.”
“Silent witnesses, Stark.”
“You mean, forensics?”
“It’s likely we will get a boost when Angus finishes the workup on her clothes and skin,” Ravyn said. “Wherever she was held, it had to leave traces on her. Then there’s the clue of the map.”
“The intersecting lines you mentioned?”
Ravyn nodded. “She was taken into the forest and she emerged from the forest. The end and the beginning of those journeys is where we will find the Beast’s temple.”
“Sir, I don’t think…” Stark’s words trailed into silence.
“You don’t have to believe in the Beast yourself, but you have to believe that someone does,” Ravyn said. “Someone took Lisa for a ritual connected with the Beast. She is the latest of a large number of girls abducted from Midriven over an extended period of time. I would not be surprised if victims were taken from outside as well.”
“Do you want to know what I think, sir?”
“Always.”
“I think Billy Tremble saw Lisa in Flintlock Lane, waited until he was sure no one could see, then dragged her into the forest,” Stark said. “I’ve about given up on Hardwick. Tremble was strong enough to do it, and she was just his type. He took her somewhere, bound her, then went off and got himself killed. She works her way free when he doesn’t come back, wanders around until she comes out of the forest, and Bob’s your uncle.”
“It sounds logical,” Ravyn admitted. “Simple. Very neat. It also ties up all the loose ends that officialdom hates with a vengeance.”
“What threw us off before was trying to tie Annie Treadwell to Lisa because we knew that when Annie vanished good old Billy was well and truly dead,” Stark continued. “Now, we know we have two separate cases. We should close up one with the most likely explanation and concentrate on the other. As to what killed Billy Tremble…it was an animal and, quite frankly, who cares?”
“Yes, we do have two cases, but Lisa’s is far from completed and there may yet be another abduction now that she has escaped,” Ravyn said. “As to the other, we should head back to the station and close it. Processing should be complete, briefs notified and all that. It is time to get some answers.”
“Yes, sir.” Stark rubbed his hands together in anticipation of questioning James Treadwell. “He has a lot to answer for.”
“Treadwell can wait,” Ravyn said. “He still denies all. We will get what we want from Gail Treadwell.”
“I can’t believe she would have had a hand in…”
“No, I do not think so either,” Ravyn said. “But she holds the key that will unlock the case against James Treadwell.”
“She won’t turn on her son.”
“Oh, I think she will.”
Before leaving, Ravyn talked to the police constable detailed to guard Lisa and the nursing sister assigned to her case. The nurse regarded Ravyn arrogantly, an usurper to her authority in her own realm, while the constable grew pale. One had heard nothing of the chief inspector while the other knew all the rumours and stories, but neither was privy to his true nature.
Ravyn glanced at the pale, inert form of Lisa Martin staring sightlessly at the ceiling. “She is not to be left alone at any time.”
The constable, a young man named Barnes, nodded.
“I know my job…sir.” The sister was named Wiggen and had two decades of experience behind her. “She will be cared for.”
“I’m sure you do and that she will be.” Ravyn said. “Of that, there is no doubt. However, the danger comes not from contagion or trauma, but from a man. She is unable to speak, to tell us who assaulted her, but she eventually will. The man responsible will do all he is able to silence her. That is what she must be protected from. It is an extraordinary situation requiring all your skills, experience and vigilance. We are depending upon you. She is depending upon you.” He paused. “Can she depend upon you?”
“Yes, of course,” Wiggen said, her arrogance eroded but hardly broken down. “I’ll attend to her myself.”
“Thank you.” Ravyn turned toward PC Barnes. “Lisa’s mother, the doctor, and the sister—you will allow no others in; if any protest, refer them to me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are not to leave her at any time, for any reason.”
“No, sir.” Barnes licked his dry lips. “I mean, yes, sir.”
“You have a pen and pad?”
Barnes fumbled at his pocket. “Yes, sir.”
“If she speaks or mumbles anything, you take it down to the best of your ability,” Ravyn said. “Legibly and accurately.”
“Yes, sir,” Barnes said. “You can depend on me.”
Ravyn regarded the young man doubtfully. “I hope so. Contact us at once if the situation changes.”
Barnes nodded. When Ravyn turned away and headed out the door with the nursing sister, he let escape a little sigh of relief. That sigh caught in his throat when the tall, hard-faced sergeant stepped forward and thrust an accusing finger in his face.
“If I find out you’ve left her alone or something happens to her, I’ll fit you up good,” Stark said. “Understand?”
Barnes nodded. “But what if I…”
“What if you what?” Stark demanded when the constable failed to complete his thought. “Out with it!”
“What if I have to go? You know…relieve myself?”
“Go in your pocket or tie it in a knot.” Stark started for the door, then turned back. “Or ask the sister to sit in for you. Briefly.”
Barnes nodded.
“Another thing,” Stark said. “When the guv’nor says accurately, he means just that. She so much as sighs, it better be in your little book, else you’ll end up resident constable in whatever wretched little village is farthest from the dim
lights of Stafford.”
“Yes, Sarge,” Barnes said.
This time, Barnes waited till Stark was actually out of the room before allowing himself a relieved sigh. He sat in a chair next to the bed and put pen and pad on a side table. He started to pick up the Vimto beverage can he had brought with him; remembering Stark’s warning, he resisted.
He looked at the pale girl who had yet to move a single muscle. A thin blanket covered her. Her arms lay atop the blanket, placidly at her sides. She stared at the ceiling. Were it not for the slow rise and fall of her chest, he would have taken her for dead. She looked so helpless. He thought about what the chief inspector had said and grew grim about the mouth.
“Don’t you worry none, luv,” he whispered. “No one’s going to do you no harm while I’m here.”
Stark caught up with Ravyn at the lift.
Ravyn smiled. “Paused to put the fear of God in PC Barnes?”
“Yes, sir,” Stark said. “Something like that.”
“Good.”
They walked the few blocks from hospital to police station in silence. Afternoon shadows lengthened and the sky began to shade from a crisp blue toward indigo. Traffic was light. Most people had not yet begun the commute from city to village.
“You don’t believe Billy Tremble had anything to do with Lisa, do you?” Stark asked as the station hove into view.
“I’m a prudent man.”
“Sir?”
“You may be right about Billy Tremble and Lisa,” Ravyn said. “It is certainly within the realm of possibility and likely the option favoured by our superiors. It’s neat and tidy. If you are correct, then my measures to protect Lisa are unnecessary and excessive, another mark in your favour, at least in some quarters.”
“I think it’s the best solution, but there’s no way to know…” Stark paused. “If I’m right, she’s safe because nothing will happen; if you’re right, she’s still safe because of the measures taken.”
“Yes, Stark, a prudent man,” Ravyn said. “Like the atheist who lives a righteous life, just in case.”
Twenty minutes later, Ravyn and Stark sat in Interview Room 2, a windowless cube. Its only furnishings were a long table and four chairs, two to a side. On the table, against the wall, was a digital recorder. Opposite the two detectives were Gail Treadwell and her solicitor, Brooks, a dour, alabaster-faced man with wire spectacles. By the door stood a Woman Police Constable.
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