by Chris Simms
‘Down the lane. This it?’
He bent the flap back and she looked inside. Mouse stared up at her, shivering, eyes as wide as ever. ‘Oh my God, Mouse. I thought I’d lost you. Oh Mouse!’
‘Are the bins round here?’ The policeman and fire fighter were moving to the far corner of the cottage, torches shining into the back garden. One beam picked out the bird table, now leaning drunkenly to the side.
‘Yes.’ She followed, calling back to Steve Maystock. ‘Keep an eye on her, can you? I’ll come back...’
They were standing on the patio directing their torches towards the fence.
‘The bins are over here, but I think...’ Her words petered out. There was no need to check the rear of the house. No need for any search dog. The layer of snow showed a clear trail of footprints. They led up to the top of the garden but then they come back towards the house. Halfway they stopped. Footprints overlapped each other to form an uneven patch in the grass. It was like he’d been shuffling on the spot, unsure which direction to take.
But then the trial cut to the left. A single line of steps went straight to the fence then out into the field.
‘That way,’ the firefighter announced glumly, crossing the lawn.
Laura followed.
Chapter 39
She didn’t like the way William’s footprints were so close together. If he was fleeing, as he should have been doing, there would have been more of a space between each step. But there wasn’t. When she took similar size steps her walk reduced to little more than a shuffle.
The two men started to draw ahead of her as she looked about. The thick layer of cloud had started to dissipate, and though the moon was still hidden from view, the pale landscape didn’t need much light to reveal itself. A dark line was away to her left: the dry-stone wall running along the top edge of the field. Beyond it, the copse of trees where the badgers lived was nothing more than a faint smudge.
She was now a good twenty metres behind the two men. Speeding to catch up, she said, ‘He’s heading towards the canal. This field leads down to it – you can just make out the line of trees at the water’s edge.’
Neither replied for a bit. She could hear the sound of their breathing, see it churning in the still air above their heads. The clean white snow creaked with each step. The land was so quiet. Too quiet. She wanted to scream William’s name. Owen’s. Where were they? Were they all right?
When she drew level with them the policeman glanced at her. ‘Was he only wearing one shoe? The right print; I can see an outline of toes.’
‘He was wearing slippers. The other one came off in the front hall.’
‘He got here from the Skylark Trust in just his slippers?’ He looked incredulous.
The line of steps started drifting to the right. The slope grew more pronounced. To their side was the shallow mound topped by a circular stone where she’d stood earlier. Now it was just a soft lump. As they passed it, she could picture William stumbling down to the canal. Why, she thought, did I let him out of the house? That dank water, so horribly cold...
But the beam of the firefighter’s torch swung off to the left. The trail of steps now cut across the slope of the hill, heading in the direction of the copse of trees where the badgers had dug their holes. They followed the footsteps for a few seconds, gradually drawing closer to the dry-stone wall.
‘Oh bloody hell, no,’ the firefighter murmured as he came to a sudden stop.
Laura stepped out from behind him and saw another mound, similar to the one they’d just passed. But the snow from the top of this one had been scraped away. Something large and round was halfway down it. A giant disc of stone. From the way its lower edge had driven up a motionless wave of snow, it had slid there. Or had been pushed.
William’s footprints led straight up to it.
‘He hasn’t managed to shift that, has he?’
‘What is it?’ Laura asked.
‘I bloody hope not,’ the policeman replied, starting forward again.
She tried again. ‘What is it?’ But they were both approaching the little mound, oblivious to her question.
She looked about, studying the perimeters of the field for any sign of whatever had come down into the cellar. Wherever it was, she thought, it caused this to happen. She searched for the lopsided head watching from behind the dry-stone wall. She scanned for its silhouette on the crest of the hill. It was still close by, she was certain.
‘Oh shit, oh shit.’
It was the fireman’s voice. She turned: they were both standing by the circular slab, torches shining straight down. She felt herself walking forward once more, almost stumbling as the ground started to rise.
‘How on earth did he move the cap?’ The policeman sounded dismayed.
The firefighter heaved a great sigh. ‘Poor lad. What made him do something like that?’
There was an opening in the ground, not circular – more the shape of an egg. The rim was of bricks but, as she drew closer to the edge, she saw the sides of the vertical shaft turned to bare rock after about twelve feet. Her eye continued to travel down the bumpy surface. The gap narrowed. Just before William’s body came into view, she realised she’d gazed at this scene many times before. Her dream. William was jammed head down, one arm bent behind his neck, knees splayed out to the sides. His other slipper had come off and the soles of his feet were pointing up. A light layer of snow covered them.
Her entire body started to quiver and the ground tilted beneath her feet. This couldn’t be. How could this be? She staggered into the policeman.
‘Get her back!’ The firefighter yelled, stretching an arm out.
The policeman gripped her by the shoulders.
‘What is he in?’ She was trying to resist, wanting another view as he lifted her clear of the ground and carried her down the incline. ‘It was her!’
‘You should never have let her come!’ The firefighter growled angrily, yanking a walkie-talkie from his front pocket.
‘Mrs Wilkinson, it’s not safe.’ The policeman’s voice was right in her ear. He was trying to sound soothing, but his grip didn’t loosen. ‘Let’s come away, that’s it. Good.’
‘She did it,’ Laura gasped. ‘It was her!’
‘Who’s that, then?’ His tone was indulgent as he lowered her down, well away from the cleft in the ground.
‘The woman from Lantern Cottage! She climbed out of the wall. William said the bad person would come.’
He positioned himself between her and the hole. ‘You’re saying someone else was in the cottage earlier on?’
‘Yes!’
‘Who?’
‘A woman.’
A hard edge had crept into the policeman’s voice. ‘There was a woman in Lantern Cottage? Who?’
Now you’re listening, Laura thought. ‘I don’t know! But she had the canary; it was singing. Then she left the house with it. While William was outside in the garden!’
‘OK, hang on. We’ll get back to the cottage and you can tell me properly. You say this woman was alone?’
‘Yes. William was terrified; she wanted to hurt him, I’m certain. She did this! She led him here and killed him!’
He reached for his handset. ‘Can you give me a description of this woman? How old she was, what she was wearing.’
‘Yes, she was– ’
The firefighter’s voice cut in. ‘Constable?’
He dragged his eyes from Laura.
‘How many sets of footprints did we just follow to get here?’
The officer opened his mouth to answer, then closed it. He lowered his handset and looked back at Laura. ‘Mrs Wilkinson, only William’s footprints lead here. We need to get you somewhere warm. You really shouldn’t be outside.’
‘You don’t believe me? I can show you precisely where she was.’
‘OK, you come and show me.’ His patronising tone was back. ‘Back at the cottage, yes?’
She nodded. ‘Behind a wall upstairs.’
Chapter 40
An ambulance was now parked behind the fire engine. The vehicle’s flashing lights combined with the fire engine’s, making her feel unbalanced. Shielding her eyes, she could see the hills opposite were still totally black. ‘Have you found my husband?’ she asked the shadowy forms by the vehicles. A paramedic started toward her but she waved him away. ‘We need light! Another of those big lamps the fireman had.’
No one seemed willing to move.
‘Mrs Wilkinson,’ the policeman said gently. ‘Why don’t we sit down a minute? The ambulance is warm. You can get some warm fluids on board...lie down, if you want.’
‘I need to show you where she was. It’s upstairs.’
The paramedic was shaking out a silver blanket. ‘Come on, love. This way.’
‘Don’t you touch me!’ Her hands were up, ready to slap at him. She was shaking. The policeman and paramedic looked at each other.
A radio went off. Something about the bottom field. The policeman lifted his handset and also started to speak. He mentioned an uncapped ventilation shaft. The need for winching gear.
Laura turned to Molly Maystock’s dad. ‘You know the lamp I mean. Please.’
He gestured to the policeman. ‘I think there’s one in the back. It’ll be fully charged.’
The policeman lowered his radio and sent a pained look at the paramedic, who gave a slight shrug.
‘I’ll put the blanket round me,’ Laura said. ‘If you let me show you upstairs. After that I’ll get in the ambulance.’
That seemed to appease the officer. ‘OK.’
She whipped the blanket from the paramedic and wrapped it about her shoulders like a cape. Molly’s dad turned round and removed a lamp from the side compartment. She could see the box Mouse was in. At least the kitten was safe. That was something. ‘We need another of those things – as back-up.’
He pointed apologetically down the lane. ‘They’re all being used.’
I’m not going in with only one light, Laura thought. If it fails the darkness will take over once more. That thing came out when everything went dark.
‘I’ve got flashlights,’ Molly’s dad said, removing a couple.
‘Thanks.’ She took one and clicked it on. The brilliant spot glided smoothly over the trampled snow as she led the policeman into the house. Steve Maystock followed, hurricane lamp held at shoulder height.
She blasted the darkness from the corridor beyond the kitchen with her torch beam. William’s slipper was lying there, black and glistening like an enormous slug. At the bottom step, she shone the light up. Steve moved into the hallway behind her, hurricane lamp causing the last of the shadows to evaporate.
‘Let me go first,’ the policeman said, unhooking something from his belt. A baton extended out from his hand. ‘Which way at the top?’
‘Left.’
Safely bathed in light, they climbed the stairs in single file. None spoke. A mini-procession of pilgrims. Laura’s silver cloak rustled like a giant packet of crisps. The policeman’s torch beam went to the carpet. ‘That’s blood.’
‘Mine. I cut my foot earlier.’
‘And the walls?’
He’d spotted her handprints, too. ‘All mine. It’s that end room – straight ahead.’
The policeman’s torch beam joined hers. They approached the wide-open door.
‘Something’s covering the floor.’ Now he was speaking in barely a whisper.
‘A mirror broke. It’s glass. What I cut my foot on – I tried to sweep it back.’ She wanted to check the spare room behind them. It could be in there, crouching among the boxes. She wondered whether to ask Steve to take a look, but the policeman started moving forward.
‘Hello? Police...’ he called out uncertainly. ‘Is anyone here?’
Silence.
He pointed his torch into the studio and Laura was momentarily dazzled when the beam caught in the window.
‘Bloody hell, what happened in here?’ he asked.
Alongside the broken glass, fragments of brick and plaster now littered the floor. Smears of blood showed through the mess. She looked at the hole in the wall. ‘I...I tried to move a mirror. It fell. Behind it, there was an opening in the plaster. I made it bigger.’
He stepped down into the room, torch now pointing at the jagged opening. Laura took a deep breath and followed. Steve squeezed in behind them. The space she’d cleared earlier wasn’t quite big enough for the three of them and he pushed granules of glass back with the toe of his boot. The sound grated inside Laura’s skull.
‘Someone was hiding in there?’ the policeman asked.
She looked at the hole. Did I really make that? She couldn’t remember dislodging so many bricks. ‘Not hiding. She...I heard her come down the stairs. I was in the cellar looking for the torch. The one that was at the bottom of the steps. She came into the kitchen above me.’
‘You only heard her? You didn’t actually see where she came from?’
‘Where else could she have come from? Besides, once the hole was big enough, I reached in with my hand – just before the power went off. I could feel the ends of her shoes.’
‘Her shoes?’
‘Yes.’
‘She was already in there, behind the wall?’
‘Yes.’
‘You made a hole in the wall and discovered her already in there?’
‘Yes.’
His eyes shifted to Steve Maystock. She glanced back: the firefighter looked sad. He didn’t meet her eyes. She turned to the opening. ‘There!’ She pointed down. ‘See that bit of lace? That’s part of her petticoat. It came away in my hand. She was over in the corner, it’s a cavity leading to the chimney shaft.’
The policeman turned his torch off, crouched down and picked up the scrap of material. ‘I see.’
Laura could tell he didn’t believe a word of what she was saying.
‘And this person, hiding inside the wall, she didn’t move when you reached in and started pulling at her clothing?’ he asked, going on one knee. He leaned forward and brought his head close to the hole.
She saw his forehead wrinkle into a frown. He turned his torch back on and shone it inside, directing it off to the left. His shoulders stiffened. Then he was drawing back, fumbling for his radio as he looked up at Laura. ‘Alpha One, this is Tango Three.’
‘Go ahead, Tango Three.’
‘Um...this is serious, but not urgent. We have the remains of a female in Lantern Cottage.’ His voice was high and shaky. ‘In a wall cavity.’
‘A wall cavity?’
‘Yes. Concealed in a wall. It appears to have been there for quite some time.’
‘How long?’
‘I...I don’t know. Hang on.’ Face pale, he directed the torch in again. ‘Years, I’d say. The dress looks...Victorian.’
Chapter 41
They were back in the kitchen when – without any warning – the lights came on. The fridge-freezer juddered briefly then settled back to its customary quiet hum. Laura thought the zeros of the microwave’s clock looked like a row of blinking eyes. What time is it? How long have I been asleep?
‘Thank God for that,’ the police officer muttered, turning his torch off. ‘Power’s back.’
Laura watched him anxiously. He wouldn’t say anything about the woman’s body. She tried again. ‘Officer, you still haven’t answered my question. William was terrified of the bad person coming.’
He looked at her with a mixture of incomprehension and barely hidden annoyance. ‘Mrs Wilkinson, my job is to secure the property. Other people will come and work out what went on. Specialists in that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, but –’
‘Laura?’
The voice robbed her of her own. She closed her mouth and turned her head. It was him. Doctor Ford stood in the doorway, long black overcoat hanging to below his knees.
‘Laura, are you OK? We’ve been trying to find you.’
The policeman stepped eagerly towards him. ‘
Doctor Ford, are you Mrs Wilkinson’s GP?’
He nodded. ‘And Owen Wilkinson’s. Is he here also?’
The officer ignored the question. ‘I think Mrs Wilkinson needs some – you know – attention. She’s been through a terrible experience.’
Dr Ford’s head swivelled back to her. ‘Laura?’
‘I’m fine,’ she replied, clutching the foil blanket tighter. ‘They’re waiting for me outside. I want the paramedics to look at me.’
‘Well,’ he lifted his carry case. ‘I’d be more than happy to do that.’
She started across the room. ‘No thank you. My husband is still out there somewhere, I’d prefer you take care of him.’
***
The three men watched as Laura left the room.
Once she was outside, Steve Maystock turned to the police officer. ‘I’d better report back. See if they need me in the bottom field.’
‘Hang on,’ the officer replied, stepping over to the door. He made an attempt to close it before turning round. ‘They’ve found him already.’
‘Who?’ Steve asked. ‘The husband?’
The officer nodded. ‘By a dry-stone wall. In a field near the bottom of the lane – where the ground levels out.’
Doctor Ford’s leather case creaked as he adjusted his grip. ‘I’d better head down there, then.’
The police officer shook his head. ‘Doctor, you can’t help – he’s dead.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘Oh, good God.’ Dr Ford looked at the crooked door. ‘Oh, good God.’
‘I heard earlier, when we got back from searching the fields. But I couldn’t say anything to the wife, she’s semi-delusional as it is.’
‘Are you certain he’s dead?’ Doctor Ford whispered, face ashen.
‘The boys have checked, Doctor. Could you...’ he gestured at the corridor behind. ‘We’ve got three bodies. No idea when the pathologist can get here. Can you nip upstairs and pronounce the one there? Then I can at least seal the place for forensics.’