by Tom Grieves
He muttered something that wasn’t for her or for the stony-faced men at the table. She didn’t bother to ask him to repeat it.
‘When would be a good time for us to visit you and your wife?’ she persisted.
There were angry chuckles at this.
‘Mr Downing?’
‘You won’t find her with him,’ David said.
‘I see,’ she said, intrigued by this development.
‘I doubt that,’ David added. ‘You don’t seem to get anything at all. Do you, love?’
‘Mr Downing,’ Zoe continued, her voice calm and even. ‘Where would we find your wife, sir?’
‘Where do you think?’ Tim replied.
‘She’s run off with her doggy, Bud, hasn’t she?’ David added.
So Sarah was now with Bud. This didn’t feel right.
‘She didn’t run off,’ Tim corrected David. ‘I kicked her out. And he’s the only man in this village stupid enough to take her in.’
That made more sense.
‘Whose bloody round is it?’ Tim asked.
Zoe left them to it without bothering to excuse herself. She knew that any further conversation would only bring more rebukes. It wasn’t surprising that Sarah and Tim’s relationship had collapsed. Zoe and Sam had probably helped break it. Still, seeing Tim there, soaked in impotent rage, was a depressing sight. A boy was dead, a girl was missing. It was only natural for things to fall apart. But Zoe didn’t like the way the men were stagnating and rotting in its wake.
Upstairs, she dumped her bag on the bed and instinctively went to tell Sam her news. But there was no answer at the door when she knocked. Confused and then angry, she listened for any signs of him, but got nothing.
She left her bag unopened and walked down to Bud’s house. It was a ten-minute walk, but the exercise didn’t calm her down.
When she reached his house, she stopped at the road and proceeded no further. Bud’s house was just as she remembered it: sunk forlornly under the cover of thick trees, dank and awkward. His boots still lay by the door, and the curtains stayed drawn and protective. But across the door the letter ‘W’ had been sprayed in a crazy pink. W for Witch. Someone, Bud most likely, had tried to scrub it away, but had only managed to slur and smudge the letter, which remained as legible as ever.
Zoe stood there for a while, waiting to see if the curtains would move and worried eyes would peer out.
This bloody place, she thought. But then, again, the city was no better. It was odd to think that these ancient prejudices had reached so deep and still held so strong.
Whoever was inside was hunkered down, and Zoe realised that there was no noise inside or out. She kicked a stone, turned and walked away. She saw no one on the way, heard nothing, said nothing. Everything was black.
FIFTY-TWO
Sam found Ashley by the lake, as he knew he would. The water drew them together. When he saw her, she was leaning against a tree, as though inviting him into the wood, with a delighted, almost victorious smile on her face. The expression only irritated him further.
‘Miss me?’ she asked.
‘Who were you talking to back then?’ was all she got in return.
‘Eh? Some lawyer woman. I dunno.’
‘Liar.’
She pulled a ‘you what?’ face and crossed her arms, then switched emotions and pulled at Sam playfully, her face light and childish again. He pushed her hands away.
‘What’s your problem, Sam?’
His feet slipped on the pebbles and he had to steady himself slightly.
‘You’ve talked to her before,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘Helen Seymour.’
‘Who?’
‘The woman, the barrister, the, the …’
The what? Sam’s mind spun at words on the tip of his tongue.
‘She said there’s nothing to the case,’ Ashley said. ‘That’s what she said. So, if that’s right, then why are you back?’
The way she said it made it clear that she thought he had come back for her. Her hand snaked out, grabbing at his wrist. Again, he pulled away.
‘What else did she tell you?’ he asked.
‘Who cares? She’s boring and old.’ Her voice dropped. ‘I’ve missed you.’
She looked up at him and her eyes were wide and needy.
‘They’re all kids, all the others,’ she said quietly. ‘They’re so dull.’
He wanted to shout. He wanted to pull the lies out from the depths of her throat and dangle them before her. He knew that she and Helen were plotting against him. He’d seen them together. He wanted to drag her to the lake and hold her under the water until she confessed and he had finally, finally, found Lily and killed the case.
‘… And like, just hang out, you know, miles away from here.’
She rambled on, bashfully. Unable to determine if she was for real or whether this was another elaborate performance, Sam took a deep breath and stuffed his emotions back down.
‘I can’t talk to you now,’ he managed, and trudged away.
He heard her shout something at him but the wind sucked the words away, so all he got was a muffled yell. He didn’t look back.
Sam hung a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door of his room and pulled a pillow over his head. A little later he heard Zoe pound on the door, but he didn’t move. Eventually she went too.
*
Restless and unable to sleep, Sam got up and pulled back the curtains, staring at his own reflection in the black windows. The ageing, sagging glass warped his features into something monstrous. Beyond his smudged features, there was nothing.
He snapped the curtains shut again and dropped onto the bed. Tomorrow he would go and see Sarah Downing again, sit down with her and make her face all the questions that Helen had stopped them from asking.
He considered calling back home. He was worried about Jenny and the way Magda had been with them, but he also worried about resentful silences in return.
He should keep focused on the job, he told himself.
He remembered Jenny sitting so sadly in the car, and the urge to comfort her was almost overwhelming. He reached for the phone. He needed to hear her voice but he couldn’t bear the idea that she wouldn’t take his call. His hand retreated and he sat limply on the bed.
He considered the fact that Sarah would be armed with new lies that Helen would have prepared for her, but he’d blast those out of the way, no problem. He only prayed that he could rip the information from her before it was too late.
There was a knock on the door. It wasn’t Zoe, it was tentative in a way she could never be.
‘Sam?’
He slammed the door open and Ashley instinctively took a step back. She wore her white coat and hat, her witch’s costume. The White Witch.
‘Can I come in?’ she said, and gave the corridor a nervous glance.
‘Why?’
‘There’s stuff I want to tell you.’
‘About what?’
‘Can I come in or what?’
He let her inside, then shut the door and turned the key in the lock. Ashley noticed this but thought nothing of it. She was in his lair, this time.
‘So?’ he said, and leant against the door to be sure she couldn’t escape.
‘I wanted to tell you something. About the case.’
Her eyes were eager, but Sam wasn’t biting.
‘Since you went, we’ve had no dealers,’ she added.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Well, you know how we always used to go down to the lake and meet them there.’
‘You said you didn’t buy drugs yourself.’
‘I don’t. But this is what the others said. I’ve been keeping an ear to the ground. To help you out, like. See? I’m a good girl.’
‘What are you telling me?’ he asked.
Her hands played with the small silver necklace around her neck as she talked.
‘Well, no one was expecting any dealers around while you w
ere here. As soon as Arthur and Lily went missing, we had like a trillion cops all charging round the place. So they steered well clear, yeah? But since you’ve been gone, no one’s been back.’
‘And?’
‘And isn’t that important?’
She tried to grab at him as she always did, but her hand was more tentative this time and his refusal to move meant that she let go and stood there, edgy and quiet.
‘Who told you to come up with this then?’
‘Piss off.’
She does offended very well, he thought. So Helen tells her to come over with stories about dealers. We chase after them and leave Sarah alone.
‘And when did this incredible discovery surface then?’
‘Eh?’
‘Why didn’t you mention it when you saw me before?’
‘’Cos you were being a dick.’
‘So what do you suggest, Ashley?’
‘I don’t know, you’re the cop. You do your thing. I guess … you could always thank me.’
She unbuttoned her coat. Beneath it was a cropped white top that revealed her midriff. Sam watched her with a trembling rage.
The locked door trapped him in with her, not the other way round.
He pushed her away and struggled with the snagging key in the lock. She started to shout obscenities at him but none made it to his head. He pushed at her and she clawed angrily back.
‘Liar, liar, you fucking liar!’ he found himself hissing angrily as they struggled on the threshold. He picked her up and dumped her into the corridor.
‘What the fuck is your fucking problem?’ she yelled.
He slammed the door shut and turned the key again to keep him safe.
Ashley had failed. Helen would be angry when she heard this. When Ashley told her.
The thought of this had him hurrying along the corridor. He could catch them together. And that would prove their guilt. If he saw Helen briefing Ashley now, right now, then there could be no doubts.
Helen had a room at the far end of the corridor. He’d checked when he’d arrived and he ran fast so that he could catch Ashley knocking on the door. But as he rushed past the stairs, he was surprised to see Ashley scurrying down and away.
Confused, he followed, seeing her slip out of the pub via a back entrance near the toilets. It was lucky that she was wearing white.
She trudged away, pulling her coat tight around her.
He followed her down towards the lake.
At the edge she stopped for a moment, then took out her phone and used it as a torch, lighting the path ahead as she turned left and headed for the woods.
Sam heard it before he saw it: the music from somewhere among the trees. He remembered the last time he’d been here. He let her walk further ahead of him. He knew now where she’d be.
The fire curled and flickered higher and higher as two lads stuffed wooden crates onto the flames. The dry wood ignited almost instantly and Sam could feel its heat from the safety of the trees. There were ten, maybe fifteen kids there, all drunk, all wrapped up tight in thick coats and hats, dancing in circles and goofing about.
It took him a while to spot Ashley. She stood amongst the others with a bottle in her hand, which she guzzled down angrily. Sam realised that she had been crying and a different set of emotions crowded him.
The music got louder. The flames roared and the pyre got bigger. Two lads stripped off to their boxer shorts and, despite the freezing temperatures, danced wildly around as others egged them on. One jumped over the fire and the other couldn’t resist doing the same. Others screamed and laughed. Bottles smashed and two girls undressed as well, screaming at the night and the cold.
Sam’s eyes flickered with the flames. He saw the kids sway and writhe to the music, their movements in sync with the tribal beat of the heavy bass. They’re just drunk kids, he told himself, bored with their little lives. He knew where his imagination wanted to drag him, but he would not let it.
The flames danced and teased. Red sparks rushed to the heavens as cardboard boxes were dumped on top.
Ashley finished the bottle then smashed it into the fire as the others screamed. She didn’t dance though, and her coat was tightly buttoned up.
A couple was snogging ferociously near the fire, and the boy pushed the girl down to his crotch. To the wolf-whistles of the other kids she undid his flies and started to give him a blow-job. Even the girls cheered her on, and her only acknowledgement was to give them the finger with one hand while holding his cock in the other. The lad was handed a bottle of beer and he swigged deep, doing a victor’s pose to manic cheers. And then, inflamed by his own stupidity and lust, he started to pour beer onto the girl’s head. Incredulous and then furious, the girl pulled back and then started punching and slapping the lad, cursing him with a mad fury. He laughed as he ducked from her blows, trying to zip himself up as everyone else crowed and whistled.
But Ashley watched with a forlorn stare, set apart from the rest, her sadness unnoticed. Sam saw a tear, illuminated by the fire, fall down her face.
A bottle of vodka was passed around the circle, each person taking a swig until it was empty and smashed on the fire. Each time someone drank, the others wailed. More of them were naked now. It seemed impossible. Sam’s feet pricked with the cold, but they seemed impervious.
Someone was climbing a tree, carrying a burning piece of wood. They tried to light one of the higher branches and Sam watched in horror, imagining the whole forest ripping into flame. A girl appeared in front of him, barely ten yards away, tugging smoke down from a glass bong. She exhaled with a mesmeric gasp and the smoke poured from her lungs like a dragon.
It was too wild. The noise was too much, the flames too high. He took a step back but still his eyes fell back to Ashley. He wanted her to see him, to spy him out in the dark like she had before. But she stared at the floor, hugging a new bottle, unaware. He wanted to step out, and for her to see him, but he didn’t know how.
It forced him away from them. He couldn’t cope any longer with the madness and he stamped and crunched through the wood, away from the heat, until things made more sense. He stopped and took a deep breath, realising he was lost, but relieved by the cold and the quiet. The beat pumped on from somewhere further back. But here, he felt safe.
It took him a while to find the path back to the village, and as he stepped onto it he heard a foot crack on a branch behind him. He turned and saw Ashley. She saw him and neither moved for a second, but the sight of her stirred the fires again and the beat began to pump and kick against him.
He turned and hurried away.
She followed. She chased him to his bedroom and banged against the locked door.
He found he had to open it.
She stood there before him and her eyes controlled him. He had no choice but to let her in.
He did what she wanted.
‘Go away,’ he whispered as he pulled her to him.
She made his hands pull the top over her neck, and watched as his eyes took in her skin.
‘Why don’t you kick me out?’ she asked. Her lips brushed his ear.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What did you see? Down in the wood?’
His hand unbuckled her belt.
‘Did you see witches?’ she whispered.
Her clothes were pulled away and discarded on the floor.
‘It was nothing,’ she said. ‘We do it all the time.’
He nodded. She started to unbutton his shirt.
‘There are no witches,’ she said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
He nodded, mute.
‘You let me in because you love me.’
He felt the shirt fall from his shoulders. All he could see were her ruby lips.
‘You love me and I love you. There are no witches, there’s just you and me.’
She bit his neck and he fell onto the bed.
She crawled onto him and his hands held her tight.
They hid in each other an
d turned out the lights and wished the world away. When they were done, she snuggled close with her arm wrapped across him.
He did not push it away.
But when he closed his eyes, he found the flames still flickered and danced before him.
Later, when he was sure she was asleep, he got up and opened the curtains again. His features were lit by the dull light of the bathroom mirror. Despite the girl, maybe because of her, he stared at himself in the glass and he was still the monster.
FIFTY-THREE
Normally, Zoe would have sunk a few in the bar and got over it that way. But tonight she knew that she couldn’t go down there, not without risking more scorn. When her phone rang, therefore, and she saw that it was Helen, she was happy to meet up. They met by her car and Zoe let Helen drive her away from the hotel. They parked in a small lay-by that was a popular beauty spot during the day. Right now, all Zoe could see was the vague silhouette of fells under a moonless sky.
Helen pressed a button and lowered the window before lighting a cigarette.
‘What are you doing up here?’ Zoe asked. ‘I wished you’d told me.’
‘I would have, if I’d known you were coming,’ Helen replied. ‘Has something happened?’
‘Not that I know of.’
Zoe sat glumly in the car. Helen turned to her. She was too close.
‘Come on, Zoe, talk to me. What’s the new lead?’
‘I don’t know. I just thought it best if I was with him.’
Helen nodded and sucked on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the window.
‘Why are you here?’ Zoe asked again.
‘I just wanted to tie up the loose ends. After what you told me about Sam, it’s clear he’s not letting this one go.’
Yes, the things she’d told her. The words sickened Zoe.
‘Has he really not told you the reason why he’s back up here?’ Helen asked.
‘No. No, he’s not telling me anything at the moment.’
But it hadn’t stopped her telling Helen. Leaving his house that night and going back to her with the news that she was right, that her boss was obsessed with her, and that he was trawling through old cases in order to try to hurt her. Now that she’d done it, she felt used and stupid. The horrible thought struck her that Sam knew about her and Helen. It would explain his silence.