“It was pretty late to be just out ‘messing’ around.” Ambrose interjected. “Something drew you out there.”
Oliver shook his head vehemently. “No. I’m telling you, it was nothing.”
“That’s not strictly true though, is it?” Martina probed. “We spoke to Darren, and he told us what was really going on.” It wasn’t strictly a lie. They had spoken to Darren, but his sullen silence, and his mother’s insistence that he had nothing to tell them had hampered any chances of getting to the bottom of the situation.
“He did?” Oliver lifted his gaze, surprise causing his eyebrows to disappear beneath the mop of blond hair that had fallen across his brow. His face was rounded with youth, cherubic, Martina thought to herself as she studied him. Right now it gave him an innocent look, one that he probably used to his advantage. But that would change as he grew older, and she had a feeling that by the time he reached eighteen his youthful good looks would no longer be an asset. “I don’t think Darren would talk to you,” he said decisively. Oliver forgot himself, and tried to fold his arms over his chest, but the cast brought him up short, and he let his hand drop back into his lap.
“You know what we found out there, right?” Martina asked, deciding a different approach was needed.
“I don’t think that’s an appropriate line of questioning for my son,” Mrs Poole said, interrupting the conversation. She sat stiff backed next to her son, her expression twisted into one of distaste. “My son had nothing to do with that.”
“With all due respect, Mrs Poole, your son was the person responsible for discovering the body in the woods. We need as much information from him, as he is willing to give to us.”
“You can’t possibly think he had anything to do with it? He’s far too young.” Mrs Poole shook her head and glanced away. “It’s ridiculous. Why on earth would you come back here? You should be out there searching for the person responsible.” There was something in the other woman’s demeanour that caused Martina to pause and take a second look at Mrs Poole.
“What makes you say that?”
“Excuse me?” Mrs Poole’s attention shifted back to Martina. “What makes me say what?”
“You said Oliver was far too young. What makes you say that?”
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? It was a skeleton the boys found in the woods...” Mrs Poole shifted a little closer to her son. “It must have been there for quite some time.”
Martina’s smile never touched her eyes, and she glanced down at the limited notes she’d taken from the meeting so far.
“Oliver, if you’re not being honest with us, it’s important you tell us now. We’re going to find out the truth. It would be better if it came from you.”
“That’s quite enough,” Mrs Poole said, making a move to stand. Oliver caught her arm with his free one.
“Mum, it’s all right.”
“No, this isn’t right. If your father was here now, he wouldn’t be happy to hear the turn this conversation has taken.”
“They’re right,” Oliver said miserably. “I’m not being honest. I didn’t mean to lie, but Darren said we should...”
“Why would Darren want you to lie?” Martina asked, shifting forward in her chair. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Mrs Poole’s shocked expression, and couldn’t help but feel somewhat gratified by it. “He said we’d get in trouble with AJ if we told.”
“Who is AJ?” Ambrose asked.
“He’s a couple of years above us. Darren has been hanging around with him. He said AJ promised him a new games console if we spent the night in the woods. I didn’t want to do it because of the Owl Man, but Darren said if we did, we’d go back to school as legends.”
“When you say Owl Man, who exactly are you talking about?” Martina tried to keep the interest from her voice.
Oliver shrugged. “I’ve never seen him myself, but we all know about him. If you go into the woods at night, he watches you and waits until he can grab you.”
“That’s nothing but a fairytale,” Mrs Poole said somewhat harshly. “The police don’t need you wasting their time with stories.”
“It’s not a story. We saw his eyes that night in the woods. They were everywhere, and they glowed in the light from our torches.” Oliver sucked down a harsh breath, his eyes wide and serious. “And he’s taken other kids,” Oliver said firmly. “Everybody knows the story, mum.”
“Please, excuse my son. Sometimes his imagination runs away from him.”
“These other children,” Ambrose spoke over Mrs Poole, completely ignoring her plea. “Do you know anything else about them? Like maybe where Owl Man might have taken them to?”
Oliver shook his head. “Darren thinks maybe he ate them.”
Martina glanced over at DS Scofield as his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “And where did Darren hear that?” Ambrose’s voice was devoid of emotion.
“I think maybe that’s enough for today,” Mrs Poole said, and this time she didn’t hide her irritation.
“Mrs Poole, if there’s something your son can tell us then--”
“He’s just a young boy. There’s nothing he can tell you about this whole thing.” She wafted her hand in the air, as though the fact that her son had discovered a dead body while out in the woods at night was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “And as for encouraging his imagination, I think we can all agree that it’s a bad idea.”
Martina nodded and pushed onto her feet. “You’re right, we’ve taken up enough of your time.”
Ambrose stubbornly remained where he was, and Martina fought the urge to reach down and pull him onto his feet. Instead, she pasted a smile onto her face. “If you remember anything else, no matter how innocuous it might seem; you know where to find us.”
Mrs Poole nodded and darted a concerned look in Ambrose’s direction at his lack of action. “We’ll be getting out of your way.” This time Martina didn’t hold back, and nudged her superior with the toe of her black boot, causing him to grunt a response. Wearily he clambered to his feet, but Martina could tell from the expression he wore that he was lost in thought.
She followed Mrs Poole to the front door, and bid a farewell from the both of them, as Ambrose ambled out to the car parked in the driveway.
“What was all of that about?” Martina asked as soon as she made it over to the car.
“What?” Ambrose glanced up at her, his brow creased.
“That, in there,” Martina said, gesturing subtly in the direction of the house they’d just left. “The minute that kid mentioned missing children, you went all Rain Man on me.”
Ambrose pursed his lips. Martina knew him well enough to know the look on his face meant he was debating telling her something he knew. Of course, she also knew pressing him wouldn’t get the truth out of him any faster. If he didn’t want to tell her something, then he wouldn’t. No amount of cajoling on her behalf would change that.
“How does a kid that age know anything about a bunch of missing children from twenty something years ago?”
“You know how these things go,” Martina said, climbing behind the wheel. “Kids tell each other stories to freak each other out. This whole Owl Man thing, it’s probably become some kind of Urban Legend around these parts.”
“You mean like The Hermit of Falling Foss?” Ambrose asked, as he folded his large frame into the passenger seat. He tucked his anorak around his body, blowing warm air down inside his scarf as Martina set about getting the engine and the heaters running.
“Never heard of him,” she said, as she fiddled with the dials until finally warm air blasted from the vents.
“There’s a cave carved out of a boulder down near Falling Foss,” Ambrose said. “Locals call it The Hermitage, dates back to the 18th century. Apparently some bloke lived there a long time ago, they called him the Hermit, he lived off the forest; foraging for food, and fuel.”
“I was thinking of an urban legend more like Slender Man,” Martina said
with a grimace.
“Who’s that?”
“Some kid dreamt him up on the internet, a veritable ghost story. Anyway, a couple of girls a few years ago in America tried to murder their best-friend in the woods near their home and told police that Slender Man made them do it.”
Ambrose whistled low under his breath as he tucked his chin down into his scarf. “I swear this world is getting weirder, and weirder.”
“You’re telling me,” Martina said. She sighed and put the car into reverse.
“We’re not going to get anything useful from either of the kids, are we?” Ambrose said thoughtfully.
“Standard really,” Martina said, as she navigated the busy cul-de-sac deftly. “They found the body by accident. They know nothing.”
“You could be onto something though with that urban legend thing,” Ambrose said, taking her by surprise. “You remember all of those reflectors we found nailed to the trees.”
“You think that’s a part of it?”
“Well, Oliver said they saw eyes in the forest. When we were up there, they kind of looked like eyes watching us in the trees.”
As Martina took them back towards the station, she had to admit he had a point. It was a possibility, but she was beginning to understand that the entire case was built on possibilities. She glanced over and caught Ambrose checking his messages. “Any news from the forensic anthropologist yet?”
He shook his head, and Martina’s shoulders slumped. What they needed was a positive ID, something to build the case on. And until they had that, they would continue to stumble around in the dark.
“When we get back to the station, I’m going to go through the MISPERS list again,” she said. “Something is bound to come up.” She sighed. “At the very least it should narrow our list.”
Chapter Sixteen
Creeping along the edge of the house, he paused at the French doors, and peered in through the glass to the gloom beyond. Anticipation thrummed in his veins as he slipped away from the door and over toward the small downstairs toilet window. He pressed his gloved hands against the frame, sliding his fingers over the rough wooden surface until he felt the place where the timber had rotted. As he tugged gently, pieces of the frame came away in his hands before the window gave with a muffled thud.
He paused, listening to the silence that filtered back in around him. Despite being certain she was out, there was still a part of him that feared discovery. Fear was the wrong word; it was so much more than that. The idea of her returning to find him here, waiting for her, it caused his heartbeat to quicken, as his breathing came in short shallow pants.
The last one hadn’t been as satisfying as he’d believed it would be. It had been wonderful, but over far too soon. This one he would savour. He would take his time, enjoy their time spent together before the end.
Pulling the window open, he climbed the bricks he’d painstakingly stacked against the exterior wall, and hauled himself through the downstairs window. She was always later to return these days, as though there was an instinctual part of her that knew about him, knew what he had planned and persuaded her to stay away.
Using the toilet seat as a step down, he landed lightly on the balls of his feet, before he let the window swing shut behind him. The air was still, the house quiet, but not as quiet as it would be once he was done here.
Confidence swelled in his chest as he moved over to the door that led to the rest of the house. Moving unseen through the house, he made his way to the stairs. From there it was just a few quick strides to her bedroom. He’d imagined it in his mind, visualising every aspect based on his observations of her behaviour over the months since he’d first laid eyes on her. Of course, after their last encounter, he’d backed off; tried to give her the time she needed to relax her guard. He climbed onto the bed, feeling the mattress sink beneath his weight. He could almost imagine she was beneath him, terror-stricken as he moved over her.
Killing the last girl had been a release of sorts, but now he was done playing games. There would be no more reprieve. Pressing his face into the pillow, he drew in her sweet scent, and closed his eyes against the flood of desire that thrummed in his veins. She wouldn’t refuse him; that he was certain of, and not just because he wouldn’t give her the chance to reject him. She was different. She would welcome him.
It was a lie, one he told himself to make the daydreams more pleasant. She wasn’t strictly his type, a little too old for his taste if he was honest; but in the dark he learned that every hole was the same.
He lay on the bed, as the shadows stretched across the ceiling. The heating clicked on; the timer jarring him from his pleasant reverie. Pushing up onto his feet, he slipped open the dresser drawer and rummaged through the items. Pulling a pair of silk briefs from the depths of the drawer, he examined them in the dusky light that filtered in through the windows. They’d seen better days, but they would serve their purpose. He slipped them into his pocket before he reluctantly left the bedroom and returned down the stairs.
Pausing in the kitchen, he eyed the fruit bowl on the table before he gave into temptation and dropped onto a chair. Pulling an orange free, he peeled it quickly, discarding the skin on the tabletop. He popped the segments into his mouth, savouring the juicy pop of the flesh as he contemplated the peel. Leaving it out and exposed like this was a bold move. She would know somebody had been in here, wouldn’t she? But hadn’t he decided that this was it, didn’t he want her to know her time was ending?
He left the peel behind as the sound of a car entering the drive pulled his attention back to the front of the house. Raised voices caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand to attention. She wasn’t alone. Fear gripped him, as he crammed the last of the orange into his mouth, and raced for the bathroom door. He made it inside as the key in the lock of the front door sent a shudder racing down his spine. The triumphant yip of her dog brought him out in a cold sweat as he climbed onto the toilet. Pushing open the window, he swung his leg out onto the ledge as the voices filtered through from the kitchen.
The whine of the dog at the door told him that at least one member of the house knew he was here. Heart hammering in his chest, he clambered out through the window and let it drop shut. The glass rocked in its frame, and for a moment he half expected it to drop out onto the ground, and give him away entirely. If that happened, it would be all over.
Closing his eyes, he waited for the smash of the glass, but it never came. Instead, he was greeted by the whining bark of the dog as it realised its prey was escaping.
Sweat dripped down his forehead as he ran for the side of the house, and the new gap he’d found in her fence line.
“Freddy, stop scratching. If you want out, then here--” The words were accompanied by the sound of the back door opening and the familiar sound of the little shit’s nails tic-tacking over the patio.
He hopped the fence, and watched from his position of safety, as the dog sniffed around the bricks. It raised its hind leg and urinated against them, and he felt rage swell in his chest. She never brought people home with her. She was always alone. It was the reason he’d chosen her. She was safe. The epitome of a low-risk victim, and everything he’d ever needed. He’d picked her because he’d known when they finally met there would be nobody riding to her rescue. No accidental drop-by from a boyfriend. They would have as much time as they needed together. And he would finally have the chance to indulge in all the acts he’d seen in the videos from the internet.
And now, it was all crumbling around him. She was no longer as alone as he’d first thought. No longer the safe play thing he’d imagined she was.
Freddy the dog had burrowed through the shrubs that lined the fence line and peered up at him in the darkness. The dog stripped its muzzle back, exposing white canines in the twilight as a low growl slipped between its teeth. He stared past the dog as she appeared in the doorway.
“Freddy! Come on, boy!”
A man appeared behind her, and nausea slipped
up the back of his throat as he watched her expression soften as she leaned back into his arms.
“Fuck!” He swore beneath his breath. As he spoke, Freddy gave up his pretext of growling and started to bark in earnest.
By the time Caroline Dunsly made it to the fence line, he was long gone.
Chapter Seventeen
After school the next day, Oliver stood at the end of road a couple of yards from the town pond. Dalby woods stretched away behind him, the cycle path winding off into the trees. It was their meeting place—his and Darren’s—the place they always met. He kicked the dirt with the toe of his trainers, knocking over a muddy clod of dirt. He lifted his hand to glance down at his watch, but sighed as he realised he’d swapped wrists because of the cast. The break wasn’t as cool as the last time. Mum had been so much nicer then, but this time she was really pissed at him for lying.
Not that he could really blame her. If he was honest, he still felt bad about lying to her. She’d always done her best by him. When she’d arrived at the hospital and found him there on a bed in the A&E department, he’d seen the disappointment in her eyes and it had cut him to the quick. Not that he would admit that to her. That wasn’t the sort of thing you told your mum, no matter how much you cared about her.
He sighed again. Darren had said he would be here.
Glancing over his shoulder towards the woods, he contemplated cutting through them to get to Darren’s house. He’d probably forgotten his promise, being too busy with Fortnite to remember their plan. The trees loomed overhead, and Oliver swallowed down the fear. It was the forest that had got him into this mess in the first place. It wasn’t strictly true, the path he would take to Darren’s house was nowhere near where they’d gone in when they’d been searching for Owl Man. The other kids at school treated him differently now. He wasn’t timid little Oliver Poole anymore. Now he was the kid who’d found a dead body and broken his arm in the process. The accident had given him a level of respect he hadn’t been counting on. And of course Darren had been off with him ever since.
Hunting the Silence: The Yorkshire Murders (DI Haskell & Quinn Crime Thriller Series Book 4) Page 9