A Murder of Crows

by Ian Skewis

  ‘Scott!’

  He heard Jerome shouting his name repeatedly until his voice tired out. Once he was sure that he was gone, Scott ventured out from his den and breathed a sigh of relief. Yet, as time passed by he found that he could not relax, could not venture too far from his hiding place, lest his father be somewhere in the vicinity still, waiting, perhaps, to trap him. Hours passed and he finally convinced himself to make a move, because now the onset of hunger was irrepressible, so when he felt certain that his father would be out working in the fields, he took his chance and crept towards the farmhouse.

  Entering via the back door, he bounded quickly and quietly upstairs to his bedroom, grabbed his jacket and his wallet, then ran back down – straight into Jerome.

  For a moment Scott saw his father look blank, dumbfounded to see his own son standing there. Then a look of shame flickered across his face. ‘So you’re back,’ he said.

  ‘I came to collect my things,’ said Scott, chin held high, trying to sound braver than he actually felt.

  ‘You were supposed to help me.’

  Scott was horrified. It was as if nothing had happened between them. He stepped back from him a little. He felt his legs shaking so he widened his stance. ‘Then you came at me with an axe,’ he replied, surprising himself with his assertiveness.

  A moment passed between them. Jerome looked almost impressed, then he cast his gaze downwards for a second. He seemed about to confess, but when he looked him in the eye again his face hardened a little.

  ‘We need to burn the field, remember?’

  ‘I don’t need to do anything for you anymore,’ replied Scott, and he turned to leave.

  ‘I think you’ll find you won’t get very far without this,’ he heard his father say, and Scott turned back round. There, held aloft in his father’s cruel hand, was Scott’s bank card.

  Scott stared at him, and in that moment there was a silent agreement between them to put aside their differences and get back on to the task in hand. ‘When do we start?’ he asked, reluctantly.

  ‘No time like the present,’ Jerome replied. Scott watched enviously as his father, who now literally held the ace card, hobbled busily around the farm, emerging moments later from the shed with a can of liquid fuel. ‘We’ll work in parallel. You on one side of the field, and me on the other. Remember to light the fire downwind. I don’t want the whole farm going up in flames.’

  Scott gave him an ironic smile.

  ‘Any problems, contact me on this.’ Jerome threw him a two-way radio.

  ‘I do have a problem,’ said Scott.

  ‘If you’re referring to your bank card, boy, you’ll get it back when I’m satisfied that you’ve done the job, and done it well.’

  Scott shrugged and set to work, only too happy to be building a wall of flames between them – another symbol of his bone of contention. He knew he could never be satisfied with such an outcome, could never shake off the feeling that despite the few acres that stood between them, it still felt like they were a million miles from one another.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  September 3rd

  Jack was marching briskly down a dirt track towards the forest, with Colin trying to keep up with him. He was amused by his sidekick’s laboured breathing and constant complaining. As they made their way towards the place where he suspected Alistair and Caroline had hidden from the storm, he suppressed a laugh when he heard Colin slip in the mud and curse loudly. It was moments like this that made his job worthwhile.

  ‘Breathe in that fresh air,’ he cried.

  ‘Smells like shit to me,’ grumbled Colin.

  ‘Manure,’ Jack corrected. ‘It’s good for you,’ he added, with an unusual spring in his step.

  ‘What do you expect to find here?’

  ‘Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?’

  ‘Wait a minute, will you? You’re going too fast.’

  Jack stopped and turned to face him. ‘There are two people missing. We are in a race against time, so I suggest you get some more exercise unless you want me to report that you’re no longer fit for the job?’

  Colin scowled at him, but Jack didn’t care. They both knew that he was right.

  ‘This is just a wild goose chase,’ Colin griped. ‘Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be overseeing this investigation and instead you’re going on a hunting expedition in a bloody forest.’

  Jack stared at him. ‘Are you finished?’

  Colin sniffed.

  ‘First of all, Clements, I don’t need to be told how to do my job. I am overseeing this investigation and I have a very, very good reason for being here. We’ve found, or rather Constable Campbell has found, an abandoned vehicle matching the one that Alistair was driving on the night he and his girlfriend went missing. Secondly, there is a likelihood that they took shelter from the storm in this forest, so there may well be clues.’

  ‘But why are you here? You’re not going in there are you?’

  ‘No, Detective Constable Clements. You are.’

  Just then, several police cars pulled up and a team of officers with tracker dogs arrived on the scene. Jack watched as Driscoll sauntered up to Clements and gave a small, helpless shrug.

  ‘I want you men to assist Clements here,’ said Jack loudly. ‘We need to scour the entire forest if necessary. The forensics team will work alongside you.’

  Colin marched up to him and said quietly, ‘And so what are you going to do then? Swan off and push some pens across your desktop?’

  Jack smiled patiently. ‘No. I’m going to speak to some of the locals. In fact, I’ve just come from Alice Smith’s house. We discussed the derogatory way that you addressed her concerns about her missing son and I’m pleased to be able to inform you that she accepted my apology on your behalf. So don’t sweat it. But be careful how you speak to me, Clements – you are next in line for my job and right now I have serious doubts about your future. Your friend and subordinate Constable Campbell seems to know what he’s doing. Look to him as an example.’

  Jack watched triumphantly as Colin spat with contempt on the grass, then turned and went to join his colleagues. Jack made his way back up the dirt track, and wondered about Colin. He had known the DC for years and he acknowledged that theirs had never been an easy alliance, but he had never seen him so bitter, so resentful, before. It worried him that he couldn’t figure out what was really going on behind those spectacles of his.

  Once he reached his car, he saw Jamie sitting in the back seat, waiting. Theirs was an alliance that seemed to be growing stronger and it touched him that his son now wanted to spend so much time with him.

  Before getting back into his vehicle, he found that he had a good vantage point and he looked around. He could see his officers making their way into the woods. Then he saw something else.

  There was smoke billowing out from behind the trees. A fire had been started.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  September 3rd

  Something had caught Matthew’s eye. He could see a huge plume of smoke spiralling into the air. The field in the distance was in flames.

  He had been trying to trace Caroline’s whereabouts. He looked around for any signs of the car that Alistair had been driving. He went to the Crow’s Beak and ordered some lunch and discreetly dropped Caroline’s name – but there was nothing.

  Then he saw the morning paper. Alistair and Caroline had gone missing. He wondered what to do next. Then he spied the police.

  I’ll tail their investigation, he decided. He watched as a burly detective went to Alice Smith’s house. And he watched as the same detective went to the forest some distance away.

  Then he saw the smoke.

  There was something else that at first he could not easily fathom. In the field where the fire was burning, there was a ghostly figure at the centre. It seemed to be gliding. He couldn’t be sure, but something about the languid way it moved gave him the impression that it was a woman. He peered into the d
istance, trying to decipher more, but she seemed to disappear, quite literally, in a puff of smoke.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  September 3rd

  Jack drove the car up to the farm. Telling his son to stay where he was, he marched past the house and made his way towards the location of the smoke. He noticed that the windows of an old lean-to shed were covered with tin foil. Ignoring it for the time being, he reached the site of the fire. There, in front of him, were huge flames, the length and breadth of the field, rearing and snaking upwards like a many-headed hydra, the clouds of smoke floating and gliding outwards, casting shadows across the trees.

  He saw someone – a teenager – hurrying away from the scene. On seeing the detective, the boy suddenly changed course, disappearing into the undergrowth. Jack’s suspicions were aroused and he went after him. The boy kept glancing over his shoulder at Jack, who was careful to keep his distance. Then the boy broke into a run. Jack had no option but to increase his pace too, otherwise he would lose him amidst the trees. As he followed him deeper into the forest it became increasingly difficult to make his way through the thickening bracken. Then the boy suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Jack did the same and watched as the boy began to back off from something or someone that remained unseen. The boy abruptly turned and fled deeper into the woods, bounding through the greenery with surprising speed, leaving Jack alone to face whatever or whoever had frightened him off. His adrenalin surged and he felt his muscles tense, ready to defend himself. He peered into the darkness that filled the narrow gaps between the tree trunks, but he couldn’t see anything.

  An old man with a walking stick suddenly emerged from the shadows. Jack stood scrutinising him and the man stared right back, his mouth twisted into a sneer. Jack took a step towards him.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Jack Russell,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘Why did that boy run away from you?’

  ‘Only thing he runs away from is work.’

  ‘Didn’t look that way to me.’

  ‘Looks can be deceiving.’

  ‘Now isn’t that the truth,’ Jack quipped, and took another step closer, noticing that the man instinctively tightened his grip on the walking stick.

  ‘Are you his grandfather?’

  The man shook his head, smiling smugly, and for a moment Jack felt uncomfortable.

  ‘Father, then?’

  Silence. Jack looked him up and down. Then he twigged. The farmer’s reputation preceded him. He seemed too old to be the boy’s father.

  ‘You working on the field today?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Seen anything suspicious?’

  ‘Only you.’

  Jack smiled at the retort. ‘Know why I’m here?’

  ‘To find them missing kids,’ the old man spat contemptuously. ‘We had another of your type here yesterday – DCI Clements.’

  Jack snorted, ‘He’s not a DCI.’

  ‘Said he was.’

  ‘That doesn’t entirely surprise me.’

  ‘You won’t find them,’ said the old man.

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Because you’ve just let that kid slip through your fingers,’ he replied, and turned to go.

  ‘Hang on mister,’ Jack called after him. ‘You’re not out of the woods yet.’

  ‘I’ve got work to do,’ he called back. ‘A field doesn’t burn itself.’

  ‘You didn’t happen to see those kids, did you?’ shouted Jack, but it fell on deaf ears and he noted that the old man moved very quickly for one so apparently disabled. ‘Jerome – you do realise that I could make life very difficult for you if I chose to. After all, I’m aware that you have a history of illegal activity on these premises.’

  Jerome stopped and turned. ‘You and I on first name terms now? That’s cosy,’ he said.

  Jack sauntered up to him. ‘It’s like this, Jerome. There’s now a lot of publicity surrounding this case and it’s up to me to find out what happened that night, and I will, because I’m a tenacious bastard. And no one is going to put any obstacles in my way. You can forget about burning any more of those fields of yours. We don’t want any evidence going up in flames now, do we?’

  Jack smirked at Jerome’s fuming silence.

  ‘I’ll want to have a word with your son, too,’ he added.

  ‘You leave my son out of this.’

  ‘I’ll leave him – and you – out of this when I uncover exactly what happened here. In the meantime, destroy the cannabis plants you’ve got tucked away in your shed. See you both, very soon.’

  Jack strolled off, satisfied that he had put the unpleasant farmer in his place. But as he made his way back out of the forest, something kept bringing his attention back to the walking stick. He’d noticed how Jerome had held onto it very tightly, yet he seemed relatively able-bodied. He couldn’t think why this bothered him so.

  His phone rang. It was Colin.

  Moments later, Jack was driving as fast as he could back to the dirt track.

  ‘Show me,’ he ordered.

  Colin nodded obediently and led him into the woods. They approached a river and he found that the area had been cordoned off with police tape. The forensics team were waiting nearby.

  ‘It’s right here,’ said Driscoll, and pointed to a plot on the ground which had been marked out with numbered plastic stands and covered with a clear tarpaulin.

  Jack was given some paper shoes, and once fitted, he took a closer look. There, on the ground, was a large dark stain, a yardstick lying beside it for scale.

  ‘Blood,’ confirmed Colin. ‘Copious amounts of it.’

  ‘Has a sample been taken?’

  ‘Already done, sir,’ said Driscoll.

  Jack noted that he hadn’t been called sir for some time by his inferior, who usually took a leaf out of Colin’s book and avoided giving him his place whenever he could. It was obvious that the discovery had knocked the insubordinate tendencies out of everyone. Even Colin looked suitably solemn.

  Jack was aware that they were all waiting on his instructions. He couldn’t help but enjoy the thrill of their anticipation. Guess this isn’t going to be the nice, easy case the Chief thought it would be, he mused happily. He took a deep breath and said to everyone, ‘You’ve all seen the evidence. As of now this is no longer a missing persons case. It’s a murder enquiry.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  September 4th

  Scott was thinking hard about what to do next. He had committed to helping his father burn the field and, as he had anticipated, Jerome ensured he did countless more tasks, so that by the end of the working day Scott was too exhausted to even think about leaving. Instead, he stayed one more night in the forest and tried not to think about his father’s final act of cruelty. Once Jerome was satisfied that he had wrought every last drop of labour from him, he then casually threw his son’s bank card into the dying flames of the field. Scott ran into the embers, frantic, scrabbling for his card. He managed to rescue it just in the nick of time. As he scanned it for any signs of damage, he found that it had been blackened, but it was only superficial and the soot was easily wiped off. Immediately afterwards he ran from the place where his father had held such a historical grudge against him. The only solace he took was that he was free from the old bastard at last.

  Scott could hear several voices shouting in the woods. They seemed to be calling for someone. He cocked his head to one side and listened, but they were too far away for him to hear distinctly. Somewhere a dog was barking and he could hear a helicopter in the distance. Moving further into the woods, he was stopped by the feeling that he was being watched.

  He turned and was alarmed to see a man standing there, staring threateningly at him. He was short, fat and bespectacled, wearing a suit, and flanked by two other men wearing similar attire and with the same look on their faces. Scott fearfully surveyed his chances of escape as the three men seemed to size him up and then advanced towards him.

  ‘DCI Cl
ements,’ Colin stated, wiping beads of sweat from his hairline, which was the colour of Irn-Bru. He seemed out of breath and was somewhat red in the face. ‘Now I’ve got some questions for you and you are going to answer them.’

  Scott nodded obediently. Widening his stance slightly, he prepared to make a run for it if he had to, for he could sense aggression in the tone of voice.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Colin.

  ‘Scott,’ he replied quietly.

  ‘What?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Scott Jennings.’

  ‘And what are you doing here?’ Colin enquired with mock politeness.

  Scott mentally scanned through a back catalogue of violence and repression and found that he was in a quandary. Where do I begin? he wondered.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m camping,’ he answered. Well, it’s sort of true, he thought to himself.

  Colin irritably wiped the condensation from his glasses. The air was growing humid. ‘I find that hard to believe,’ he replied.

  ‘I’ve got no reason to lie,’ said Scott, his heart thumping hard.

  ‘Really?’ said the detective, replacing his glasses and exchanging a doubtful look with his officers.

  Scott felt his patience begin to run out. ‘Why am I being questioned?’

  ‘I’ll be conducting this interview,’ Colin said, his voice hardening, and his claret face seeming to inflate. ‘Where were you on the night of September the first?’

  ‘I was at home,’ replied Scott, staring him straight in the eye.

  ‘At home? With your father, in the farmhouse?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He saw the detective smile disbelievingly. ‘So, if you live nearby, why are you out here, camping?’

  ‘We don’t get on,’ said Scott uneasily.

  ‘Continue,’ replied Clements.