A Murder of Crows

by Ian Skewis

  When she arrived back at the house, Alice found Scott asleep on the living-room sofa. She touched his forehead again. His temperature felt normal. Satisfied, she fetched some old rope from the shed and hoisted the tattie-bogle over her shoulder. She carried it all the way down to the meadow, sweating in the setting sun. Together, they erected the scaffold. They hoisted the scarecrow up and tied it there with the rope. Afterwards, they stood back to admire their handiwork in the now slanting shadows.

  ‘He’s the wrong way round,’ Alice concluded.

  ‘Is he?’ commented Alistair, sceptically.

  ‘Yes. I want him facing the sea.’

  Alistair looked at her for a moment. Something about his gaze made her feel naked before him, because she could clearly see that he understood her own silent purpose. So they got to work turning the mannequin round. When they’d finished, Alice picked a posy of flowers to put into the top right breast pocket.

  The name of those flowers escaped her, but she remembered clearly the scarecrow standing there: a lone sentinel watching, waiting, with its creepy disposition and lopsided smile; its duffel coat billowing in the breeze, a tease of straw hair sticking out of its sackcloth head, its shadow lengthening, stretching across the field, which was now burned orange in the dying embers of the day. Alice looked at her son – and smiled.

  ‘Have you had a good holiday?’ she asked him.

  ‘The best,’ he replied. ‘I don’t want it to end.’

  ‘Nothing ever ends, not really,’ she explained. ‘Everything is a prelude, a prologue, to something else.’

  They headed back up the hill. Alice felt a pang of worry because Scott’s mother would be wondering where her son had gone. When they got to the top of the brae, Scott was standing there, waiting. He looked troubled, as if unnerved by something.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Alice, concernedly. ‘Are you still unwell?’

  Scott didn’t respond, and she looked to Alistair, but he just shrugged his shoulders and went back indoors. Alice saw that the colour had returned to Scott’s face, but he seemed very distant. Finally, he snapped out of it, and turned to her and smiled. She could never get used to Scott’s strange little traits, but she liked him more now than she had at the start of the day. However, she knew it was high time he went back to his mother.

  *

  The scarecrow had stood there for many years. A testament to time; the head and shoulders barely discernible amongst the weeds, and the duffel coat faded to beige, rendering it almost indistinguishable from the surrounding grassland. Once upon a time, Jerome Jennings would carefully drive his tractor round their ramshackle mannequin, which became affectionately known as Alfred. And Alice laughed out loud because she suddenly remembered the name of the flowers that she had put in Alfred’s pocket.

  Forget-me-nots.

  She smiled at the irony because they were growing everywhere. Her sadly neglected garden and the overgrown fields below were full of them – a constant reminder of her missing husband. As she stood there on the path, she seemed to wake up to something new.

  There was a man here, she thought suddenly. A large man with kind eyes. That’s right, she recalled, a detective. And he was looking for Alistair. He’s missing now, too.

  She looked out across the fields once more and noted that the scarecrow had become a monument to her son as well as her husband. But the scarecrow was gone now. And so was the field. Burned away to a big black nothing only a few days ago. The pain of this conclusion seemed to wrench her heart from her breast. She caught her breath, for she could see Scott wrenching his hand free of hers when she had tried to take him home.

  ‘Are you feeling sick again?’ she asked, but Alice knew full well that this wasn’t the case. It occurred to her that perhaps there was something wrong at home. She had heard that his father was very strict with him, but Alice knew she had to tread carefully and not jump to any conclusions, particularly when the boy’s mother had all too clearly demonstrated her zeal for complaint. Alice bent down, and, gently holding his shoulders, looked right into his eyes and enquired, ‘Why don’t you want to go home?’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘It’s all right, Scott,’ she said, and attempted to take his hand, but he pulled free of her with such unexpected strength that it took her by surprise. Even more surprising had been the tone of his voice when he had said that something was coming. It was delivered in a serious and solemn manner that alarmed her to such an extent that she forgot her misgivings about the boy’s mother and called Elspeth Jennings to come to her house immediately. When Elspeth’s large frame waddled up to the front door, Alice found that she could not bring herself to ask the question that was eating at her. Instead, she lamely explained that Scott had taken a funny turn and that perhaps it was best to get him to bed.

  Elspeth gave her a reproachful look, and Alice grudgingly apologised and left it at that, watching with grave concern as the boy reluctantly left with his mother to go back home to whatever horrors were awaiting him. Alice never slept that night. She couldn’t bear the thought that something terrible was happening in the household that was but a mile distant.

  It was the very next morning, when she went out into the garden and saw the smoke rising from the farm, that she found the courage she had been unable to muster the previous day. She ran down the hill and made her way to the Jennings’s farmhouse when she stopped suddenly in her tracks. Elspeth was outside, seated on her doorstep and bawling her eyes out, a sound that cracked the air. Alice watched, horrified, but she felt like an intruder. Although she was desperate to find out what had happened, and if Scott was safe, her cowardice regained its hold on her, like an old habit, and she shamefully walked all the way back home. The following day she heard about the dreadful thing that had occurred: the Jennings’s barn had burned down and all the cows inside had perished in the blaze.

  Perhaps she was reading too much into it, but it did seem to her that Scott had suffered some kind of horrible premonition. Rumour had it that his father had deliberately destroyed his own property for an insurance claim. Yet there was something not quite right about that because of what Scott had said. Something was coming.

  But what? What was coming…?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  September 7th

  ‘You didn’t do anything bad, did you?’

  The question had hit Matthew with the force of a sucker punch.

  From his vantage point high on the hill, he could see several police cars gliding through the streets, their blue lights flashing. He could hear the sirens wailing, the distance reducing the sound to a tinny cry. He glanced to the east and observed a crowd of ants outside the police station. With a near aerial view he saw how the entire village seemed suddenly and inexplicably to be in the grip of a vast net, as if it were being trawled from end to end.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked himself, and felt the urge to run all the way down the hill, for he was missing out on the action. But Matthew knew he couldn’t, because of what Margaret had said.

  ‘That man came back,’ she began.

  Matthew looked up from his newspaper, surprised by her tone. She sounded fearful. He saw her hands were shaking. ‘What man?’ he asked.

  ‘The detective,’ she whispered. ‘He knows that you’ve been staying here.’

  ‘How did they find out?’ he demanded, with such vehemence that he realised that the old landlady was a little frightened of him. ‘Sorry,’ he said, and gave her a half-hearted smile. ‘I just need to know.’

  ‘They know because you didn’t check out. But I thought you were a detective. Isn’t that what you said?’

  Matthew felt his face redden with shame. He didn’t answer.

  ‘That man, he frightened me. He said I was hiding a potential criminal. But you’re not a criminal, are you?’

  Matthew’s stomach plunged and he watched pitifully as Margaret seemed to shrink away from him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said helplessly.

  She replied,
wringing her hands with anxiety, ‘It might have been my fault.’ Hesitantly, she continued, ‘I wasn’t thinking straight, what with my husband and all.’ She left it at that, afraid to say any more.

  Matthew regarded her for a moment and heaved a sigh. Then he ran upstairs and packed his bag. When he went outside he found that his car was gone.

  ‘The police took it away. I couldn’t stop them,’ Margaret explained, then burst into tears.

  ‘You didn’t do anything bad, Jason, did you?’ she asked, approaching closer. ‘You seem such a nice young man. Please tell me you didn’t do anything bad.’ She looked up at him with tear-stained eyes, her small frame trembling. Matthew felt a bitterness at the back of his throat and wordlessly left the hotel and Margaret behind.

  And high on the hill he watched the drama unfold. Something else caught his eye. A police car had detached itself from the others. He watched with alarm as it headed further west and moved along the winding road towards Loch Ness.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  September 7th

  Jack got out of his car, smiling and waving at the press like a Hollywood actor on the red carpet. He was enjoying himself. He had been preparing for this moment for the past 24 hours. He gestured for them to quieten down and Jack imparted his story. There followed a very brief stunned silence. Then, suddenly, a plethora of eager questions.

  ‘Sorry, folks, I am too busy to tell you anything more right now,’ he shouted brightly, and with a broad smile, went back to work.

  Moments later, he was marching down the corridors of the police station, only vaguely aware that Campbell was trying to keep up with him because he was too busy replaying how he’d felt the previous day – anxious and pissed off, his fingernails stinking of cow shit. He’d been on a mission, for something had been bothering him, something that didn’t quite fit. Once he had cleaned himself up he went to see Alice again. He felt sure there was something still to be gleaned from her, a clue, anything. He had unfinished business, and that business was William Smith. He knew there was a connection; he just didn’t know what it was yet.

  ‘It’s not been this busy in a very long time,’ said Campbell, interrupting breathlessly with a reference to the press call.

  ‘You mean in the three years you’ve been here,’ replied Jack, with a smirk. He was in good form today. He finally had the bit between his teeth. I am a tenacious bastard, he confirmed to himself. ‘What’s the latest?’ he asked.

  ‘Jerome Jennings has been brought in for questioning as you required.’

  Jack stopped suddenly. ‘Did you get his walking stick?’

  Campbell looked blank. ‘Sorry, I don’t know for sure, but I can find out.’

  Jack continued his stride. ‘What else?’

  ‘Margaret Crawford, the landlady at—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know who she is.’

  ‘She’s filed a complaint.’

  Jack stopped abruptly once more and turned to face him. ‘Why?’

  ‘I have to confess it was because of DC Clements.’

  ‘Explain,’ replied Jack with a measured stare.

  ‘Well, as you know she was upset when I tried to question her at the hotel and so DC Clements volunteered to help out as it were…’

  ‘In other words you let him muscle in on the job because you weren’t capable of doing it yourself.’

  Campbell looked at his shoes. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said quietly.

  Jack set off again.

  ‘Okay. And?’

  ‘And the clump of hair that was found. It’s human hair. But it will take weeks to find out if it’s Caroline’s, sir.’

  Jack arrived at his office, leaned against the door and gave an airy sigh. ‘Well, at least it ain’t sheep’s wool.’

  ‘The press are still wanting more information from you,’ added Campbell.

  Jack placed his hand on his subordinate’s shoulder. ‘Then find something to keep them entertained, will you?’

  Campbell’s face went bright red with anxiety. ‘How do I do that, sir?’

  Jack thought back to the previous day again. ‘Give them a striptease. They love that,’ replied Jack over his shoulder as he went into his office, and without looking back, slammed the door shut behind him. Smiling broadly, he relived the moment when the Chief had read out to him the headline, ‘Copper Caught With Pants Down’. The newspaper had been thrown at him along with a torrent of abuse, before the Chief told him in no uncertain terms to leave his office. Bastard hacks must have been hiding in the bushes, Jack surmised.

  He had driven up to Alice’s house, parking his car at the base of the hill and preparing himself for the tedious walk up to her front door. He was relieved to be out in the open air again, but there was a humidity that felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket. The midges were incessantly biting, and he spent much of his walk sweating and flicking them away until he reached her garden gate. He hurried up to the front door, eager to escape from the heat and the flies. He saw that Alice was outside hoeing the soil, pleasantly surprised to see her finally attempting to rectify the shambles that was her flowerbed.

  ‘Alice,’ he called. ‘I’m sorry to come here unannounced but I need to have a chat, if that’s okay.’

  Alice didn’t respond. She continued with her work, a broad-brimmed summer hat hiding her face, and making her deaf to the world, it seemed.

  Suddenly, Jack felt as if he was suffocating. His heart was thudding rapidly under his damp shirt and he tried to get his breath back. ‘If you don’t mind… I need to…’ he began, but his vision blurred and he had no option but to stagger in through the partially open front door. On arriving unsteadily in the hall, he sat at the bottom of the stairs, head between his legs, trying to recover. After a few moments, he raised his head and noticed a jug of Alice’s homemade lemonade sitting on the hall table.

  ‘Thank fuck,’ he whispered, and was about to reach for some when he noticed there were two glasses.

  ‘Helen?’ he shouted upstairs.

  There was no reply, so he quietly ascended to the landing. He looked around, searching each room quickly and methodically – but found nothing. He immediately felt silly and more than a little desperate, but he was so struck by the sensation that something wasn’t adding up. He stood there, tapping the banister with his fingers, wondering what to do next. Jack didn’t want to be accused of trespassing, and was halfway down the stairs when Alice came in and stifled a scream.

  ‘Finished your hoeing?’ he asked, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

  ‘What are you doing here?!’ she exclaimed.

  Jack smiled apologetically. He was about to explain himself when he realised something, stomped heavily down the remainder of the stairs, and, ignoring Alice, went straight out of the front door into the garden. He grabbed the other woman by the shoulder. She shrieked.

  Alice, who had followed him, barked, ‘What do you think you’re doing?!’

  But Jack was confounded by what he saw.

  She was wearing Alice’s clothes, but he noted that they were a little too small for her. He took a step closer and she backed off, removing the headphones from her ears.

  He reassured her. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘It most certainly is not,’ launched Alice. Jack raised his hand to try and silence her, but was taken aback when she slapped it out of her way. He turned angrily, and through gritted teeth, said, ‘Back off,’ to which Alice replied, ‘Well, really.’ Jack turned his attention to the girl again. Her face was unmistakable, her eyes as blue as he’d seen in the photos.

  ‘Caroline Baker?’ he asked, though it was not so much a question as a projection of slight disbelief.

  Alice looked confused. ‘She’s my gardener.’

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes…’ began Alice.

  ‘Not you – her,’ he shouted.

  ‘Well, of course she is!’ retorted Alice.

  Jack ignored her. He was too busy making his own mind up. He stared
intently at Caroline, looking her up and down. Other than a slightly distant look in her eyes, she seemed all right. He turned to Alice. ‘Where did you find her?’

  ‘She found me. She was looking for a place to stay. I told her not to go to Margaret’s horrible hotel. So she stayed here.’

  ‘Did she tell you anything?’

  ‘She’s hardly said a word since she got here.’

  He turned back to Caroline. ‘Where is Alistair Smith?’ he demanded.

  ‘She won’t talk,’ Alice asserted. ‘Why are you asking her that?’

  Jack regarded Alice for a moment. He was about to question why she hadn’t told him that her son’s girlfriend had been staying with her all this time, but it was obvious that Alice didn’t know who the girl was. Alice looked expectantly at Jack and he wondered if it would ever dawn on her. He saw her turn to look at Caroline. Something shifted in her eyes and she reached out and touched the young woman’s face, then she turned away with a look of sadness, perhaps at the fact that her son was somehow so near and yet so far. Jack took out his phone and ordered that an unmarked vehicle be brought up.

  When the car arrived a while later, Caroline was taken to Inverness Hospital to be checked and put under observation.

  Jack then phoned Colin.

  ‘DCI Russell,’ drawled Clements on the other end of the line. ‘You’re carving out quite a wee niche for yourself. Terrorising little old ladies and flashing yourself in public. I wonder what you do for an encore.’

  ‘This is what I do for an encore,’ snapped Jack. ‘Get in touch with Caroline Baker’s family. Tell them I’ve found their daughter and that she’s alive. She’s being taken to Inverness Hospital.’

  There was silence – the seething kind, fuelled with envy. Jack waited a few moments until his patience ran out. He was about to reprimand him when Colin replied quietly, ‘Well done,’ and hung up.