A Murder of Crows

by Ian Skewis

  There was something in its beak.

  Jack leaned forward, craned his neck and took a closer look. Then he saw what it was.

  A human finger. Almost pecked to the bone. A sliver of flesh holding the joints together.

  He sat there clutching the steering wheel, dumbstruck – the crow’s feast and the implication reverberating around the fused bones of his skull.

  His resulting shock spurred him into action and he tried to shift his bulk out of the car as quickly and quietly as possible, but no sooner had he stepped out of the vehicle than the bird flew off into the darkness, taking the startling evidence with it.

  Jack ran over to where the crow had come from and peered over the hedgerow, where he saw nothing but endless fields, and beyond that the forest, barely registering in the gloom. Without a further moment’s hesitation, he hurried back down the road on foot, trying to find a way in. He discovered a gate, but it was padlocked.

  ‘Damn you, Jerome,’ he breathed, knowing that he would have to climb over it. The gate was moving precariously under his weight, tilting this way and that. He hoisted his leg over and tried to maintain his balance before almost falling off the other side. Collecting himself, he began to walk across the field, searching for more clues, his heart beating double time with excitement. He knew now that he had never needed to see Caroline or hear her testimony because the truth had been staring him in the face all along. It was just that he couldn’t see the wood for the trees.

  He knew it was wrong not to call for back-up, but his pride had got the better of him because he was still stubbornly determined to design the perfect conclusion to his career.

  A warning rumble of thunder sounded overhead, but Jack was now far too busy marching stealthily into the woods to notice; like a hunter, watching for anything suspicious as he went.

  And again, that same old sensation returned. The one that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  The feeling that he was being watched.

  As he made his way through the forest, spurred on by the shocking evidence that he had witnessed, he knew that going it alone was dangerous – but he couldn’t help himself. He had the bit between his teeth now and nothing was going to stop him. This would be the defining moment of his career. It would either elevate him above all the others in his field, or it would be the biggest mistake he would ever make.

  He crept through the undergrowth, surrounded by the sound of rainwater dripping from the trees and landing heavily on the decaying forest floor. It put him on edge, for it sounded like the woods were filled with the pattering footsteps of unknown predators that could leap out from the shadows at any moment, so he was constantly darting a look over his shoulder. The inkling that he was being followed was never far from him. He stopped and listened, cautiously looking around. Nothing.

  He was relieved when he finally came to a clearing and recognised the humpback bridge that arched over the river, looking like something from a Grimms’ fairy tale. He crossed over it and followed the river’s path upstream. In the dark it flowed silently past, molten and black, like some primal life form making its serpentine way through the forest. A sudden and dramatic flash of lightning lit up the trees skeletally, like some cartoon X-ray. Amongst them was the sapling that had held Caroline’s DNA in its gnarled claws. It was now flanked on all sides by police security tape, which flapped listlessly in the wind, making it seem like the remnant of some former glory.

  Something snapped sharply behind him. He spun round and stared wide-eyed into the darkness. A branch had been broken. Definitely someone or something caused it, he thought. Or maybe it had rotted and fallen off, but how likely is that?

  He waited a moment and then moved on, until he was drawn to a strange green light seeping through the woods. He moved towards it and found that it was coming from an abandoned railway station. The empty platform and the rail track were glowing ghostly green – the unearthly light from the still-functioning signal head. The end of the line – a forlorn sight that served to remind him of his impending retirement. This, in turn, made him think of Rachel. And, of course, Jamie. Forever Jamie. Shaking his head with dismay, he turned and was startled to see a stag standing there on the tracks looking right at him, its horns silhouetted against the lime light. It remained there for a moment, watching him, then seemed to lose interest, walking on and disappearing into the trees on the other side, followed by a doe. Might this have been what caused the noise earlier? Jack wondered hopefully.

  He followed the deer across the rail track and thought, There’s no turning back now. Cautiously, he entered the woods opposite, walking gingerly through the thinning forest until he came to the edge of the treeline, where only a small fence stood between him and the answer he had seemingly waited a lifetime for.

  He climbed over and found himself standing in one of Jerome’s fields. It had only recently been ploughed and the rain had turned the soil to mud. Jack noticed that the thunder had died and was replaced by an eerie silence. He looked up and saw the clouds gradually giving way to a full moon and an infinite array of stars. He blinked and the stars blinked back. He saw one particular star moving steadily across the night sky. The sight made him hold his breath and he wondered if this was the star that Scott had referred to, the one that moved differently from all the others. He smiled at such innocence. It was, of course, only a distant man-made satellite, moving on its silent axis.

  Another snap. He jerked his head in the direction of the woods.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted.

  There was no reply, and the longer he waited, the more foolish he felt, so he continued walking for a bit and then instantly turned round, hoping to catch whoever it was in the act. There was no one there – only the empty field and the forest beyond.

  He reached the top of the hill, where he could make out the silhouette of Alice’s house, and down below, the moonlit pastures. Beyond, the distant streetlights glittering in the dark, like precious jewels embedded beneath the stratum of a sky that seemed almost subterranean. Where to now? he wondered, and realised that he no longer knew where to look. There were two options. Should I wait until daybreak, he mused, or call for reinforcements? He gazed at the mysterious moon high above, its ghostly image shimmering on the sea, hovering in between the ruins of the old abbey, like a question in need of an answer. ‘Read between the lines, Jack,’ he heard himself say.

  Jack stubbornly fought hard with the idiotic idea of trying to crack the case himself. Finally, deciding that he wasn’t Superman after all, he made his way back down the hill and soon he reached the edge of the forest once more.

  Suddenly, there was a loud crack. Jack flinched but kept walking. The harshness of the sound seemed deliberate, as if someone was trying to get his attention. Nevertheless, he continued on his way. Before long, the tingling sensation at the nape of his neck unnerved him so much that he turned round.

  Someone was standing there, under the trees, a shadow amongst shadows, watching him. Jack’s blood began to charge through his beefy body. He was well aware how overweight and unfit he was, and he had nothing to defend himself with. All Jack had was his authority – for what it was worth under the circumstances – and his wits. They stood watching each other. It was as if a spell had been cast and neither party seemed to want to be the first to break it. Jack hesitated, then decided to make the first move and extended his palms up and outwards as a gesture of goodwill. Surprisingly, the figure took a step forward – but he couldn’t make out who it was. Emboldened, Jack took a step forward too.

  Then the figure was gone. Just like that.

  Jack cursed himself. I shouldn’t have moved. It was too soon. Then he realised. The figure was still there. It hadn’t moved. It was just that the whites of the eyes had momentarily disappeared – and now he knew why. It was because they were averted, looking down, perhaps in fear or shame. Jack took another step forward.

  The eyes reappeared in the darkness and something about their increase in br
ightness betrayed a wider, more apprehensive stare. Jack was now close enough to call out.

  ‘It’s all right.’

  He took another step forward, hands still raised openly.

  Suddenly the figure jumped over the fence and disappeared into the forest.

  ‘Wait!’

  Jack peered anxiously into the gloom, but he could not see anything. Now he was faced with a difficult choice – give chase or continue towards his intended destination. He knew he could live or die by his decision, but he had already determined which route he would take. There was never really any alternative. Once over the fence, he could discern the figure moving hurriedly through the trees, leading him back the way he had come. It struck Jack that whoever was ahead of him had stayed well in the shadows and did not want to be seen. Finally, Jack was out of the woods, sweating profusely and trying to get his breath back. He looked around. There was no sign of his quarry. Reluctantly, he walked with heavy, tired limbs back towards his car, which he could see in the distance.

  It was then that he saw something else. A figure standing in front of his vehicle, watching, waiting. And the DCI looked back at the forest. And he realised with a sick feeling that he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. For the figure in the forest had been but a decoy. Now he was trapped.

  By their accomplice.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  September 8th

  Alice sat alone in the conservatory listening to the endless thunder as it toiled away in the distance, an angry act of god that would never be silenced, it seemed, echoing her state of mind. It won’t let me rest, she thought, guiltily.

  She couldn’t help worrying, going over and over the events of her life. The threads that refused to be tied together, refused to make sense. Her faltering memory and her reliance on Helen only served to fuel her anxiety.

  Did I enable a crime? she asked herself. She thought back once more to what her husband had said. ‘I’ve done something terrible’, which implied more than just a one night stand or an affair — something far more sinister.

  Then there was Caroline. Helen did the right thing and went to the police. I did nothing. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I am an unfit mother. Her mind began to race. Did that man come back here for her, or to exact some kind of revenge? What if he’s still here somewhere? What if the creaking floorboards upstairs were him and not her?

  Alice panicked, running through the house, locking all the windows and doors, the thunder rattling still. Finally, she braced herself and listened. Satisfied that there was no one else with her, she hurried up the stairs and into her bedroom, locked the door shut and hastily slipped under the covers. She tried to sleep, but all she could think about were her husband’s words, which now seemed to apply to her.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  September 9th

  The two men stood watching each other from a distance. No one dared to make a move. A sliver of apricot sky hovered above the surrounding hills as they both weighed up the odds, like gunfighters at dawn: at one end of the road stood Jack Russell; at the other end, beside the battered old red phone box, stood Jerome Jennings.

  Jack wasn’t sure how to react at first. All that anticipation, the need for closure, had finally been delivered.

  How did he get his walking stick back? he wondered. A spare? Jack recalled how confident the farmer had been when he had confiscated the original from him. He was exactly the kind of person to have a back-up plan firmly in place – shrewd and conniving, that was Jerome. Jack noted, however, that his accomplice was nowhere to be seen. He reckoned Scott had been coerced into helping his father to ensnare him, though for what purpose remained unclear. Perhaps it was payback time for his heavy-handed interrogation of them both.

  Not wanting to take any more chances, he got out his phone and called for help. It won’t take long for them to get here. After all, I had to make a detour on foot. Where I am now, they could get here easily by car, he reassured himself, but his heart was racing with adrenalin for he was in real danger now. He reprimanded himself. On the verge of cracking the case and I’ve fucked it up.

  Just then, Jerome surprised him by turning tail and hobbling quickly away down the hill, disappearing out of view. It seemed ridiculous, but it appeared that the old man was trying to make a run for it. Jack ran as fast as he could after him, until he reached his car. Fumbling for his keys, he got inside, all the while fantasising that he would turn the old bastard into roadkill if necessary, but as he pulled on his seat belt this rather desperate move of his opponent’s suddenly seemed less so. There was something too rehearsed about it. As he switched on the ignition, he considered the possibility that he was being drawn deeper into the trap. Yet he had to make a move, otherwise he would lose him, so he drove quickly down the country lane in case Jerome tried to scuttle off the road and into the surrounding trees. As soon as he had driven up to the top of the hill, these thoughts were instantaneously banished when he saw Jerome running at full pelt towards him.

  Jack swerved his car to avoid hitting him, but the light from the rising sun was blinding, and with a sudden sinking sensation he realised he had propelled his car off the road – ‘Drive carefully,’ he heard Alice say. There was no time to wonder why as the hedgerows raced towards the windscreen and he crossed his arms over his face as the car crashed into a ditch, shuddering and shaking, glass shattering all over him. There was the sound of crunching metal and he felt himself being pitched forward as the tail end of the car lifted into the air in almost slow motion, and he braced himself as he was turned upside down. There followed a sickening jolt as the car landed on its roof, wheels spinning lazily in the air, then it slid, slowly down, into the mud.

  Jack was dazed. He tried to move, but his body would not respond – and he cursed himself for being so reckless. And he cursed his bad luck and that blasted crow. And he cursed himself for not speaking to his wife. As he twisted and turned and tried to wrench himself free, he vaguely speculated on what had happened to Jerome’s walking stick. How could he run so fast?

  Jack stopped struggling at that moment, because the question required him to summon up the will to think and he was fighting the urge to pass out. So he remained stuck there. He could detect liquid trickling down his face, and he could taste something metallic in his mouth. He felt something warm and wet spreading across his lap – blood or piss, he wasn’t sure which. All time and space and memories were fused together in a mess that he could not see his way out of. Jack knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he should be in pain, but he smiled dopily, because all he could feel was a mild discomfort and a warmth seeping through his body that sweetly suggested sleep.

  Through the broken shards of the side window he thought he could see someone standing the wrong way up at the edge of the ditch, watching him, their inverted face dissolving in the molten halo of the sun. ‘Is that Jamie?’ he croaked, and he tried to call his name, but the words died in his throat. It broke his heart, because it felt as if a mirror had been held up to his soul. He sobbed dry tears, for he knew now that he had been selfish in grieving alone, that his decision had forced Rachel to do the same. And now he was about to die and Rachel would be more alone than ever, and he desperately tried to cry out, but he was fighting against a sudden and inexplicable preoccupation with how cold it had suddenly become. Jack was aware that this was the end. He wanted to scream.

  No, not like this, please…

  Everything blacked out for just a single second, then he saw the sun that never sets, his son, one last time, the vague red blob of the telephone box somewhere behind him, and he heard Colin say, ‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

  And then DCI Jack Russell lost consciousness and all was dark, majestic and infinite.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  September 10th

  Margaret Crawford stood in the darkened hallway waiting for the hearse to arrive. She stared at herself in the mirror. It was an act of vanity that she had resisted for many years now
, but on this occasion certain introspection was required. She wanted to take a good look at herself, not to see how she had aged, but to see what lay beyond the surface. She broke her custom and saw clearly the expression of mistrust that had set in – her way of dealing with the world.

  ‘Expect nothing’, her mother used to say, so she didn’t, and now those words were etched on her face, in the lines and the contours of making do and disappointment. The once soft corners of her mouth now set firmly against whatever horrors the world had to throw at her; the constant frown that set the expression below the brow into one of contrariness, for she would not be moved on anything or indeed by anyone’s plight – not anymore. Suffer and suffer well was her dictum, and she had followed it to the letter. She had turned the deed of self-sacrifice into an art form.

  Once upon a time she had reckoned on being someone special – a high achiever. As a girl she had wanted to be a policewoman. Hard to believe now. Her father had been in the force, but he was cut down during the war. Margaret wept and wept when she heard the news, but her mother remonstrated her grief by telling her without a word of a lie that he wasn’t much cop – no irony intended.

  Margaret still dreamed of him for years after that and quietly maintained her hope of joining the force one day. But somehow the big day never came. She married Hugh. Not because she loved him but because her mother told her to. Hugh was dull, ordinary, worked in a grocer’s shop as an assistant manager. The reason Margaret wasn’t taken with him was precisely the reason why her mother was absolutely taken with him.