by Tim O'Rourke
As we cleared the coastal road, Luke pointed in the direction of a narrow track and I followed it. At the top there was a gate which led into a field. Killing the engine, but keeping the headlights on, we climbed from the car. Waiting at the gate for us was a short looking man with a curved back. He stooped forward and used a stick to support himself. With a cloth cap pulled so far down his face, it was difficult to see his eyes. Yapping about his heels was a black and white collie.
“Evening Constable,” the man said.
“Good to see you, Moore,” Luke said, and the two men briefly shook hands. Moore glanced up at me from beneath the rim of his cap. His face was wizened and a cluster of white whiskers covered his chin. Without taking his eyes off me, he said to Luke, “Who’s the girl?”
“This is Constable Hudson,” Luke said. “A new recruit, fresh out of the box.”
“I wonder how long she’ll last?” Moore asked, and as he spoke I could see that where once he’d had teeth, there were now a set of fleshly looking gums.
“Where’s the body?” Luke asked, pulling a torch from his utility belt and switching it on.
“Up beyond that tree line,” Moore said, and waved his stick in the general direction of a crop of trees that lined his fields. “I’m warning you though, the kid don’t look pretty.”
Flashing his torch towards the trees, Luke said, “You wait here Moore.” Then looking back at me he said, “Ready?”
Pulling the collar of my jacket around my throat, I nodded. I didn’t know if I were ready or not. I’d never seen a dead body before – only pictures of them from crime scenes shown to us at training school. Following Luke, I made my way across the fields towards the trees. The earth was sodden, and my trainers squelched in the mud. At one point, my foot got stuck and I thought that I might just lose my shoe. Pulling me free, Luke took me by the arm and guided me across the field.
Stepping beneath the canopy of trees, the rain seemed to ease, trapped by the leaves above. Shining his torch on the ground ahead of us, Luke went deeper into the crop of trees. It was eerily quiet and I could hear the sound of my own heart thumping in my ears. Without warning, Luke dashed ahead, shouting over his shoulder, “Look – over here!”
I followed, and as I did, I could just make out the shape of something lying face up in the damp undergrowth beneath the trees. From a distance it looked like a pile of rags, but as I got nearer, I could see that it was the body of a small boy. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt which had been ripped open down the front. Luke waved the torchlight up and down the body of the boy. His face looked white and bloated but it wasn’t that which sickened me – it was the look of fear forever engraved upon his small face. I had never seen the look of such terror before, and I shivered at the thought of what his attacker must have looked like.
Bending down, Luke got onto all fours, and for a moment, blocked my view of the boy. He seemed to be examining him. “It’s definitely Henry Blake,” Luke said. “How can you be so sure?” I asked, hunkering down beside him. “Had dealings with the boy before,” Luke said. “Nothing serious – just chucking stones and being a nuisance, that’s all.” It was then, as I knelt beside Luke that I saw the injuries to Henry Blake’s throat – or what was left of it. From just beneath his chin, to his chest plate, the flesh was missing – ripped and torn away in jagged chunks.
Covering my mouth with my hands, I lurched to one side, desperate not to be sick on my first night and not in front of Luke. “Are you okay?” Luke asked, looking at me, and I could see the concern in his eyes. “Sure,” I said, swallowing hard to push away the bile that was burning the back of my throat. “If you need a moment…” Luke started and put his arm out to rub my back. Knocking it away, I stood up and tried to regain my composure. “I reckon he died about three days ago,” I said, trying to sound like a police officer instead of some emotional wreck.
“How do you know that?” Luke asked me. And by the tone of his voice, he sounded as if what he really wanted to say was, “How would you know anything? You’ve only been a cop five minutes!”
“See those blisters,’” I said, pointing to the yellowing bubbles on the boy’s arms and legs. “What about them?” Luke asked. “Notice how the body is swollen and bloated?” I asked him. “So?” Luke came back at me. “And that fluid which has leaked from his mouth, nose and ears?” “What you trying to say?” Luke asked. “They’re all the things that happen to the body about three days after death,” I told him. “Although I could be a day out, it all depends on how warm the weather has been.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Luke asked, looking at me. “The whole process of the body bloating like that can be sped up, depending on how hot the environment is,” I told him. Smiling at me he said, “Where did you learn all that stuff?” “My dad used to be a pathologist,” I told him. “Used to be?” he asked.
“He died recently – cancer,” I said.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Me too,” I said looking down at the mutilated boy stretched out before us. “My dad was always telling me all kinds of weird stuff about bodies and things. It was kind of gruesome but it always fascinated me.”
“What else can you see, Sherlock?” Luke said, smiling. Taking the torch from him, I cast light over the scene. “The boy was brought or carried here,” I said. “How can you tell?” Luke asked with a frown. “Look at his trainers,” I told him. “There’s no mud. If he walked here, there’d have to be mud, right?” “I guess,” Luke said. “But wait a minute,” I whispered, kneeling down again and checking the ground around the boy’s body. I traced the tips of my fingers over the earth and dead leaves then inspected the boy. “That doesn’t make sense,” I said.
“What doesn’t?” Luke asked, sounding confused. “The boy was murdered here – look, you can see the ground is spattered with his blood.” “So what’s the problem?” “Apart from the boy, there were three others,” I told him. “All of them were adults. Two were male, the third was female. The first male was about six-foot-two, the second shorter, about five-ten. He smoked Marlboro cigarettes – Lights in fact. But he came before the others. He had been waiting for them – I guess anywhere between one and two hours. The female was about five six and had black hair which was dyed blonde.”
“Are you making all this shit up?” Luke asked from behind me. “You know just because you’re new to the job – you don’t have to try and impress me.”
“Shhh,” I said, not taking my eyes off the ground. “But there’s something wrong.” “What?” He had started to sound impatient. “They can’t all have been carried here,” I said, more to myself than him. “I can understand them carrying the victim here, but…” “But what?” Luke hissed from behind me and he sounded pissed off. “Look, you can see the ground around the body is covered with footprints,” I said. “Yeah, so?” Luke said, leaning over my shoulder. “Well, there are no footprints leading to or from the body,” I told him. “And your point is?” Luke asked. “So how did the killers get here if they didn’t walk?” I said, sounding exasperated. “Did they fly?” Then before Luke or even I could answer my own question, there was the sound of people approaching us from the distance. “Who’s there?” Luke called out, sounding spooked. “It’s just me and Constable Potter.” Aiming Luke’s torch in the direction of the voice, I could just make out two figures approaching us. As they drew nearer, I could see that one of them was Sergeant Murphy by the way he stooped to the right and the other I guessed was Constable Potter. He was tall and lean, with black hair that was slicked back off his forehead. He looked slightly older than Luke and I guessed he was about twenty-four-years-old. Both Murphy and Potter had torches and the light bounced off the trees.
Reaching us, Sergeant Murphy leaned over the body of the boy and showered him with torch light. “Jesus wept,” he gasped and kissed the tiny crucifix pinned to his tie.
“It looks like we’ve got ourselves another one,” Potter groaned, popping a cigarette
between his lips and lighting it. “I don’t think you should be smoking here,” I said before I could stop myself. Raising an eyebrow with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, Constable Potter looked at me and said, “And you are?” Before I could answer, Murphy had cut in and said, “This is Kiera Hudson, our new recruit.” Drawing on the end of his cigarette, Potter smiled at me and asked, “Do you have a problem with me smoking?” Meeting his stare, I said, “No, but I just don’t think you should be smoking here – after all it is a crime scene. At training school…”
“…they fill your head with shit,” Potter cut in. “This is the real world, sweetheart.”
I was just about to tell him that I wasn’t his sweetheart, when Luke said, “Kiera says that there was three of them and that the boy has been here at least three days.”
I don’t think Luke said this to embarrass me, I think he really was impressed with what I had told him. Blowing smoke out of his nostrils, Potter laughed and said, “Looks like we got a right little Miss Marple this time around.” Eyeing Potter, Sergeant Murphy said, “Okay Sean, that’s enough. Let’s hear what the girl’s got to say.” At first I didn’t say anything, fearing that Potter would start ragging on me again. I know that I’d only just met him, but I already disliked the guy.
“Go on Kiera, tell them what you told me,” Luke said, and he sounded supportive, like a good friend would.
“Go on Hudson,” Sergeant Murphy urged. “You’re with friends here.”
So pointing the torch back at the body of Henry Blake, I crouched down and started to point out the footprints, blisters, and fluid which had come from the boy’s mouth, nose, and ears. Before I’d finished, Potter had started to spray laughter into the darkness.
“What a bunch of horseshit!” he cried. “I don’t know what they’ve been teaching you at training school but whatever it is, you ain’t in no episode of ‘CSI’.”
Standing, I looked at Luke and feeling embarrassed, I wished that I hadn’t said anything.
When Potter had stopped laughing, he flicked his cigarette away into a nearby bush and Sergeant Murphy stepped towards me.
“I admire your enthusiasm Kiera, but Sean is right, this ain’t no T.V. program, this is real life. Being a police officer in the real world ain’t like what you’ve been watching on T.V.”
Although Murphy was trying to comfort me, I couldn’t help but feel that he was patronising me.
“I haven’t been watching -” I started.
“Kiera, this is a well-walked route by hikers and ramblers. Those footprints could have been left here by anyone. And so what if there aren’t any tracks leading to and from the murder scene? As far as we know, it could have been a really hot day and the earth could’ve been as dry as a bone.”
I wanted to tell him, that in the cool shade of the trees, it was very unlikely that the ground would’ve been rock hard, but I knew there was little point. He didn’t want some newbie coming into his town and telling him how to do his job. So, however much it pained me, I kept quiet.
I was damp from the rain and cold. Not being able to hide my shivers any longer, Luke approached me, and wrapping an arm about my shoulders, he said, “C’mon, let me get you to your room.”
Without any resistance, I let Luke guide me away from the mutilated body of the boy. As I went, I looked back to see Potter lighting up another cigarette. Looking at me, he smiled and blew a cloud of smoke up into the night. I watched the smoke rise upwards, and as it dispersed, I noticed something. Aiming Luke’s torch up into the trees, I could see that the branches above the boy were snapped and broken as if someone or something had crashed through them.
Turning away, I let Luke lead me to my car. Ten minutes later, I was pulling up outside the Crescent Moon Inn.
“Is this it?” I asked, looking out of the window at the weary-looking building. It almost seemed to lean to the right, as if at any moment it was going to topple over. The roof was thatched and the windows were lattice in design. Wild ivory climbed over the front of the Inn, and up across the roof like a giant green claw. The windows glowed orange from within and a sign which read The Crescent Moon Inn wailed back and forth in the wind.
Swinging open the passenger door, Luke went to climb out, but then stopped. Looking back at me he said, “You weren’t making that stuff up back there were you?”
“No,” I said.
“So how did you figure it all out?” he asked, staring at me again and making me feel uncomfortable. “How did you know how tall they were, the fact that one of them had arrived before the others, his brand of cigarettes and that the female had black hair which she had dyed blonde? You musta been guessing some of that.”
“I wasn’t guessing,” I told him. “What then? Are you some kind of psychic?” and he half laughed. “It doesn’t matter,” I told him, and climbed from the car. Putting his helmet onto his head and pulling the collar of his police coat up about his neck, he said, “So long Kiera Hudson. I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven.”
Then turning towards the Inn, just wanting to get out of the rain, I stopped. Seeing as I now knew where the Inn was, I should really have offered him a lift back to the police station. But as I turned back towards him, I was surprised to see that he had already gone.
Chapter Three
Carrying the little belongings that I’d brought with me, I went into the Inn. A crescent-shaped bar stood along the far wall. The Inn wasn’t very busy, and those that huddled around the small fire and the tables fell into a hushed silence and looked at me. As I crossed the floor to the bar, I could feel their eyes staring at me. It was so quiet that I could hear the wood snapping and crackling as it burnt in the fireplace. I looked across at it and noticed that someone had engraved a five-pointed star into the plaster above the fireplace. Then in the far corner, I noticed a figure. He sat alone at a table which was lit with a candle and he warmed a glass of whiskey in his hand. The male had a hood pulled so low over his head that it concealed his face. Although I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew he was watching me.
Trying not to make eye contact with those gathered in the Inn, I reached the bar. I had never felt so uncomfortable in my life, and I wondered why Sergeant Phillips had decided to rent me a room in such a godforsaken place. When I thought I couldn’t bear it any longer and was just about to pick up my case and run from the place, an elderly-looking woman appeared from a small office behind the bar. White lengths of wispy hair protruded from her head, and her face was haggard and lined with deep, ragged wrinkles. She looked like a corpse that had been warmed-up.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice sounding weak and broken.
“I have a room booked…” I started.
“Name?” the old woman asked, thumbing through a dusty-looking ledger behind the bar.
“Hudson,” I said. “Kiera Hudson.”
The woman sniffed, and taking a key from a series of hooks on the wall behind her, she placed it on the bar and said, “Room number two.”
Taking the key, I said “Thank -”
“Top of the stairs and turn right,” the old woman cut over me. “Breakfast is between six and seven, and dinner between eight and ten.”
Looking at my wristwatch, I could see it had just gone ten. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of something to eat?” I asked her.
“Dinner is between eight and ten,” she repeated without looking up at me.
“I know, but it’s only just a couple of minutes past, so I was wondering -” I began.
“Between eight and ten,” the old woman said again, but this time she looked up at me. Her eyes were milky-coloured and clouded with cataracts.
Shrugging my shoulders, as if I didn’t really care, I picked up my case and as I did, I noticed something rather odd. All the way along the old oak beams that supported the bar, someone had tied reams of garlic bulbs. There were hundreds – no thousands of them. And as I looked up, I could see they hung from the ceiling, at the back of the Inn door
and walls.
“What’s with the garlic?” I said, turning towards the old woman, but she had disappeared back into her tiny office. Turning my back on all those watchful eyes, I made my way up the stairs to my room. Holding onto my case, I fumbled with the key as I slipped it into the lock. Hearing it click, I pushed the door open and shut it behind me. The room was in darkness, so I ran my fingers blindly along the wall in search of the light switch. Finding it, I flipped it on, and the room lit up with a dim bulb that hung from the centre of the ceiling. I looked around my new home and understood why none of the other recruits had stayed a full year in this place.
There was a narrow-looking bed wedged in the far corner, an old fashioned looking wardrobe, and a desk with a lamp. The carpet looked threadbare, and the walls were a dingy grey colour. There was a small bathroom, which had a toilet and bath. I didn’t know how much headquarters were paying the old woman downstairs, but whatever it was, they were being ripped off.
Placing my case onto the bed, I went to the bathroom and ran myself a bath. While it was running, I unpacked my stuff and hung it in the wardrobe. When I was all fixed up, I got undressed and climbed into the hot water. Closing my eyes, I lent my head back against the rim of the bath. I thought about everything that had happened since arriving at The Ragged Cove and my mind soon wandered to Luke Bishop. Out of everyone that I had met so far, he seemed the nicest. He had a kind and honest way about him, and I was grateful that he took my side over that of Potter, who seemed like a real prick. Loved himself, too, by the way he was acting all cocky. Sergeant Murphy, I was still to make up my mind about. He seemed set in his ways and I guessed he didn’t want some young cop coming in and telling him how to run things. But I wasn’t trying to do that. I didn’t care that he wanted to lounge around the police station all night in his slippers, smoking a pipe. But what did trouble me was his apparent disregard for properly investigating a crime scene. And not any old crime scene. That was the murder of an eight-year-old child and he was letting that idiot Potter smoke and trample all over it.