Shepherd's Cross

by Mark White

  ‘No,’ replied Bronwyn, taking a tissue and wiping the tears from her face. ‘It’s fine – really. I’m sorry: I know I’m being ridiculous; but it seemed so real. This girl, the girl in the bathroom, she was begging for me to save her. I felt so sorry for her. There was nothing I could do to help her. It all happened so quickly; one minute she was there, and the next she had vanished into thin air. The last thing I remember was seeing you in the room. Oh, God. I must have been seeing things. Tell me I’m not going mad.’

  ‘No madder than the rest of us,’ Cara said, smiling. ‘It sounds to me like you’re in need of a break. Looking after this place all by yourself is a big responsibility. I’ve seen you, Bronwyn: you’re always fixing this or painting that; never mind looking after all those guests – taking bookings, doing the paperwork, sending out flyers. It’s hardly surprising you’re exhausted. I don’t want to speak out of turn here, but maybe what you saw last night was some kind of hallucination brought on by cabin fever?’

  ‘Cabin fever?’

  ‘Possibly. It’s been a long winter, and there’s no end in sight. You’ve been kicking around an empty Hostel for weeks now. It can’t be healthy for a bright, gorgeous singleton like you to be cooped up here night after night!’ She winked at Bronwyn, who smiled sarcastically back at her, although she was grateful for the opportunity for some light-hearted humour. ‘I know that I’m not exactly one to be giving out advice on how to be sociable,’ Cara continued, ‘but I honestly think you could do with spending more time with people your own age. You need to lighten up girl – live a little. It can’t do much for your self-esteem when the only male attention you ever receive is from the likes of Frank Gowland ogling you up through his inch-thick beer goggles. Frank Gowland: The Cross’s answer to Tom Jones!’

  The thought of Frank Gowland with an unbuttoned shirt revealing a hairy chest-wig and gold medallion was enough to cause both girls to burst out laughing.

  ‘You’re right, you’re right,’ laughed Bronwyn. ‘Guilty as charged, your Honour! I don’t know, Cara; maybe I do allow myself to get stuck in a rut now and again. I just love it so much here – the people, the countryside, my job – sometimes I imagine myself forty years from now; a contented spinster still dishing out porridge to boy scouts and boring them all with stories about the local wildflowers. And do you know what? I think there would be far worse ways to spend a life. Look at Emily Mitford – she seems happy enough.’

  ‘I’m not telling you to suddenly drop everything - far from it,’ replied Cara. ‘But every now and again, when it’s quiet and you haven’t got any guests, why don’t you hop on a bus and have a night out in Newcastle with some of your Youth Hostel friends there? It would do you good to let your hair down; recharge the batteries…meet a man who doesn’t smell like a combination of beer and sheep shit!’

  Bronwyn smiled. ‘Oh, Cara. What would I do without you, eh? I guess that I must have been imagining things. I have been pretty tired recently; maybe a break would do me good. What must I have looked like to you last night?’

  ‘Never mind about that; what happened last night won’t go any further than these four walls, I promise. All the same, it does seem out of character for a level-headed girl like you to imagine seeing something so horrific. This girl…she didn’t happen to be called Kathryn, did she?’

  Bronwyn looked blankly at her. ‘No, at least I don’t think so. I don’t remember her telling me her name. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, it’s probably nothing. It’s just that…well, last night, when you were asleep you kept mentioning the name Kathryn. You said it over and over again. When you told me earlier about seeing a little girl, I thought that you might have been dreaming about her. Anyway, I really must get to work now. But don’t you worry about a thing. Why don’t you take it easy this morning and I’ll pop back at lunchtime to see how you are? Maybe we can start planning that much needed night out, eh? And is it okay for me to stay here again tonight; there’s no way I’m getting out of this village with the roads being like they are.’

  ‘Of course – I could do with the company.’ Dream or no dream, she didn’t especially want to spend the night by herself; particularly when it was time to use the bathroom. ‘And Cara,’ she added, placing her hand on Cara’s forearm as she stood up to leave. ‘Thank you. You’re a good friend. I mean that.’

  Cara smiled. ‘That’s what friends are for,’ she said. ‘You get some sleep. I’ll be back at lunchtime.’ And with a final reassuring smile, she left the bedroom, walked downstairs and headed out of the Hostel into the cold, fresh morning air.

  As Bronwyn listened to her friend leave, the back door closing firmly behind her, she paused to reflect on what Cara had said to her; of her talking in her sleep about a Kathryn. She was sure that she couldn’t remember the little girl telling her her name. Positive, in fact. But as she placed her tea-cup onto the bedside table and pulled the warm, thick duvet over herself, she couldn’t help thinking that she had heard that name somewhere before.

  Chapter 4

  8.45am: Dr Henry Barratt stared into the cell and shook his head in disbelief; it had been a long time since he’d witnessed anything as gruesome as this. Over the years, he’d encountered more than his fair share of dead people, not all of whom had peacefully passed away in their twilight years while enjoying a good night’s sleep. Twenty five years ago, when he was a fresh-faced medical student at Edinburgh University, he’d held aspirations to specialise in vascular surgery – amputations, gushing arteries – he certainly didn’t object to chopping people up for the good of their health. A brief spell as an army medic on deployment during the Gulf War had opened his eyes to the casualties of war; men dying in his arms as he desperately tried to stop the blood from spurting out from all manner of irreparable wounds. That experience had eventually taken its toll on him; so much so, that on returning to the UK he had opted for the more predictable, if perhaps more boring, life of the General Practitioner; taking over the small Practice in Shepherd’s Cross that served the residents of the surrounding villages and hamlets. That was twelve years ago, and in all that time, he had only been called upon to certify the death of four suicides: a farmer who had fired a gun into his mouth after Foot and Mouth disease had wiped out his entire flock, two teenage boys who had hung themselves in unrelated incidents, and Linda Gledall, who had drunk a gallon of industrial-strength weed-killer after an argument with her drunken husband, Kenneth. The tipping point in that particular case had apparently been when old Kenneth had thrown Linda’s beloved Siamese cat onto the living room fire; trapping it in the flames with the protective grill. Barratt could recall reading about it in the suicide note that she had left in the glove compartment of her car where she was discovered two days later. That had been a sight to behold; the poison had shrivelled her skin like a prune, turning it a deep yellow colour, giving her the appearance of a decaying zombie in a low-budget horror film.

  ‘I’m sorry to get you involved in this, Henry, I really am,’ said Jennings, who was standing beside his friend at the entrance to the cell. ‘I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you for a report confirming that they’re dead, and all the relevant details that go with it: estimated time and manner of death; that kind of thing. I haven’t touched anything since finding them like this earlier this morning. Haven’t even put a foot inside the cell. I didn’t want to get in the way of the investigation.’

  ‘Well, they certainly look dead to me,’ said Barratt, taking his jacket off and draping it over a nearby chair. ‘Could you open the door please, Brian. I better get to work.’ He rolled up his shirt sleeves and opened his medical briefcase, pulling out a pair of sanitised gloves and a camera. ‘There’s no need for you to hang around if you don’t want to,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and put the kettle on. I shouldn’t be too long.’

  A relieved Jennings nodded and turned to leave. As far as he was concerned, he’d spent long enough staring at the puffed-out eyes of Lee Carter as he hu
ng from the bars like a second-rate scarecrow. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’ Barratt waved him away without looking up; his work had begun and he didn’t need any distractions.

  Jennings made his way upstairs and into the kitchen. He’d discovered the brothers over an hour ago, but the adrenaline was still pumping around his body as he struggled to cope with the shock. He was in the process of filling the kettle from the tap when a voice called out behind him, causing him to cry out and drop the kettle into the sink. ‘Sarge? Are you alright? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Cara,’ he said, turning to face her. ‘What do you think you’re playing at, creeping up on me like that? You frightened the life out me.’ The shock had drained the colour from his face, but he was relieved to see her all the same.

  ‘You look terrible,’ she said, concerned at the bedraggled state of her superior, who normally prided himself on dressing according to the strict standards of his profession. ‘What are you doing here anyway? You’re not supposed to be working today.’

  ‘I think you better sit down. I’m…I’m afraid that something terrible has happened.’ He walked over and sat down opposite her, slowly running his hand through his hair and looking up at the ceiling, seeking the inspiration that would enable him to express what he was about to tell her as diplomatically as possible.

  He started without too much difficulty to explain the events of the previous evening; from the moment he arrested the Carter brothers, right up to locking them in the cell for the night. Unfortunately, the second part of the story wasn’t as straightforward to describe as the first; in addition to having to recall the tragic chain of events that had taken place downstairs, Jennings had to deal with the slack-jawed look of abject horror on Cara’s face as she struggled to absorb the news. When he’d finished speaking, he sat back in his chair, and with the defeated body language of a broken man, awaited the onslaught of questions from his deputy.

  But there were no questions. Instead, Cara stood up and walked around the table, and with a sympathetic smile, she bent down and gave him a firm, reassuring hug; the first since she had met him four months earlier. The last thing she wanted to do was to make it any more difficult for him than it already was.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ she asked, intent on creating a more constructive agenda.

  ‘Well, I’ve already spoken to headquarters and reported the deaths, along with the version of events as I see it. And Dr Barratt is downstairs as we speak. There’ll need to be a full investigation, obviously, but I’ve been ordered to keep a handle on things until they can send some people out here. The way it’s looking outside, that might not be for some time. In the meantime, I have the unenviable task of informing Mick Carter that two of his boys are dead.’

  ‘It might be best if I come with you, Sarge, just to be on the safe side.’ Cara was keen to support her boss but keener not to be left alone in the Station with two dead bodies in the basement.

  Jennings shook his head. ‘No…thanks Cara, but I think it would be better if I handled Mick alone. He’s bad enough with people he does know, let alone those he’s never met. Besides, I need you to maintain a presence around the village; there are going to be plenty of people out and about today, shovelling drives and playing in the snow. Plenty of people who will have heard about the arrests last night in the pub. I need you to keep a lid on things for me – if anyone asks about Jed and Lee, just tell them that the investigation is on-going and that you’re not at liberty to say anything that may jeopardise the proceedings. Do you think you can manage that?’

  ‘Yes, Sarge, no problem.’ She turned towards the basement door as it swung open, Dr Barratt emerging, his glove-clad hands speckled with drops of dried blood. He acknowledged Cara with a cursory nod and looked at Jennings.

  ‘Well, we’re going to need an autopsy, but the evidence appears to back up what you told me, Brian. The kid hanging there…’

  ‘Lee Carter.’

  ‘Right…Lee. He must have been a hell of a strong lad. He’s used an unbelievable amount of force towards his brother; the injuries he sustained are massive.’

  ‘I just don’t understand why he did it,’ said Jennings. ‘It doesn’t seem to add up.’

  ‘Well, I’ll certainly be advising forensics to check for illegal substances. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were high as kites. The behaviour shown towards both the Woodsman boy and the brother reeks of psychosis. You’ll often find such cases come with a history of drug abuse.’

  ‘Drugs? I suppose that would make sense,’ Jennings said. ‘It might also go towards explaining the hooded figure that they were banging on about.’

  ‘Hooded figure?’ asked Cara. ‘What figure?’

  ‘Oh…err...nothing,’ he replied. ‘I’ll tell you later. Anyway,’ he continued, changing the subject as quickly as possible, ‘what are we going to do with them until the cavalry arrive? It could be a day or two before they manage to get here. Henry – I don’t suppose that you happen to have a mortuary lurking underneath your Practice by any chance?’

  ‘Afraid not,’ replied Barratt. ‘To be honest, I would think the best place for these two is exactly where they are now.’

  Jennings looked shocked. ‘We can’t just leave them there like that! It’s inhumane, for God’s sake.’

  Barratt shook his head. ‘Hold your horses, Sergeant; I wasn’t implying that we don’t move them at all. I’ll need a hand to get Lee down for a start - don’t worry, I’ve taken plenty of photos - then we’ll lie them down and cover them up. We’ll need to be careful not to touch any of the evidence though. Trust me, they’re better off locked up down there where they’re out of everyone’s way. The basement’s nice and cold. Besides, the last thing we would want people to see is you and I hauling two body bags into the back of a Land Rover. Agreed?’

  Jennings nodded. ‘You’re right; the basement’s the best place for them. Come on; I’ll give you a hand. Cara, it’s your call, but it might be better if you stay up here.’

  Cara didn’t need any encouragement to remain where she was. ‘Fine by me.’

  As Dr Barratt followed Sergeant Jennings to the basement, Cara’s thoughts drifted to the hooded figure that Jennings had mentioned, and the young girl who Bronwyn had imagined seeing in the bathroom yesterday evening. She made her way over to the coat-stand by the entrance and pulled on the jacket and gloves that she had removed only twenty minutes earlier, preparing herself to face the freezing cold elements outside. She glanced over her shoulder at the basement door as she left; for as long as there were dead people lying below her, there was not a cat in hell’s chance of her spending a moment longer in the building than was absolutely necessary.

  Chapter 5

  10.00am: ‘A question for you, Reuben: of all the gifts he gives us, which do you think I’m most grateful for?’

  ‘Come on, Benedict, how do you expect me to answer that? There are far too many to choose from.’

  ‘True, but there is one that stands head-and-shoulders above all the others; for myself at least.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘The power to kill without guilt, Reuben, to be free to wash the blood from my hands without fear of recourse, knowing that he’ll protect me; knowing that I have his blessing.’

  Benedict Blackmoor and Reuben King were sat at either end of a large, mahogany dining table, a late breakfast of toast and smoked salmon laid out before them. Ted Wilson was slouched in a leather wing-backed chair by the fire at the other side of the room, staring blankly into the flames like a lobotomised inpatient, the hypnotic force of Blackmoor continuing to hold sway over him.

  ‘Look at him just sitting there,’ King said. ‘He’s nothing more than an empty shell – what use can he be to us? Do you really think we need his help?’

  ‘Patience, Reuben,’ replied Blackmoor. ‘He’ll come round soon enough. I admit that I may have expended more energy on him than was necessary – we’ll need to give him time to recover. But of c
ourse we need him: you know as well as I do that we can’t do this without five witnesses. We still need two more to complete the circle; the sooner the better. At the very latest, we need them by midnight tonight.’

  ‘Yes, but we also require the blood of…’

  ‘Yes, Reuben; I’m fully aware of what we need. We’ve spent years getting ready for this. Now is not the time to start panicking; we must remain calm and controlled.’

  ‘You’re right, I’m sorry,’ sighed King, getting up from his seat and pacing back and forth in front of the fire. ‘I don’t know what came over me; I guess I’m feeling the pressure more than I expected to. I just don’t want anything to go wrong.’

  ‘It won’t,’ said Blackmoor, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. ‘As long as we hold our course, we will have nothing to fear. Everything is going to plan - you can smell the fear descending over the village. Never before have I felt his presence as strongly as I do now, not even during our time in Rome all those years ago. He is so close that I can almost touch Him. All the same, there remains a great deal of work ahead of us. Starting with our next witness.’

  ‘Do you think she’s ready?’ asked King. ‘She is so young.’

  Blackmoor smiled. ‘Youth and beauty are to be encouraged,’ he replied. ‘It’s always easier to corrupt the innocent; they are so much more…vulnerable. She is perfect for what I have in mind. We need to go to her this morning.’

  ‘And the Police? You don’t suppose they’re onto us?’

  ‘Come now, Reuben, from what we saw of them yesterday, do you honestly believe that we have any real cause for concern? They’re nothing more than provincial bureaucrats going through the motions. Especially that Sergeant Jennings – he didn’t know how quickly to leave us alone. At least the woman had the intuition to doubt us. Even then, she was putty in my hands. Anyway, that little surprise that we left for them this morning should keep them gainfully occupied while we go about our business. Now, please sit down and finish your breakfast.’