by Ian Martyn
Dogs snarled and fought over food that was dropped or thrown at them. Sarah was also sure she’d heard the rustling of small creatures in the rushes that covered the floor. The smell was the other thing that registered in her mind at that point. Besides the smoke, there was the roasting meat, mixed with the odour of sweating, unwashed bodies and spilled ale. Part of her felt she should have been disgusted by it all, but she wasn’t. It had seemed perfectly normal.
At the far end, sat on a raised area at a polished table and in a chair with a high back, had been a large man, an important man; a man with a thick beard, matted hair and eyes that were just small, dark pits under bushy eyebrows. The back of his chair was ornately carved with winged beasts. Creatures that looked to Sarah like dragons, made up the arms. That man laughed loudest of all, banging the table with a huge fist, causing plates to jump and ales to spill. However, it wasn’t him who drew the eye, who demanded attention, who filled the room with their presence. That was the silent woman next to him who occasionally bestowed a knowing smile on those around her. She picked at her food and sipped at her drink. She was tall and slender, in contrast to all the masculine muscle that surrounded her. She had long, dark auburn hair that flowed over her scarlet dress, cut low at the front, displaying her ample charms. The eyes of the men flickered in her direction, but none dared linger. Her own eyes were large and dark. And when she turned her attention to Sarah, it felt as if she was seeing into her very soul. After studying her for several moments, the woman had smiled, waved in her direction and Sarah had, well, stopped being there. And now she was… here. Part of her brain suggested these memories should be disturbing, even frightening. However, another part found them reassuring.
During the time she’d been reliving this strange experience, the sky had lightened, dawn she presumed. The smoke in the room had been replaced by a thin mist which hung and swirled as it lifted, leaving behind glistening droplets on the moss and cobwebs that decorated the rough stone of the walls that were now visible. Above her, there were gaps where windows might once have been. Above that was the sky. She could make out the jagged outline of the top of the walls. Wherever she was, it required more than a little maintenance. ‘A project’ they’d have called it on the TV. She reached out and touched the stone closest to her. It was damp and slick with algae. She rubbed the green slime between her fingers as she considered where she might be.
She had no idea. From overhead came the raucous call of a herring gull, and there was a tang of salt in the air. On the coast then. The more she recognised, the more awake she became. Sarah shivered, she was cold; coldest of all were her feet. She looked down, no shoes. Her bare feet were wet with the morning dew which had formed on the sparse grass that was growing in the middle of wherever she was. She turned and in the wall that had been behind her was an entrance, or for her, an exit. She pulled her long cardigan tight around her as she wandered out and into what promised to be a pleasant morning. The sun was rising. She had the thought it must be summer and indeed the sun already seemed to be warming the air. She stood in its comforting glow for a few seconds, crossing her arms and rubbing her shoulders before picking her way across a field, taking care not to step on thistles or nettles. She was greeted by the cawing of crows and the raised heads of sheep as she disturbed their cropping at the tufts of coarse grass. They looked up at her, some bleating their annoyance. After a while she paused and turned. She now remembered who she was, Sarah Cooper. She also recognised where she was, for the building was Dunstanburgh Castle, or at least what was left of it these days.
Sarah had no inkling as to how she had got here or what those memories that still poked their fingers into her conscious mind were all about. The thought that they might be a dream didn’t even occur to her. They were memories, she was sure of that, and again something told her not to worry. It would all make sense in time.
Since it was Dunstanburgh, Sarah knew that a mile or so down the well-trodden path, along the coast leading south, must be the little fishing village of Craster. It was a place she associated with eating ice-cream and sitting outside the Jolly Fisherman with a beer while staring out across the North Sea. At least it would be Craster if this was the Dunstanburgh she knew. For some reason those recent memories gave her reason to doubt. She glanced back at the castle. It looked like Dunstanburgh. She knew it well, even as a child it had been one of her favourite places to visit. She had always been drawn to it. Somehow, just touching its ancient, damp, weathered stone had provided an anchor to her life.
She set off along the grass path that had been flattened by numerous feet. Glancing out across the rocky shore the early light sparkled on the calmest of seas. She couldn’t remember ever seeing the North Sea so still, with only a hint of a wave and the thinnest line of white foam where sea met shore. Small, grey birds were skittering from pool to pool, eating whatever small birds ate. Ten minutes later, a neat row of terraced cottages came into sight that she knew led down to the harbour.
As Sarah entered the village, a stout woman of middle years was coming the other way. She was the picture of what you expected a woman to look like in a fishing village, even down to the apron and the headscarf. The woman stopped and stared at her. ‘Do you know what time it is, pet?’
‘No,’ Sarah replied.
‘It’s a quarter to six, love.’
‘Oh.’
For a moment the woman seemed lost for words. ‘And you in just jeans, a T-shirt and cardy.’
Sarah pulled the cardy around herself again. ‘I know.’
Then the woman noticed her feet. ‘And no shoes!’ she exclaimed. ‘You poor dear. At this time in the mornin’ an al.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m not sure how that happened.’
‘So where have you come from, pet?’
Sarah pointed back along the path. ‘Just now, the castle. Before that…’ she shrugged.
The woman took her by the arm. ‘Ee, I’m sorry, pet, here’s me rabbiting on and you standing there all cold and with no shoes. Tell you what, pet, why don’t you come in and warm yourself up?’ she said, pointing to the door of the cottage they were standing outside. A climbing rose covered the small porch. ‘I’m Pauline by the way.’
‘Sarah.’
‘Well, Sarah, coming?’
‘If you’re sure?’ Sarah said.
‘Of course, pet,’ Pauline said opening the gate and nudging at Sarah’s arm so that she started down the path which was bordered by more roses. Inside, Pauline led Sarah to the back of the cottage and into a warm kitchen. She then pulled out a chair and placed it in front of the Aga. ‘Now you sit yourself down and get warm.’ She took a small towel from the rail in front of the Aga and handed it Sarah. ‘For your feet, pet.’
‘Thank you.’
As Sarah sat drying her toes, Pauline was already filling the kettle. ‘Expect you’d like a cup of tea?’
‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘Oh, no trouble, dear. And how about a bit o’ breakfast while I’m on?’
Sarah hesitated for a second. The mention of food seemed to trigger the realisation that she was ravenous. ‘Yes, thank you. I am feeling a bit hungry.’
Pauline took a large frying pan off a hook and placed it on the Aga. From the fridge, she took three rashers of bacon. They were soon sizzling away and giving off that unique, enticing aroma that only frying bacon can achieve. Sarah’s stomach grumbled in anticipation.
‘Now, while you’re eatin’ I’ll just make a phone call if that’s’ alright wi’ you?’ she said as she poured her a mug of tea. ‘It’s me nephew Colin. He’s a constable in Alnwick. Nice boy, married a farmer’s girl from Longframlington. Expectin’ their first bairn now they are. Ee, you know, it doesn’t seem five minutes since he were a bairn himself. Anyway, I just think you should speak to someone, pet.’
Sarah looked up through the rising steam from the mug she was cradling in both hands and nodded.
Pauline cut two thick slice
s of bread and buttered them before plating up the bacon. ‘I’ll make that call,’ she said, as Sarah started making herself a bacon sandwich. As she tucked in she could hear one side of the conversation.
‘Yes, I know, a young girl… about nineteen, twenty, I’d guess. Couldn’t believe it, a quarter to six and just jeans, a T-shirt, cardy and no shoes…. Hmm, what, pet… eating a bacon sandwich, poor girl’s famished… Yes, yes… Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. She seems a very nice girl, polite y’know, like she’s from a good family… I know, pet, but I can just tell. She seems a little lost that’s all… No, no, I think she’s all there. As I said, just seems a bit lost, that’s all. Yes, bye pet.’
‘Very good,’ Sarah said, smiling and holding up what was left of her sandwich as Pauline came back into the kitchen. ‘Thank you.’
‘No bother, pet.’ Pauline said, wiping her hands down the front of her pinny. ‘Now, Colin said he’ll be right over. Thinks it might be best if they had a little chat with over you at the station. They’d like to make sure you’re OK and then they can see about getting you home. How’s that?’
Sarah nodded her acceptance and finished the sandwich.
fourteen
Overnight Kirby’s subconscious had been working away and one thing it reminded him of was that whatever else was going on, or was supposed to be going on in this world or other worlds, he still had a missing girl on his hands. There again, if he was to believe Harold, which reluctantly he did, she wasn’t anywhere it would be possible to find her. He could hardly send a bunch of bobbies clomping around in their size nine boots to do house-to-house or hut-to-hut, or whatever, in a world that was two-and-a-half thousand years removed from this one. He smiled at the picture it conjured up. ‘Excuse me, sir, but do you have a licence for that there sword? No? In that case I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to the… to the… Sarge!’ No perhaps not.
His subconscious mind had also been musing on Harold and his revelations. He’d accepted that Harold and Edna were not wind-up merchants. Let’s face it, if you’re intent on winding up a policeman you’d come up with something a lot more believable than the story they were telling him. Then there was the Geraldo and Roberto double act and of course the disappearing cat. The sensible part of his brain wanted him to stick his fingers in his ears and shout ‘La, la, la,’ until they all went away. But then, as a copper, if you only went with was what sensible you’d never get anywhere. The world was far from sensible. You only had to watch the news to realise that.
As he chewed on his toast and sipped his coffee, Jeanie’s picture was looking at him. ‘Remember, Jonah, you always find a way.’ He tried to hold on to that thought as he drove to the office.
Hearing a sneeze from the other side of the partition, Kirby decided he needed some cheering up.
‘You’re in early, Sergeant. Well done.’
He was answered with more sneezing and a bout of nose-blowing which sounded like a baby elephant playing in a water hole.
‘So how did you get on looking for the Grey Hoodie Gang?’
Sergeant Jones raised his head into sight. ‘It… it… it…’ another sneeze this time followed by a long sniff.
‘Well?’ Kirby asked in what he hoped was a lull.
The sergeant blew his nose again. ‘It rained.’
Kirby smiled. ‘Really? I could have sworn the forecast was for sunshine all day.’
The sergeant gave him the “I don’t believe you, but I can’t be bothered,” look. ‘A few people said they’d seen them hanging around.’
‘Doing what?’
‘What teenagers do, sir, being pointless.’
‘Hmm, anyone get much of a look at them?’
‘Not really on account of the hoods and them staring at their feet all the time. Oh, just a minute I did get one description from someone who got a bit of a glimpse.’ The sergeant sniffed, then shuffled the papers on his desk. ‘Ah, here it is, and I quote, “The wind blew the little devil’s”, you’ll appreciate there’s a small edit there, sir.’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘“… the little devil’s hood back for a second and he looked a bit of a rum’un and no mistake. The sort of kid only a mother could love, if you know what I mean?”’
‘Well that should narrow it down, sergeant.’
‘That’s what…’ The sergeant’s phone rang. ‘Aha, yes, he’s here.’ He glanced at Kirby. ‘Yes I’ll tell him.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘They think they’ve found your missing girl.’
‘Where?’
‘She’s with the local plods in Alnwick.’
‘Alnwick? They’re sure? Last time, remember, they thought they had that missing lad from Gateshead. Only they’d picked up a girl on a day trip to the castle who’d sneaked off for a sly fag.’
‘To be fair, sir, it’s not always easy to tell. She did have short dark hair, and her name was Jo.’
‘As in Johanna, sergeant. And I would have thought the school uniform might have given them a clue.’
‘Hmm, anyway, it seems this one matches the photo.’ Seeing the look on Inspector Kirby’s face he decided to hedge his bets, ‘So they say. And her name is Sarah.’
‘Not Simon?’
‘Er, no, sir. Oh, and she was found without her shoes.’
Kirby nodded.
‘Tell them I’m on my way.’
‘Yes, sir. Oh and sir, nearly forgot, the chief wants five minutes.’
‘Now?’
‘I don’t think he does any other sort, sir.’
‘Hmm.’ Kirby’s shoulders sagged a little. He gave the red-nosed sergeant a hopeful half smile. ‘No chance you couldn’t have actually forgotten rather than nearly forgotten.’
The sergeant blew his nose. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘You alright, Jonah? You look a little peeky.’
‘Fine, sir. Just a bit of disturbed night that’s all.’
‘I know what you mean.’ The chief’s eyes dropped to his desk and he started shuffling papers in that annoyed, purposeless way people have when they feel the need to rant. ‘I’ve been telling the wife for months we need a new mattress. Does she listen to me? It’s just…’ He glanced up and paused, as if remembering where he was. ‘Well, yes, quite. Anyway, this case, the missing girl. I hear she’s been found.’
‘Looks that way, sir.’
‘Good, good,’ the chief said, fiddling with a pen. ‘Where is she?’
‘Alnwick.’
He stopped fiddling and fixed Kirby with a stare. ‘And they’re sure this time? Her parents knew the Super you know. Played golf with him or were in rotary with him. Well, something like that.’
‘So I heard, sir. But yes, I’m pretty sure.’
The chief relaxed a little and leant back in his special chair. ‘So, case solved then?’
‘Well, we still don’t know how or why she was taken.’
‘Taken? Sure she didn’t just decide to go off for the day? Young girls and all that. A boy perhaps?’
‘Without her shoes, sir?’
‘Well, I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation.’ The chief smiled a smile that said, ‘There WILL BE a perfectly LOGICAL explanation’.
Kirby had been here before. ‘Perhaps, sir, and of course we are exploring every possibility.’ The chief’s smile remained fixed. Kirby scratched his ear. ‘Er, however, there’s some other stuff that I believe might be connected with her going missing.’
The smiled faded and the chief hunched his shoulders, shrinking in his chair a little as if he already knew and was afraid of where this might be going. ‘You said stuff, Jonah?’
‘Yes, sir.’
They were now on familiar territory where the chief had to balance his curiosity and his need to know what was going on with the knowledge that he might be called upon to explain it all to the super at some point. The chief waggled his fingers as if thinking about doing some more paper-shuffling. ‘OK, Jonah, let’s get this
over with. So, weird?’
Kirby signalled with both palms raised.
‘Very weird?’
He signalled again.
The chief’s own hands were now on the desk caressing a pile of papers. ‘Extremely weird?’
Kirby signalled higher, again.
The chief started shuffling paper. ‘Jonah, we don’t go above extremely!’
‘I think we might do now, sir.’
Paper started falling on the floor. ‘Well, keep me… let me… good luck.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Kirby walked out of the office and closed the door. The WPC looked up. ‘Did I hear paper hitting the deck?’
‘I’m afraid so, Jane.’
She started to get up. ‘I’ll get the tea then.’
He glanced back at the door. ‘I think you’ll need the chocolate Hobnobs too.’
As he made his way to his car, Kirby called Shirley Barker. ‘Where are you, Constable?’
‘Er, just about to leave home, sir. Sorry, I’m a bit late. Afraid I took your advice.’
‘Yes?’
‘You know, sir, about opening a bottle of wine. The trouble was I was the only one drinking it.’
‘Never mind, Constable. I’ll pick you up. They think they’ve found the missing girl.’
‘Who, sir?’
‘The boys in Alnwick.’
‘Alnwick?’
‘Yes, Constable, a trip out. How exciting is that?’
‘Wonderful, can’t wait, sir. See you in a bit. Where you dropped me last night?’
‘Fine.’
As he drove through Gosforth high street Kirby peered down Henry Street where he’d first come across Lily “Medusa” Johnson, then plain old Diamond Lil. That had been just weird, turning very weird. Now he needed to add something above “extremely weird” to his definitions’ list. Somehow, “very extremely, or unbelievably” didn’t quite capture what he was feeling.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Shirley said after she’d fastened her seatbelt. ‘But I’m still struggling with all of this.’