Down to the Woods: DI Helen Grace 8 (Detective Inspector Helen Grace)

by M. J. Arlidge

  Ducking a low branch, she came across a small stream. She crested it without difficulty, landing gracefully on the other side. As she did so, she looked around for signs of the fleeing figure, but he was nowhere to be seen. Where the hell had he gone?

  Pad, pad, pad. Charlie froze, certain she could hear something. Yes, there it was again. Somewhere in the quiet woodland, she could hear footsteps creeping away. Straining, she tried to locate the sound. Turning slowly, she followed the direction of the river – and then she saw him. Or at least his shadow, skirting the edge of the stream. Carefully, she took a step towards him, then another. And suddenly he was off again. Despite her caution, she’d been spotted.

  Charlie exploded into action, hurling herself along the riverbank, eating up the yards between herself and her prey. Was he tiring now or had he hurt himself? Either way, Charlie felt certain she was gaining on him. She clutched her baton in readiness, bracing herself for a fight.

  On they went, hunter and hunted straining every sinew. The fugitive stumbled on a log, allowing Charlie to close the distance … then she too lost her balance, catching her foot in a rabbit hole and crashing down onto the path, raking her palms and knees on the rough ground. Even before she had come to a halt, however, she was scrambling up again. She raced forward, around a huge oak, before coming face to face with a dense bank of gorse.

  The fugitive was nowhere in sight, but Charlie felt sure he must have come this way. And now, as she moved forward, she saw a gap in the seemingly forbidding barrier. It was large enough for an adult to squeeze through and was an attractive escape route. Crouching down to avoid the vicious spines, Charlie pushed through.

  The bush was large and dense, clawing at Charlie, but eventually she emerged from it, to find herself in a small clearing. She was alone, but to her surprise she glimpsed a dwelling on the far side, perfectly camouflaged, yet visible from her vantage point.

  Charlie cast warily around the clearing. It was the perfect spot for someone who wanted to remain hidden, surrounded on all sides by dense foliage. If there were any paths in this part of the forest, you could happily follow them without ever spotting this discreet spot. But where was its occupant? Had he retreated inside? Or was he hiding in the bushes, waiting to strike?

  A faint crackle from her radio. Charlie hesitated, then turned the volume down. She daren’t risk announcing her presence and, besides, she had no idea where she was, even if she had wanted to summon help. Raising her baton, she moved forward, taking a cautious step towards the hut, which she now realized was made entirely from forest materials. The frame and roof were made of wood, while animal hides hung down over the door and windows, shielding the interior from view. Outside, hanging over a smouldering fire, was a small cooking pot, containing some kind of porridge or oatmeal. And around it, running in a perfect circle as if protecting the pot, were a series of stakes, proudly displaying future meals. A skinned rabbit hung on the nearest one, its flesh livid and pink, its glassy eye staring at Charlie. A couple of birds hung on the next, their feet bound together, their beaks touching as if in an embrace. And, beyond that, was something that looked like a weasel, its mouth hanging open as if it was about to laugh.

  The sight sent a shiver down Charlie’s spine, the presence of death unnerving her. Her eyes cautiously reconnoitring the clearing, she moved forward, hoping for a glimpse of her fugitive, but he remained hidden. She took a step towards the hut. Then another. Immediately, something sprang up at her, smashing into her calves. Charlie let out a howl of pain, her baton falling from her hand, as she stumbled wildly, before managing to right herself. Looking down, she was aghast to see that she had stepped on a mantrap. The spring had triggered and its vicious metal jaws were now clamped around her leg.

  Reaching down, she tried to jam her fingers between her flesh and the metal. The pain was unbearable, the pressure seeming to grow with each passing second, but the trap resisted, mocking her attempts to prise it open. She tried again, digging her fingers into her flesh … but it was impossible.

  And now she became aware of something else. Footsteps approaching her. Instinctively, she lunged for her baton, but she was too slow. A boot kicked it away, the baton skittering away into the undergrowth. Jerking back, Charlie reared up to defend herself.

  To find herself face to face with Nathaniel Martin.

  29

  Joseph Hudson spun around. He felt certain he had heard something, something that sounded like a human scream. But could he be sure? The forest was teeming with birds, foxes and deer, whose cries and calls often sounded mournful, even despairing. It was easy to be fooled in this mysterious environment … and yet his instinct was that it was a genuine cry of alarm.

  ‘Team A, this is Team B,’ he rasped, squeezing the transmit button on his handset. ‘Do you have eyes on DS Brooks? Over.’

  ‘Negative’ was DC Bentham’s swift reply. ‘We think she was heading north-east, but we lost her at a small stream. Over.’

  Hudson clicked off, peering intently at his surroundings. The forest seemed to be taunting him today, clouding his mind with unfamiliar sounds and sights, but he knew he had to stay focused. If Charlie had cut north in pursuit of a suspect, then that would have brought her into his area of operation. Could the scream have come from her? Was she even now being attacked? Gesturing to the team to follow, Hudson made his decision, cutting south towards Bentham and his colleagues, now desperately searching for their leader.

  Why had she run off like that? He knew the MIT had a reputation for acting first and asking questions later – Grace’s influence no doubt – but still it was a crazy thing to do, given the unfamiliar terrain. To him, there could be only one explanation for such foolhardiness – Charlie Brooks had spotted Nathaniel Martin and had been determined not to let him escape. But where had her desperate pursuit taken her?

  He moved steadily forward, listening for further cries … but all was quiet. He would have to act on instinct now, guessing where he thought the sound had come from and he drove the team on.

  ‘Eyes and ears open,’ he barked at them. ‘And stay together.’

  They didn’t need telling twice. Hudson could tell his fellow officers were desperate to find Brooks too, but none were willing to mirror her impetuousness and risk ending up alone in a strange part of the forest.

  Pushing his own fears aside, Hudson marched on, scanning the woodland ahead of him. He was scared, but also excited too. The adrenaline was coursing through him, his senses in overdrive. Anxious though he was – for Brooks, for his team – there was also a part of him that thrilled to be in on the chase. He had become bored with the familiar routine of life in Liverpool – the same old faces, the same old crimes – and he had applied to Southampton Central, hoping to find himself in situations just like this. This was life at the sharp end. This was where policing mattered.

  It had been a long time since he’d felt revitalized by his profession, but he was feeling it today. A colleague was missing, a suspect was on the loose, danger threatened on all sides. And now that it was a matter of life and death, Joseph Hudson was determined to make his presence count.

  30

  ‘Charlie, this is Helen … Can you hear me? Over.’

  Helen had dispensed with the formalities, repeatedly appealing to Charlie by name. But, as before, she was met by silence. Where could she be? And why was she not responding? Perhaps she had dropped her radio, or turned it off to avoid giving away her position? The alternative was that she was being prevented from contacting them by something, or someone. Charlie was an experienced, battle-hardened officer, who was more than capable of taking care of herself, but suddenly Helen was very concerned.

  She was half jogging, half sprinting, determined to find Charlie, but conscious of the need to keep her team with her. However worried she was about her old friend, there could be no question of losing one of her own, leaving them isolated and vulnerable. In police work, you had to deal with what was in front of you, what you could inf
luence, and Helen knew she had to keep the pack together during their desperate hunt.

  They drove deeper into the forest. Helen had lost her bearings now – the map had proved to be unfit for purpose and her GPS was struggling to keep up, but the Compass app on her iPhone helped her gauge her rough direction and she bent her steps north. With Hudson heading south, she was hoping they would eventually converge on Charlie, but it was hard to be confident in such unfamiliar surroundings. They might miss each other entirely, miss Charlie – with potentially disastrous consequences.

  Where was she? Helen had a sickening feeling that something terrible had happened to her old friend. Unbidden, an image of Jessica popped into her head, Charlie’s only child and her godchild, but she pushed it away. If her friend was in danger, she had to keep alert, had to suppress her fears. There was no point imagining the worst until confronted by it.

  The path seemed to peter out now and, acting on instinct, Helen veered left. The forest seemed to be less dense in that direction, meaning they could maintain their steady progress. She could hear a few of her team stumbling behind, tiring now, but Helen urged them on and now, through the bushes ahead, she spied clear ground – a clearing of some kind, not one she’d noticed before. Ducking low, she pushed through the spiky bush and emerged into the open – only to stop dead in her tracks, stunned by the sight in front of her.

  Death had visited this remote part of the forest – a body lying prone in the middle of the clearing. But it was not that of her colleague and friend. In fact, it wasn’t human at all. As the rest of the team joined her, Helen took in the felled pony that lay rigid and lifeless on the forest floor. It was hard to think that something – or someone – would willingly slay such a graceful beast, but they had. The horse lay on its side, staring placidly up at the forest canopy, three vicious-looking crossbow bolts embedded in its flank.

  Bending down, Helen felt a sudden rush of anger, of sadness. There was something about the sight of the prone horse that felt profoundly wrong, as if someone had killed a unicorn. The wild horses that grazed the forest were an integral part of its habitat, helping to keep the forest in good condition. They harmed no one and visitors to the New Forest were charmed by them. But someone had hunted this one down and butchered it, leaving it to rot in the heart of the forest. The horse had not yet started to decompose, so had presumably been killed relatively recently, but the early signs of decay were there. A good deal of flesh was missing from one of the horse’s legs, presumably taken by a fox. Maggots too were forming in the wounds, even as the flies buzzed round the horse’s eyes, nostrils and mouth, seeking sustenance.

  Straightening up, Helen turned to DC Reid.

  ‘Stay here and call it in. We need Meredith Walker down here, asap.’

  Reid nodded, pulling out his phone and holding it high in the air, desperately searching for a signal. Helen, meanwhile, gestured to the others to continue their drive north. Charlie was in danger and every second wasted increased the chances of her coming to harm.

  The clock was ticking now.

  31

  A bead of sweat slid down Charlie’s cheek. Her captor had barely said a word since his sudden appearance, merely staring at her as he took in her predicament. Whether he was enjoying her pain or trying to divine her reasons for intruding, she couldn’t tell. His face was devoid of emotion.

  ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Charlie Brooks,’ she blurted out, ignoring the throbbing pain in her leg. ‘I’m here with dozens of other officers from Hampshire Police –’

  ‘Where are they then?’ he replied calmly.

  ‘Here, in the forest,’ Charlie insisted, gesturing around her.

  ‘Big place …’

  His tone was knowing, even triumphant. Walking past Charlie towards the hut, he paused by a block of wood. Charlie had noticed the hatchet already, had been alarmed by its large blade. Even more so now, as Martin picked it up, toying with it a little, before slamming it down into the wood. Charlie winced at the impact, watching with alarm as the axe split the wood in two.

  ‘Guess it’s just you and me for now.’

  ‘That’s right, Nathaniel. And I’d like to talk to you.’

  Martin reacted, looking puzzled, even a little angry.

  ‘There’s nobody of that name here. That guy died a long time ago …’

  ‘Ok, if you’d like me to call you something else –’

  ‘Shhhh …’

  He put his finger to his lips as he hissed out his order. Even as he did so, he laid his hand on the axe, wrenching it from the splintered wood. His back was to her now and Charlie slid two fingers inside her jacket pocket. Her radio was nestling there and if she could hit the transmission button –

  ‘I’ll take that.’

  Charlie froze. He wasn’t even looking at her, yet somehow he knew. Turning, he walked towards her. In one hand he carried the axe, the other reached out to her, gesturing to her to comply. With half an eye on the axe’s wicked blade, she teased the radio out of her pocket and handed it to him. Dropping it on the floor, he stamped on it, once, twice, the radio disintegrating under the weight of his attack.

  ‘And the rest?’

  He gestured to her again.

  She reached inside her jacket.

  ‘Careful now …’

  Deliberately slowly, she removed her pepper spray from her pocket, then her warrant card.

  ‘That’s it.’

  A quick sniff of the spray, then he tossed it aside, concentrating on her ID instead. He looked at her photo, then pulled her business card from her wallet.

  ‘DS Charlene Brooks. Major Incident Team …’

  He wrapped his mouth around the last three words, as he slipped the card into his pocket. Immediately memories of his brutal attack on a police officer – snapshots of the young man’s fractured skull – shot into Charlie’s mind.

  ‘What are you doing all the way out here, Charlene?’

  The way he said her name was unnerving. Part of her wanted to scream and shout, but the mantrap held her firmly in place and there was no way help would arrive before the axe came crashing down. She needed to keep him talking.

  ‘I was looking for you.’

  ‘Looking for me …? Why would you be doing that?’

  He turned to face her. Charlie felt the heat of his gaze, his desire to intimidate her, but she met him head on, refusing to be cowed.

  ‘Because someone was murdered, in the forest.’

  There was no point dressing it up. He would smell lies.

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  His question certainly did. She had been expecting a fierce denial or a tacit admission of guilt.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It doesn’t me.’

  ‘I don’t understand –’

  ‘Look around you, Officer Brooks, the evidence is under your nose.’

  Charlie’s eyes flitted from Martin to the axe, to the lifeless animals skewered on wooden stakes.

  ‘We are under siege. Mother is hurting …’

  ‘You mean the forest?’

  ‘Mother is hurting, her children too. They cut us. Cut, cut, cut …’

  The axe swung back and forth in time with his anger.

  ‘Slash, burn, slash, burn. Mother used to be beautiful, but now she is ugly, she is defaced. The rot started a long time ago …’

  He took a step closer. Charlie tried to shuffle backwards, but the metal jaws pinned her to the soil.

  ‘Is that what all this is about? You want to protect yourself? Protect the forest?’

  She was talking as much to quell her fear, as to keep him engaged.

  ‘Everybody has the right to defend themselves. Against intruders.’

  His eyes were fixed on her, but Charlie’s were riveted to the axe. She was in range now and had no means of defending herself.

  ‘Is that why you did it? Is that why you targeted Woodland View? Because they had invaded your territory?’

  A shadow passed across his
face, a reaction to the mention of the campsite, then he crouched down, so he was now eye level with Charlie. He reached out to her and instinctively Charlie jerked backwards, expecting him to grab her head and stove it in. But instead, he ran a grimy finger down her cheek.

  ‘That’s what you do in the wild, Charlene. When you see vermin …’ His finger rested on her mouth, teasing her lips open with his dirty fingernail. ‘… you exterminate it.’

  32

  The thorns ripped across her face, roughly jagging her skin. Helen came to a juddering halt, regretting her decision to plunge through the wild roses that had blocked her path. Swallowing down the pain, she disentangled herself carefully, then ran her fingers across her neck and cheek. Fresh blood, rich and crimson, stained her fingertips. Wiping it angrily on her trousers, she tugged at the bush, ripping the offending branches clean off, opening up the way ahead.

  They were keeping up a desperate pace, but at each turn the forest frustrated them. First, they had stumbled across a pool that was too deep to wade across. Then one of the uniformed officers had sprained his ankle, requiring one of his colleagues to remain behind. The rapidly diminishing band had soldiered on, but the bushes and branches tore at them, hampering their progress, challenging them to give up the chase. There was no question of that, but morale was dipping fast.

  There was no sign of Charlie, nor her team. Hudson’s group also continued to elude them, so Helen yanked her radio from her belt once more.

  ‘Team B, this is Team C. What’s your location, over?’

  There was a long pause, then Hudson’s voice crackled into life.

  ‘Uncertain. We’ve been heading south-east for twenty, twenty-five minutes. There’s no sign of Officer Brooks, nor her team, over.’

  ‘Can you identify any landmarks? Anything we can place you by?’ Helen replied desperately.