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

by M. J. Arlidge

  ‘We’ve just had to go around a large pool. We lost some time there … but it was too deep to cross. According to the map, I think it’s called Florian’s Cup, but I can’t be sure, over.’

  Helen swore under her breath. She was sure this was the same pool her team had recently circumnavigated – heading in the opposite direction.

  ‘Stop where you are. Head due east. It’s the one area we haven’t tried, over.’

  ‘Roger that, over.’

  Gesturing to the rest of her team, Helen turned tail, heading back in the direction they had come. There were a few suppressed groans, but Helen didn’t care. Thanks to her incompetence, they had failed Charlie, losing her in the wilderness, to face her fate alone. They had one last chance to make a difference, one last part of the woodland to explore and she would sweat blood until they had done so.

  It was now or never.

  33

  Charlie writhed on the ground, desperately trying to keep her captor in view. He was circling her slowly, enjoying her fear. The axe rested lazily on his shoulder, its blade pointing up in the air.

  ‘Please don’t hurt me …’

  Martin said nothing, continuing his lazy circle.

  ‘I have a child, a little girl …’

  Her captor waved this away, as if it was unimportant. Charlie knew Martin didn’t have any children and was estranged from his parents.

  ‘I haven’t done anything wrong …’ she moaned, desperate now.

  ‘But you’re trespassing, Officer Brooks. This is my home,’ he replied, gesturing at the camouflaged hut. ‘You are an intruder. And the law says I can defend myself against intruders, doesn’t it?’

  Charlie felt a sharp spike of fear, as Martin came to a halt in front of her.

  ‘Please, Nathaniel, look at me …’

  Martin shook his head quickly, as if wishing his name away.

  ‘I am a human being, a mother …’

  She stressed the last word, hoping it would have some effect on him.

  ‘And I’m defenceless. There’s no law, natural or otherwise, that can justify harming someone who is at your mercy.’

  She was gabbling now, but she had to puncture his defences somehow. Martin seemed unmoved, however, shrugging gently, as he took a step towards her.

  ‘Even so, it’s time the boot was on the other foot …’

  As he spoke, he raised his right leg, pressing down hard on Charlie’s left shin.

  ‘You people have been chipping away at me for years.’

  Charlie’s ankle was trapped, immobile, the pain building steadily as Martin increased the pressure. One hard push now and her ankle would snap. The pain was intense, making Charlie feel dizzy and faint.

  ‘Please …’ she murmured.

  ‘You’ve abused me, attacked me …’

  ‘Please, Nathaniel, don’t do this …’

  ‘… tortured me. Have you any idea what I’ve been through?’

  Charlie could hazard a guess – anyone who’s taken an iron bar to a serving police officer could expect a rough time in prison.

  ‘I’m sorry if we hurt you,’ Charlie gasped. ‘But that wasn’t me, I would never –’

  ‘Never what? You came to arrest me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘Then you’re no better than the rest of them.’

  He put his full weight on her leg. She tried to resist, but the pain, the pressure was unbearable.

  ‘And you’re going to pay for it,’ he continued savagely.

  Charlie gasped in pain and terror. Any second now her ankle would break and the axe would come down on her head. This was it then – the day she’d often feared would come.

  Then suddenly shouting. The voices were close by, but Charlie couldn’t tell where.

  ‘DS Brooks?’

  Martin paused, instinctively easing the pressure on her leg.

  ‘DS Brooks? Can you hear me?’

  Charlie recognized Hudson’s voice.

  ‘I’m here,’ Charlie screamed. ‘I’m over here!’

  Martin turned to her, furious. Their private hell had been penetrated and she was no longer at his mercy.

  ‘I’m here, help me, please!’

  Several voices answered her, their volume growing all the time. Bodies could now be heard crashing through the bush. Martin glared at her, naked anger contorting his expression. Without warning, he suddenly spat in her face. Then he raised his axe above his head, but as he did so, Hudson crashed into the clearing, looking determined and energized.

  Immediately, Martin dropped the axe and ran. Sprinting hard across the clearing, the fugitive pushed through the animal hides into the hut, disappearing from view. Charlie watched him go, relief tumbling over her fear.

  She had survived.

  34

  A moment’s hesitation, then Joseph Hudson raced over to his colleague. Other members of his team were still emerging from the undergrowth, breathless and confused, unnerved by the strange sight in front of them. It was as if they had stumbled on the dark heart of the forest.

  ‘You ok?’

  Charlie nodded mutely. Casting his eyes down to check for injuries, he winced as he took in the wicked metal jaws clamped around her left ankle.

  ‘Get that off now,’ he roared at a pair of uniformed officers, who rushed over to assist.

  Straightening up, Hudson gestured to the others.

  ‘The rest of you, with me.’

  They moved swiftly across the clearing. Hudson had seen Martin drop the axe and pelt into the hut. He knew it was his duty to bring him in, but he slowed as he approached his bolt-hole. He had no idea what might be inside and couldn’t risk putting himself, or his colleagues, in danger. He could imagine Martin waiting for them, his crossbow primed and ready, and had no desire to be in the firing line.

  ‘Spread out. Form a circle.’

  Reid, Osbourne and the remaining uniforms responded, surrounding the cannibalized dwelling. There would be no escape for Martin now – the only question was whether blood would be spilt before he was in custody. Pulling his radio from his belt, Hudson hit the transmission button.

  ‘Team C, this is Team B, over. We have the suspect trapped, but have no eyes on him. Should we proceed or wait, over?’

  A brief pause, then Helen’s voice responded.

  ‘If it’s safe to do so, bring him in, over.’

  ‘Roger that. We are in a clearing five minutes east of the pool. Officer Brooks is injured, but safe, over.’

  Clicking off, Hudson returned his attention to the hut.

  ‘Nathaniel, I’m DS Hudson. You are surrounded now. You have one minute to exit, with your hands on your head.’

  He was met by silence.

  ‘If you have not complied by that time, then we will have no choice but to forcibly apprehend you. Do you understand?’

  Still nothing. Was Martin sweating in there, cowed and contemplating surrender? Or was he raising his crossbow? Hudson fervently hoped it was the former.

  ‘Thirty seconds, Nathaniel.’

  Hudson shot a glance at DC Lucas, who looked as tense as him. Hudson slowly counted down in his head. Ten, nine, eight, seven …

  But he knew Martin wasn’t coming, the minute elapsing with no sign of movement within. Bracing himself, Hudson crept forward. The other officers followed suit, closing in on the hut. Ushering them to stay to the side, out of the direct line of fire, Hudson took a further step towards the entrance. It consisted of a large animal hide hanging down in front of a gap in the wooden frame. Carefully taking hold of the bottom edge of the hide, Hudson whipped it open, lurching to the left as he did so, shielding himself from view on the other side of the wooden door frame.

  But the expected counterattack didn’t materialize. What was Martin doing in there? Was he hunkered down? Cowering in the corner? Was it even possible he had taken his own life to avoid capture? Craning his neck round the doorpost, Hudson tried to peer inside. But the gloom was hard to pen
etrate and he could only make out shadows. What should he do, stick or twist? It would be safer to wait, but it would take ages for an armed unit to arrive, even if they could find the clearing. Besides, something told him that this was his first big test.

  He darted to the other side of the open doorway, making it across unscathed. He could see little from this side either, so turned to DC Lucas, whispering:

  ‘Follow me and stay low …’

  He mouthed a silent countdown, then swung into the hut, keeping his head down. He was crouched ready to spring, his baton clasped in his hand … but the hut was empty.

  Nathaniel Martin had vanished.

  35

  ‘Maniac loose in the forest.’

  It wasn’t her most inspired headline, but it would do the job. Whether you were a local planning a weekend in the forest or a tourist arriving for a week’s camping, you couldn’t help but be alarmed by the Evening News banner headline.

  Emilia had expected something juicy, but still Janice Smith’s testimony had knocked her for six. Racing back to the office, Emilia had texted David Spivack, her mole at Southampton Central mortuary, to confirm the identity of the victim, before phoning Gardiner, telling him to hold the front ten pages. Pleasingly, he had complied, shelving everything else to ensure the story had maximum impact. Thanks to Janice Smith, Emilia had detailed knowledge of the facts – the location, the weapon used – not to mention a horrifying, first-person description of the body itself. Emilia had majored on this aspect, lingering on the details of the corpse, riven with arrows, hanging helplessly in that eerie clearing. She had had to exercise a little artistic licence, of course, having not actually visited the crime scene herself, but that was not a problem. Embellishment and exaggeration were her stock in trade. Her editor had been delighted, Gardiner giving her a manly slap on the back, which she assumed was his version of a compliment.

  Emilia was now keen to capitalize on her success, certain there was more to cull from this extraordinary story. The killer was still on the run, in possession of an unusual but lethal weapon – who’s to say he wouldn’t strike again? They would go into detail on campers’ worries, legal controls on crossbows, speculation on motive and more, but their main thrust would be the hunt for the killer. Gardiner had already approved the establishment of a dedicated hotline for tip-offs or information regarding the perpetrator, while Emilia had updated their Facebook page and started a Twitter strand from her own account: #newforestkiller. It had a pleasing ring to it. Hopefully, it would soon become a repository for gossip, speculation, even leads, as well as a space for her to promote herself by dropping juicy nuggets about the ongoing police investigation.

  Emilia could only imagine what DI Grace and her colleagues would make of it. She had been on decent terms with the local police recently, a brief truce following her ordeal at the hands of Daisy Anderson. But she knew that her decision to write a book about the teenage killer had not gone down well at Southampton Central, as it raised ghosts that they would rather banish. How would they react now, as Emilia broke this new story before the police had even put out a press release? Tut, tut, Emilia thought to herself. The early bird catches the worm …

  Her editor would no doubt receive the customary phone call, reminding him of his responsibilities. And Emilia herself would get the cold shoulder too. She would be accused of sensationalizing the story, of fear-mongering, but she would ride it out. If the police weren’t prepared to protect the public, to warn them of the killer in their midst, then it fell to honest journalists to do it for them. Taking in the banner headline once more, Emilia felt a surge of satisfaction.

  This was public service journalism at its very best.

  36

  ‘Police are appealing for witnesses to an arson attack on a church in Cromwell Road. It follows a similar incident at a synagogue on Duke Street last month. Elsewhere, residents from Bitterne Park and Harefield are meeting with police to seek reassurances following a spate of burglaries in –’

  She switched stations, cutting the newsreader off. She couldn’t handle more bad news today, so flicked through the musical offerings instead, settling on Heart Extra. Anodyne, cheesy and uplifting – it was what she needed.

  Moving away, Lauren Scott left the shelter of the gazebo and returned to her boyfriend, who was labouring to put up their tent in the driving rain. Matteo had been bugging her for ages to go camping and she had resisted at first, arguing for a weekend in Rome instead. She was done with tents and, besides, she’d fancied something more surprising, more exotic. But Matteo was nothing if not persistent and eventually he’d ground her down. Now, however, she was having her doubts – the heavens had opened as soon as they’d arrived and a trip which had seemed romantic on paper risked becoming a damp squib.

  Braving the elements, she sidled over to him, tugging at his sleeve. Matteo had been humming happily to himself, in spite of the deluge, but now stopped as he turned to her, concerned by her expression.

  ‘Everything all right, honey?’

  ‘Yes …’ Lauren replied carefully, wary of bursting his bubble. ‘I’m just wondering if this is a good idea, given the weather …’

  ‘I’m nearly done,’ Matteo countered, smiling gamely.

  ‘It’s just that the forecast says it’s likely to rain all night.’

  ‘The tent’s brand new. We shouldn’t have any problems.’

  ‘And the temperature’s already dropping.’

  ‘Then we’ll just have to snuggle up a little closer, won’t we?’

  He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him.

  ‘Get off me, you’re all wet.’

  But Matteo ignored her, planting several wet kisses on her lips. Lauren struggled, but it was half-hearted and she soon gave in, wrapping her arms around him. Kissing her once more, Matteo removed a stray hair from her face.

  ‘You know I’ve been looking forward to this all week, that I want to spend the night with you under the stars,’ he murmured. ‘But … if you want to go home, we’ll go now. Straight away. Because I love you …’

  He kissed her again.

  ‘And I want you to be happy …’

  Another stolen kiss.

  ‘So, tell me, what do you want to do …?’

  Lauren looked at him, then at the carefully assembled tent. Matteo had bought it at the weekend – a ridiculously expensive four-manner – and had been itching to give it a go ever since. His excitement had been obvious – he was like a small boy going to Scout camp – which pleased and moved her. Matteo had done so much for her, had sacrificed so much to get her back on her feet, that it was great to see him doing something for himself for a change. Even the awful weather hadn’t shaken his mood. It was teeming down, but Matteo was happily sodden, having previously promised to whip off his clothes – and hers – as soon as they were in the tent.

  ‘Ok, just this once,’ she relented, reluctantly. ‘But next time, we are going on a city break …’

  ‘Scout’s honour.’ Matteo winked, disengaging to finish his task.

  She had no choice really, despite the cold and rain. Matteo would have been as good as his word, would have packed up their things there and then, if she’d insisted on going home. But how could she do that to him, after everything he’d done for her? He had saved her, there was no other way of putting it. So often during her life she had truly hated herself and yet here she was with a man who loved her, who supported her, who believed in her. It was dizzying and heart-warming, almost making her believe that happy endings were possible. Which was why she was prepared to swallow her serious misgivings and spend a night with him in the forest. Perhaps she was wrong to be so fearful, so negative.

  Perhaps everything was going to be all right, after all.

  37

  ‘Are you sure you’re ok?’

  Helen was crouched down by Charlie, who was sheltering under a tree, wrapped in Hudson’s coat. She was finally free of the mantrap, but the vicious jaws had left their ma
rk. Charlie’s leg was badly bruised and she was clearly very shaken. Helen had never seen her look so pale.

  ‘I’m fine, really.’

  ‘The paramedics are on their way. They will take you to South Hants for a check-up, then it’s straight home.’

  ‘I’ve said I’m fine –’

  ‘You can barely walk, Charlie. And you’ve had a nasty scare, so this is not a request. You need time to recover.’

  Helen was being firm, but her guilt would not let her do otherwise. From initial reports of her encounter with Martin, Charlie had had a narrow escape.

  ‘No arguments, please.’

  Charlie nodded, grateful for Helen’s concern. Patting her affectionately on the shoulder, Helen rose and crossed the clearing towards the hut. She’d told the rest of the team not to touch anything – Meredith would be on site soon – instead sending them to search the surrounding woodland for their fugitive. He was probably long gone, but if they could work out which direction he’d taken, perhaps they could resume their hunt. In all honesty, nobody had the energy or appetite for it, but they had to try.

  Pausing on the threshold of the hut, Helen took in Martin’s impressive construction. There was no cement, no steel, no bricks – no manmade materials of any sort. A wooden frame and roof were supported by pillars made entirely of clay, providing a perfect, waterproof cocoon to live in. There were small openings for windows, covered by animal skins, which could be drawn across to let in light and air. It was an attractive set-up, but even more impressive on the inside. Venturing within, Helen’s gaze stole over the hut’s fixtures and fittings. There was a bath in the corner that appeared to be made of wood and a sturdy bed in the corner. Moving over to it, Helen tested the mattress, which she was surprised to find was made from compacted leaves. Shaking her head at his ingenuity, Helen surveyed the rest of Martin’s possessions – berries preserved in jars, blankets made of rough wool and several ecological tomes, now brown and weather-worn – before turning to take in his most impressive modification. At the back of the hut, near the rear wall, was a deep hole. An animal skin, which had presumably concealed it, had been flung off, allowing Helen to crane down and peer into the abyss. The hole was in fact the mouth of a tunnel, which had been well excavated. Tall, wide, supported by wooden posts, it was easily big enough for a six-foot-plus man to scurry down.