And to her surprise, he did, his anger and distress suddenly seeming to burn itself out.
‘You shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone.’
‘Who was I going to call? You?’
It was said with vicious sarcasm, but she ignored it.
‘The police. You should have gone to the police.’
‘Really? When she was in a coma, unable to talk, unable to confirm what had happened?’
‘You had the diary.’
‘And he had two friends, two accomplices, who were prepared to say it never happened, that Julia was making it up. Do you think we would have got justice?’
‘But it’s the police’s job –’
‘To protect rapists and liars. I wasn’t going to put her fate in their hands. Julia is mine, she’s always been mine.’
For the first time, Alice felt genuinely unnerved. There was something in his intensity that scared her.
‘What about if we go to the police now? You have the diary, we could do it together.’
But Oliver shook his head.
‘I mean it, Oliver. I can stay for as long as it takes. Make sure this man is questioned, charged.’
‘You’re wasting your time.’
‘How can you say that?’
‘You’re too late.’
Such was the tone of finality that Alice now paused.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You never did.’
‘Where is this man? What’s happened to him?’
‘He’s dead.’
It was said so calmly that for a moment Alice was speechless, before she gathered herself sufficiently to respond:
‘The others, then? The ones who lied. Surely they can be –’
‘They’re dead too.’
Now Alice froze. There was a hint of triumph in his tone, but surely such a thing was impossible?
‘How did they die, Oliver?’
But her former husband just stared at her.
‘What have you done?’
Still nothing.
‘Please, Oliver, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s happened.’
He continued to stare at her, enjoying her discomfort. The atmosphere seemed to have been sucked from the room – it was hushed, tense, febrile – but now the heavy silence was broken by a nagging, insistent sound. The sound of sirens.
Immediately, Oliver reacted, rushing to the window and peering outside. There was no doubt that the sirens were getting louder, getting closer. Turning, he hurried towards the door, but Alice reached out, grabbing hold of his jacket.
‘Tell me. Tell me what you’ve done.’
He flung out an elbow at her, smashing her in the ribs. But still she clung on, despite the agony that seared through her. He struggled to escape her grip, grabbing her hair as he tried to wrench her off. But this was one battle that she was determined not to lose.
Suddenly she had to know what her ex-husband had become.
138
She roared down the street, bringing her bike alongside Hudson’s vehicle. As she’d sprinted along the hospital corridors, Helen had called Charlie, relaying Julia’s damning testimony. Her friend had snapped into action and by the time Helen made it to her Kawasaki, the team had been deployed.
Helen had wasted no time burning across town to Upper Shirley. The sound of sirens grew louder as she neared Winter’s home address and, picking out Hudson’s car, she’d slid in just behind him. His flashing lights cleared the way for them both, making progress swift. Now they were approaching the family home, and signalling Hudson to take the front, Helen peeled off, swinging around one corner, then another, into the adjacent road.
Counting the houses down, she came to a skidding stop outside Winter’s back gate. Killing the engine, she leapt off her bike and rattled the door handle. She wasn’t surprised to find it locked, but didn’t hesitate, placing her foot on the wrought-iron handle and hauling herself over.
She landed deftly on the other side and was quickly on the move once more. Without breaking stride, she pulled her baton from her belt, extending it fully, as she hastened towards the rear of the property. Something told her Winter would not come quietly.
She was now at the back door. Reaching out, she made a grab for the handle, but before she could do so, the door was yanked open. Instinctively, she raised her arm, as a burly form hurtled towards her.
But it was only Joseph Hudson. He looked flustered and disappointed, which told her everything she needed to know.
They were too late.
139
‘I didn’t know what he was doing. I didn’t know anything about this.’
Helen was inclined to believe her. Alice Winter was deathly pale, except for the smear of blood on her mouth and cheek. The upturned furniture suggested a struggle had taken place, as did the bloody tissue clamped to her nose.
‘I came to see my daughter,’ the shocked woman insisted. ‘I knew she was in hospital, that she was in a bad way … but … but I didn’t know that she’d been attacked, let alone that Oliver would …’
She petered out, still struggling to process her recent discoveries.
‘You had no contact with your husband since you left this country?’
‘No. I tried to call him, my lawyers tried to call him …’
‘And he never told you about Julia?’
She shook her head sadly.
‘He wanted her to himself. And wanted to punish me perhaps.’
It was cruel, it was unpleasant, but it made sense.
‘Was he ever violent towards you?’
‘Occasionally, but nothing bad.’
‘So he’s never done anything like this before?’
‘Of course not. But he did National Service in Sweden – men had to back then – so he would have known about combat, about camouflage techniques.’
‘I see. And did he hunt during your marriage? Or go on a shoot?’
‘No, but he did back in Sweden. When he was a little boy, his grandfather used to take him. They would hunt elk with bows. That’s illegal now, but back then –’
‘So, he would have known how to use a bow,’ Helen interrupted. ‘How to use a crossbow, specifically?’
‘Of course,’ Alice replied, matter-of-factly. ‘His grandfather had several, swore by them, and when they’d finished for the day, he would give it to him to clean it. Oliver loved that bow …’
Helen stared at her, as Alice concluded:
‘… and he knew every inch of it.’
140
He walked on, heading ever deeper into the sanctuary of the forest. He had known this moment would come and, though he had been rattled by the sudden unravelling of his plans, following Alice’s arrival, he now felt oddly calm. He had long ago imagined how this would play out and he was ready.
Pausing, Winter laid down his heavy rucksack. He stared for a moment at the still, quiet woodland, enjoying the feeling of satisfaction these surroundings gave him, before opening his pack and pulling out the contents. The sun was dipping behind the horizon now, its final, golden beams peeking through the lower branches, which meant the time was right.
For the past nine years, his life had been consumed by suffering. Utter, heart-wrenching despair, punctured by bouts of furious, frenzied anger and moments of total weariness. His days he had devoted to Julia and they had been wonderful, but also awful, seeing the hollow remnant of his daughter lying comatose on the bed in front of him. But this was nothing compared to the anguish of the nights, when the crushing loneliness took hold, when he had no company save for his regrets, his bile and his despair. He would try to connect with Julia, spending hours in her bedroom attempting to harness her goodness, her positivity, her grace, but with each passing year he found it harder to still the voices growing inside him.
So he’d sought out her attackers, her betrayers, on Facebook, on LinkedIn, on Twitter, devouring the details of their lives. He’d learnt about their tribulations and setbacks, but also
the accompanying highs – new homes, cars, holidays, even Campbell’s engagement. At first, he had been consumed with bitterness, that they should still be living, laughing, having fun, then later he became taken over by rage, as he learnt from local newspaper reports that Morgan had struck again, ruined more young lives. And as darkness fell, nagging, insistent demons circled him, demanding vengeance, demanding atonement. In the end, he had given in to them, embracing the change in himself.
After that, he spent the nights preparing, fashioning his bow, an exact replica of the one he’d enjoyed so much as a boy, preparing his battle armour. He had felt uncomfortable, even self-conscious at first, sliding on the dark leather which encased his torso, his arms, his legs, but over time he had come to thrill to the feeling of power and invulnerability it gave him. The hood too gave him comfort, concealing him from prying eyes, from anyone who might chance upon him in the gloomy forest, but it was the helmet, fashioned by his own hands in his workshop, which completed the change. It was simple, it was strong, but somehow it made him. It alone seemed to have the power to banish Oliver Winter and replace him with someone bigger, better, more powerful. When dressed for battle, there was no longer any doubt, any fear, any remorse. The dogged, diligent, caring man, who politely thanked his daughter’s carers, even as they plotted to switch off her life support … that craven weakling vanished the moment the helmet descended.
Then he was something else. Then he was a child of the night.
141
She roared along the tarmac, her eyes glued to the road. Occasionally Helen would steal a glance in her mirror, but Hudson was already a speck in the distance, the blue flashing light the only part of his car that was still visible. She was breaking protocol by not waiting for him, but every second counted, now they knew that Winter was in the forest once more.
A stolen Land Rover had been picked up leaving the western edge of the city, before disappearing into country lanes. The vehicle, which had been taken from a car park in Woolston three weeks ago, was on the team’s watch list and a traffic unit had been scrambled to intercept it. Half an hour later, an eagle-eyed officer had spotted the old 4x4, hidden in foliage near Burgate, on the fringes of the forest. The vehicle, whose boot contained an eight-foot length of rubber tubing, was unlocked, the keys still in the ignition. This latter detail told Helen all she needed to know. Winter had no plans to escape.
Was he intending to harm himself? Or make one last stand? Either way, they needed to engage him fast. Despite all their warnings, there were still people turning up at the forest, out of either ignorance or brazenness, not to mention the residents who lived near the fringes of the forest. If Winter was abroad now, they needed to bring him in. There was no sign of his crossbow in the house, his workshop or his vehicle, so they were assuming that he was armed and dangerous.
Two tactical firearms units were making their way to the forest. She prayed they wouldn’t need them, but feared they would. Winter had crossed a line, had a taste for death now, and it would be hard to bring him in by conventional means, especially in such unfamiliar territory.
Helen felt a tingle of excitement, even as tension gripped her insides. She was speeding towards their suspect, towards an uncertain and possibly violent conclusion to this complex case, but finally the perpetrator was in their sights.
The end was at hand.
142
He padded through the forest, taking care not to make a sound. Many times he’d walked these paths, first with Alice and their child, then later with Julia, and he knew them like the back of his hand. But they meant something different to him now. Previously, the forest had been a distraction, a break from the cares of the day. Now it was his sanctuary, his cocoon.
Some people found the huge branches that stretched overhead intimidating, even sinister, but to him they appeared like giant arms gathering him into the fold. The forest appeared to him now as a friend, no, more than that, it was an ally, a place where he could be what he needed to be.
Had he encountered Caleb Morgan in everyday life, would he have had the courage to strike him down? Campbell and Scott too? During waking hours, surrounded by the trappings of his daily existence, he felt uncertain, frustrated, impotent. But in the forest it was different. Here he could slough off any instinct for mercy and pity, giving in to anger and hatred. Killing those horses had been unpleasant, but necessary – an important step on the journey, as he honed his skills and grew into his new identity. Taking on the mantle of the hunter made him feel taller, stronger, untouchable, but it wasn’t just that. The very nature of time seemed to change once he was under the canopy of these aged branches. Here time seemed to be on his side.
When he was closing in on his prey, when they were exhausted, desperate, time seemed to slow. He could take in every detail – the anguish in their eyes, the blood on their skin, their dirty fingernails, as they reached up to him imploringly. Seconds seemed to stretch – it was as if he saw the bolts in slow motion, bursting free of their constraints and arrowing through the air, before slamming into their quarry. These were the moments he savoured – the look of shock on their faces, as the lifeblood leaked from them.
He had experienced something like this before. But that experience had been less pleasant, the worst of his life. Having found Julia’s suicide note, he had raced to Itchen Bridge, convinced she would head there, as others had before. Had the traffic not been so bad that day, had he arrived home a few minutes earlier, then maybe he would have caught her. As it was, he got to the bridge just as she climbed over the safety railings. He had called to her, shouted and screamed, but she seemed not to hear him. He saw her take one careful step on to the ledge, then another. He was sprinting, but somehow wasn’t going fast enough, his legs moving in slow motion. He was screaming. Surely she would hear him and stop? But instead she simply let go, hovering uncertainly on the edge for an eternity, before spreading out her arms and taking flight.
He had never known time to warp like that, to taunt him with the possibility of reaching her, only to dash his hopes. Since then he had enjoyed this strange, magical experience a number of times, in this place, his night-time playground.
People would judge him. Call him psychotic, deranged, but their deaths had felt right. It was an evening of the score, a father’s duty. He would not apologize for it, nor would he bow his head and offer himself up for arrest. He had never had any plans to flee justice, to avoid the bloody reckoning, and he was determined to do this on his terms.
This whole, sorry story had started in the forest years ago and tonight it would end there too.
143
Ignoring the pain in her leg, Charlie sprinted across the tarmac, ducking low to avoid the blades. Helen had arrived at the forest, connecting with the tactical units who’d been scrambled there, and was now beginning her search. But before she’d done so, she’d called Charlie, telling her to head to the heliport. Night was falling now and the area they had to search was vast – they would need their eye in the sky if they were to flush Winter out.
The pilot opened the door and Charlie clambered inside, strapping herself in. This was only her second time in the police helicopter and the noise, energy and power of the machine were exhilarating. In under five minutes, they would be above the New Forest, firing their beam into the darkness. The helicopter’s light was intensely powerful and would startle the forest dwellers as it raked its depths. Would it catch Winter in its beam? Once he was in view and they could monitor his progress from the air, there would be no escape for him.
‘Ready?’
Charlie nodded, giving the pilot the thumbs up. Immediately, he hit the throttle, the blades whirring deafeningly above, and seconds later the whole aircraft rose into the air, wobbling momentarily above the launch pad, before swinging away into the night sky.
144
His car bounced over the turf, skidding to a halt just short of the forest edge.
Helen’s Kawasaki was parked nearby, flanking the tactical suppo
rt units’ vans, but there was no sign of the woman herself. Cursing, Hudson slammed the door shut and walked towards the bike. He had done his best to keep up, but it was an uneven fight and he had lost sight of her on the ring road. Driving even faster, he’d hoped to rendezvous with her before the hunt began, to be in the thick of the action when Winter was finally caught, but she hadn’t waited. How he wished he’d had his bike with him when the call had come in, rather than his cumbersome pool car.
Another vehicle had now pulled up and Hudson saw DC McAndrew climb out, followed by Osbourne. The others were close behind and soon they would all be deployed, penetrating the deepest corners of the forest in search of Oliver Winter. Hudson had no doubt their chief suspect was in there somewhere, which made him extremely nervous. Winter had retreated there for a reason, knowing full well he stood little chance of escaping capture in the real world. Out in the open, all manner of means could be deployed to bring him in, but the forest was his terrain. Within its confines, he would have the advantage. Even experienced police marksmen would be out of their depth, unfamiliar with its hidden paths and secret hiding places. What would that mean for them? And for Helen?
‘What do you want to do?’
McAndrew and Osbourne had joined him.
‘Do you want to wait or …?’
Hudson looked at McAndrew, then beyond her to the other cars now pulling up. It was a tough call – the whole team were here, but they were unarmed. Ideally they would wait until the chopper was deployed, until the third armed unit joined them. But that was on its way from Bournemouth and would take nearly an hour to get here, which was why Hudson found himself saying:
‘We go in.’
Gesturing to the others to follow suit, Hudson set off, McAndrew and Osbourne falling into step close by. It was risky, it was probably foolhardy, but Hudson could see no other way.
Down to the Woods: DI Helen Grace 8 (Detective Inspector Helen Grace) Page 33