Who Is She?

by Ben Cheetham

“Give it here,” said Steve, stepping forwards.

  Neil gave another, louder whimper. He quietened down as Doreen shushed him. Steve eyed Neil’s ham-sized hands as if he didn’t relish the thought of what they could do, before returning his attention to the camera. “This is a nice piece of kit,” he commented. “Weatherproof, night vision, zoom lens. You don’t get one of these for less than three or four thousand quid.”

  “Save the sales pitch for later,” interrupted Jack. “Just show me what’s on it.”

  Steve switched on the camera. A green-tinted image of a Little Owl perched on a branch appeared on its rear screen. “That looks like the same bird we saw.” He scrolled through several night-vision images of the owl. In the final one, the bird was taking flight as if something had startled it. “There’s a video here. It was taken at 11:43 last night.”

  Steve pressed play. The video started with the screech of an owl. The lens panned down to a view of the clearing taken from the top of the adjoining slope. There was a woman in the clearing – the woman. Her hair was tied back, fully exposing her facial tattoo. She was clutching her heavily pregnant belly. She dropped to her knees, one hand groping at the ground. From somewhere nearby came the sound of something running through the undergrowth. The woman’s head jerked over her shoulder. She tried to stand, but her legs gave way again. She dropped onto her backside and began to bum-crawl towards the edge of the clearing.

  She didn’t get far. Five figures burst into the clearing from the direction of the motorway. They had torches that shone like phosphorous in the night-vision lens, eerily illuminating the woman’s face. Two of them were identically dressed in dark trousers, jackets and balaclavas. They appeared to be of average height and stocky build. The other three figures were an altogether more bizarre sight. They were wearing similar baggy clothing to the tattooed woman. All three had long hair. At least one of them was a woman – large breasts hung low against her top as if she wasn’t wearing a bra. Another might have been a short, slightly built woman or man. The third was tall and rake thin with clothes-hanger shoulders. Considering the reason for the cameraman’s presence, they were wearing strangely appropriate masks. The woman’s face was hidden behind what looked to be a fox mask. Her short companion was unmistakably badger. The tall figure appeared to be an eagle-like bird of prey with a hooked beak, slanted eyes and a long-feathered crest.

  The tattooed woman struggled futilely as the figures in balaclavas grabbed her and dragged her to the centre of the clearing. She screamed, arching her back. Fox knelt to feel between the woman’s legs. She held up her hand for her companions to see.

  “Did her waters just break?” wondered Steve.

  The woman screamed again. Grimacing, Neil clapped his hands over his ears. “Can you watch that somewhere else?” asked Doreen, worriedly rubbing her son’s broad back.

  Steve pressed pause. The detectives went downstairs. Steve beckoned the uniformed officers over. “Go upstairs and keep an eye on the big guy,” he said. “And for Christ’s sake don’t do anything to upset him.”

  The detectives seated themselves at the living-room table and resumed watching the video. The balaclava-wearing figures restrained the woman’s arms. The others pulled off her trousers. Fox and Badger held her legs wide apart. Eagle stooped to examine her vagina. He – assuming it was a man – pushed the fingers of one hand inside her. He kept them there for a long moment as if feeling for something. Then he withdrew them, placed both hands on the woman’s swollen stomach and pushed down. Another scream tore from her. One of the figures restraining her arms put a hand over her mouth. She wrenched her head from side to side, but the hand remained firmly in situ.

  “Piece of shit bastards,” muttered Steve.

  The pushing continued for several minutes. A tiny head emerged from between the woman’s thighs, face to the ground. Shoulders followed... Arms... The woman suddenly became very still. Eagle straightened, holding a scrunch-faced baby still attached to its mother by the umbilical cord. The baby gave out a warbling cry.

  “Wow, that was quick,” said Steve. “My ex-wife was in labour half the night with our first. Is it a boy or a girl?”

  Jack tilted his head at the screen. “I can’t tell. The angle’s wrong.”

  Eagle took out some sort of peg and clamped it onto the cord. He withdrew a penknife from a sheath at his belt and sawed at the cord. Jack remembered the feel of the umbilical cord from when he’d cut Naomi’s – tough, sinewy, still palpitating with blood. It had taken him a good minute or two to cut through it with surgical scissors. It took Eagle considerably less time.

  “They came prepared,” observed Jack.

  One of the balaclava-wearing figures took off their jacket, revealing a tight white t-shirt that clung to a male torso. The man had muscular, hairy arms. He handed his jacket to Eagle who swaddled the baby and passed it off to Fox. She cradled it in her arms with the sureness of someone accustomed to holding babies.

  The figures released the tattooed woman and stepped away from her. She lifted her head, stretching her hands towards her baby. But Fox and Badger were already leaving the clearing. Eagle squatted by the woman. She feebly batted her fists at him as, lifting his mask slightly, he bent to kiss her forehead.

  “He’s got a beard,” said Steve. “Looks blonde.”

  “Could be white or grey,” said Jack. The night-vision made it difficult to tell. “Neil might be able to tell us which it is.”

  “If we can get him to talk.”

  From a cloth bag, Eagle took out something that looked like a klaxon. He lifted up the woman’s baggy blouse, exposing bare, milk-swollen breasts. He placed the circular horn over a nipple and began pumping a handle.

  “What the hell is he doing?” wondered Steve.

  “It’s a breast-pump,” said Jack. “He’s expressing the colostrum.”

  Eagle transferred the pump to the other breast and repeated the process. When he was done, he unscrewed the pump from the bottle and attached a teat. Again, he kissed the woman’s forehead. Then he rose to his feet.

  The muscular man removed a short-barrelled handgun from his waistband.

  “Looks like a converted starter pistol,” said Steve. “An Olympic .38 or something like that.”

  Olympic .38 BBM blank-firing pistols were a favourite amongst violent criminals, particularly gang members. They were cheap, easy to get hold of and even more easily modified to fire live ammo. Their mid-range accuracy was almost none existent, but they were effective up close, if somewhat unreliable.

  Holding up his hands as if to say, Not yet, Eagle turned to hurry from the clearing. The muscular man aimed the gun at the woman’s head.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” Steve hissed, even though he knew what the outcome had to be.

  The woman stared into the barrel of the gun. It was impossible to tell if her expression was terrified, defiant or simply exhausted beyond caring. The gunman’s identically dressed – apart now from the jacket the baby was wrapped in – accomplice moved out of frame briefly, returned with a spade and set to work digging up and stacking turves.

  “See how they dug the grave before shooting her,” said Steve. “These pricks know what they’re doing.”

  The gravedigger piled soil on the opposite side of the hole to the turves. All neat and tidy. Nothing like the mess Jack had seen in the clearing. Steve fast-forwarded. He pressed play when the gravedigger started to pull up their balaclava to wipe away sweat. The gunman made a swift reprimanding gesture.

  “Who’s a cautious boy then,” said Steve. “He’s not taking any chances while the woman’s still breathing.”

  Very cautious indeed, thought Jack. The woman wasn’t showing any signs of trying to escape. She was clutching her stomach again and panting audibly. The afterbirth was on its way. The gravedigger climbed out of the hole, downed the spade and grabbed one of the woman’s arms. She cried out in pain, fear or both as she was dragged to the lip of the hole. The placenta flopped out of her
as she tumbled into her grave. The gravedigger kicked it in after her. The gunman took aim again. Jack noted that he was standing to the right of the grave, holding the gun in his left hand. A position consistent with the angle of the entry wound. The muzzle flashed. There was a pop like a firecracker going off.

  Steve slammed his fist into the table. “Jesus Christ, just let me get my hands on these fuckers.”

  The shooter’s accomplice rapidly filled in the grave, replaced the turves and covered them with leaves. After checking to make sure nothing had been left behind, both figures calmly departed the clearing.

  Several seconds passed before the lens view rocked towards the woodland canopy. The scene shook with movement. Then the camera hit the ground in the clearing. The hulking, camouflaged figure of Neil dropped into view, partially obscured by grass and leaves. He tore up the turves and began scooping aside huge handfuls of soil. It didn’t take him long to dig down to the woman. He ever so gently lifted her out of the grave and laid her on the ground. Her eyes were closed. One arm dangled limply over the edge of the grave. He stared at her as if unsure what to do. She twitched as if an electric current had passed through her.

  Neil grabbed his camera and rose to his feet. Accidentally or otherwise, he must have pressed the stop button because the video abruptly ended.

  Jack puffed his cheeks. “Well that was...” He trailed off as if uncertain exactly what it was that he’d just seen.

  “That was enough to make you wonder if that poor little blighter would have been better off not being born. That’s what that was,” said Steve.

  “I know what it wasn’t,” replied Jack. “It wasn’t a random attack. Eagle knew–”

  “You mean the bloke with the bird mask?”

  “Yeah. He knew the victim. And that wasn’t the first time he’d delivered a baby.”

  “You reckon he’s done this type of thing before?”

  “I’d say that’s a distinct possibility.”

  Steve scowled. “What I wouldn’t give for five minutes alone with that freak.”

  “So what do we know for certain?” Jack said as much to himself as to Steve.

  Steve gave the obvious answer. “There are five scumbags out there who need putting behind bars asa-fucking-p.”

  “Fox is a woman. Not sure about Badger. And we know Eagle is a man.”

  “So is the one who took off his jacket. I’d put money on his mate in the balaclava being a bloke too. You wouldn’t put the Animal Magic crew together with the balaclava buddies, would you? Those three look like extras from The Wicker Man and the other two look like small-time gangsters.”

  “They may well have a gangland connection,” said Jack, thinking about the handgun. “I’ll tell you something else. They weren’t panicked by what went down. But they didn’t intend it to go down there either. Otherwise they’d have had a grave ready and waiting.”

  “The balaclava buddies are definitely pros,” agreed Steve. “The question is, what’s the relationship between them, the other three and the tattooed woman?”

  Jack thought about the broken glass on the hard shoulder. “All six came from the direction of the motorway. It takes about five minutes to reach the clearing. That means they were travelling in a vehicle or vehicles that passed the Junction Two camera at around half-past eleven.” He glanced at his watch. It was almost twelve hours since the missing baby had been so cruelly pushed and pulled from its mother’s womb. Time was slipping away and there was no more precious commodity in a case like this. “Let’s go put Mrs Salter’s mind at rest.”

  Chapter 8

  “Like I said, he’s as harmless as a lamb,” Doreen was telling the uniformed officers as Jack and Steve entered Neil’s bedroom. Mother and son were sitting on the bed. Doreen’s liver-spotted hand was resting on her son’s broad back. Neil was staring at the floor, hands clasped on his lap.

  “My Neil’s not in any trouble is he?” Doreen asked worriedly.

  “Quite the opposite, Mrs Salter,” replied Steve. “Your son saved a woman’s life last night. He’s a hero.”

  Doreen’s mouth dropped open in an almost comical expression of astonishment that made Jack wonder whether anyone had ever said anything good about Neil before. She looked at her son, her eyes glistening with pride. “Did you hear that, Neil? He says you’re a hero.”

  “Hero,” Neil repeated quietly, wrinkling his face as if he didn’t understand.

  “That’s right, Neil,” said Jack, dropping to his haunches so that he could look into the big man’s eyes. “That woman is only alive because of you. Now we need you to help us find her baby. Can you do that?”

  Neil was stock-still for a moment, then he gave a little nod. Jack restarted the video and paused it on the tattooed woman. “Do you recognise her? What I mean is, Neil, had you seen her before last night?”

  “No.”

  “What about the other figures? Have you ever seen anyone wearing masks like that before?”

  “No.”

  Jack scrolled through the video to where Eagle raised his mask a few centimetres. “What colour is his beard?”

  “Yellow.”

  “You mean blonde?”

  Neil nodded.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about what you saw?” asked Jack. “No matter how silly or unimportant it may seem.”

  Neil held his hand out for the camera.

  “You understand we need to take your camera for further examination?” said Jack. “You’ll get it back once we’re finished with it.”

  Neil nodded, but kept his hand out. Jack placed the camera in a spade-sized palm still dirty from digging up the woman. Neil rewound the video to the muscular man taking his jacket off. He zoomed in on the man’s left forearm. Jack squinted at the screen. Through the dark hairs he made out what appeared to be a tattoo.

  “I’ll say it again, that’s a bloody good camera you’ve got there, Neil,” put in Steve, peering over Jack’s shoulder.

  At this praise, a shy smile touched Neil’s lips. “Thirty-megapixels, 4K Ultra-HD.”

  “I can see you know your cameras. Can you zoom in and enhance the image?”

  Like a puppy eager to please, Neil did so and displayed the results. There were two words running lengthwise along the man’s arm, tattooed in crude block colour. “L... O...” said Jack, struggling to make out the letters.

  “Love Alice,” said Neil.

  “He’s right,” said Steve. “It says Love Alice. You’ve got sharp eyes, Neil.”

  Jack pointed at several dark spots next to the words. “What are they? Moles?”

  Steve bent closer to the screen. “No. They’re too uniform. I’d say they’re tattooed dots.” He wrote on his notepad and showed it to Jack – ‘LOVE::. ALICE:’

  “What does it mean?” wondered Jack.

  “That he’s in love with someone called Alice.”

  “Obviously it could mean that, but what about the dots?”

  “Could be some sort of code.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with us to the station and give a statement,” Jack told Neil.

  The big man’s smile vanished. He shook his head hard.

  “There’s no need to worry, Neil, your mum can come too. And Police HQ is actually quite nice.”

  “Yeah, it’s got a great café,” said Steve. “Do you like cake?” Neil nodded and Steve continued, “Well they do a lovely bit of chocolate cake. You can eat as much as you want. I’m buying.”

  “Better take him up on that offer quick smart,” smiled Jack. “He doesn’t get his wallet out very often.”

  Neil chuckled, his face crumpling like a baby’s. Jack glanced at Doreen, tapping his watch. With a nod of understanding, she rose to her feet and urged Neil to do likewise. “Come on, son, let’s get your coat on.”

  Neil placidly did as he was told, reaching for his camo jacket. “Is that the jacket you were wearing in the woods, Neil?” asked Jack. “Forensic officers will need to che
ck over the clothes you had on last night. Just in case there’s any evidence on them that might help us.”

  “I’ll make sure you get the clothes, but you’ll have to wait downstairs,” said Doreen. “Neil doesn’t like getting changed in front of people.”

  “One of us has to stay in the room.”

  “I’ll stay,” said Steve. “That’s OK with you, isn’t it, Neil, mate?”

  Neil gave another nod. Jack went downstairs with the uniformed officers. A few minutes later, Neil, Doreen and Steve descended the stairs. Neil had changed into different tracksuit bottoms and a jumper several sizes too small for him. Steve was on the phone. “Yes, sir,” he was saying. “Thank you, sir, but it’s Jack you should be congratulating. It was his hunch that led us here... OK, sir. Got it. I’ll tell him.”