Jenny stood, rooted to the spot, her arms still across her own face, preparing to ward off the strike from Strickland's club. Slowly she went down on her knees and peered down into the foaming, furious sea. At first there was nothing, it was too dark, too violent. Then she saw it, the flash of green, the awful, broken form of the old teacher, shattered, broken and bloody, lying amongst the rocks. A sudden wave surged in and she was gone.
It was over.
Standing up, Jenny was trembling uncontrollably and for a long time she remained still, unable to gather together sufficient strength in order to move. Then the white blur caught her eye and she whirled around.
There it was, standing only feet away, watching her with those all-knowing eyes. The huge, majestic gannet. She knew it was him, for on his breast was the curious black smudge that singled him out from all the rest. She mouthed a silent thank you and the great bird flexed its wings and flew away, out into the swirling mess of the storm. In an instant it was gone.
From somewhere, Jenny found the strength to stagger back to her van. She clawed open the door and clambered inside. The vehicle was buffeted by the sudden gusts, but they were less powerful now. The storm was abating. Like an automaton, she brought out her mobile and punched in Tenchard's number. He answered almost immediately.
“Mr Tenchard…”
“Jenny? Is that you? Where are you? What's happening? Jenny?”
But Jenny was staring sightlessly into the gradually clearing sky. She let the mobile drop from her numbed fingers, all of her fight and strength draining from her, and she fell forward against the steering wheel, seeing nothing but black.
Chapter Fifteen
She looked at her watch as soon as she regained consciousness and breathed a sigh. About thirty minutes had elapsed since the stress of the situation overcame her. Sitting back, she stared into the calm, quiet skyline and gasped at the transformation. The storm had gone, the wind, the rain. Replaced by a blue sky and, off to her left, the gentle lapping of the sea against the rocks. She had a fanciful thought that it had all been a dream, that somehow she had slipped into another world, a world of imagination.
If only that were true.
She tried Mark's number, but it was unavailable.
Jenny started up the van and very carefully made her way back to Morrison's. It was the only logical place to go to now. She wondered how much more she could take. Fainting was some sort of warning, she knew that. So she tried to free her mind of thoughts of Mark being attacked by Morrison, or worse. She just kept her eyes on the road and drove.
Pulling up outside the front garden of Bernie Morrison's house, Jenny disregarded the court order that was supposed to stop her coming so close. She didn't care about any of that now. In fact, she didn't care about much at all. She had come as close as anyone possibly could to death. If she could survive that, then someone, somewhere, was on her side, directing her to do the right thing. If the law was to get in her way, then she'd go round it.
But she didn't need to.
Sitting there, on the front step, head down, was Mark. He sat like a little boy, locked out, waiting for his parents to come home with the key. Except that he wasn't locked out. The door was open. But his face, when he looked up, was the same as a little boy's – wide eyed, desperate, afraid.
When he recognised her, his face split with a huge, unrestrained grin and he ran up to her. Before either of them knew what they were doing, they were embracing each other, holding on, happy to be together again. There were no words. There wasn't any need.
After a long while, Mark finally stood back. Jenny saw that there were small streaks of dried blood running down each side of his face, giving him an almost ghoulish appearance. She instinctively reached out to touch him, but he winced as her fingers lightly stroked his cheek.
“I feel awful,” he said in a tiny voice.
“What happened?”
“You'd better come in. Be prepared for a shock.”
Jenny didn't have the heart to tell him very little could shock her now and she quietly followed him through the house. As they went to the sitting room, Bouncer came jumping off the sofa, tail wagging, mouth gaping, looking as if he were greeting his owners after too long an absence. Jenny stroked him enthusiastically, then the dog turned and padded over to the large suitcases that were standing there, and nudged them with his nose.
“That dog has the largest vocabulary of any dog I've ever know,” said Mark.
“Eh? What d'you mean?”
“He's telling us to open the cases – just like he told me to come round the back.” He pulled a face and gingerly touched the side of his head, high up, near the crown. “I don't think he knew what was going to happen though.”
Jenny stared at him blankly and he gave a lop-sided grin and went over to the cases, gently moving the big dog out of the way.
“I'll explain everything later. Let's just open these.”
“Do you think we should?”
“What's the worst that can happen, Jen? Get arrested?” He shook his head. “The time for that is long gone.” He brought the first of the suitcases down on its back and pulled open the zipper. Slowly lifting open the lid, he plunged his hand underneath the neatly folded clothes and almost immediately gave a little grunt of triumph. With great, theatrical slowness, he pulled out a bundle, wrapped in newspaper. “My guess is that this,” he lifted up the packet, “is only the first of many.” He pulled down the lid again, placed the bundle on it and pulled the newspaper apart.
Both of them gasped.
It was packed with money.
“Mark. We need to call the police, now. Before Morrison gets back. I've already seen Mrs Strickland and―”
Mark held up his hand, “There's something else, Jen.”
He tossed the package back into the case and led Jenny out into the back garden.
Although it was becoming darker now as the evening drew on, it was still light enough to see the details.
Bernie Morrison lay quite dead on the garden lawn, his eyes staring sightlessly up into the sky. His skin was the colour of ivory and his body was set rigid, draped across the lawnmower at an impossible angle, both his hands still gripping the handle.
Jenny stood as if transfixed, not able to register what she was seeing. From out of the undergrowth, blond hedgehogs gradually appeared, moving over the body, sniffling and snuffling as they came. “Did he…kill himself?”
Mark shrugged, stooping down to pick up the electric cable. “I came in through the backdoor and went over to the vegetable patch. There was a hole there, with letters and papers from Mrs Charles' house. They'd obviously stolen her money, Morrison and Strickland, and had probably kept it stashed among the cabbages. That's why Morrison was so concerned about the hedgehogs rooting around in there. Then he hit me, with a spade or something. No doubt he was going to kill me the same way he'd tried to finish off that other hedgehog – cut me up in the mower.”
Jenny held her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God! But that's…how did you escape?”
“I didn't. When I came to, he was lying just like this. He'd started up the mower and then…” he held up the cord. It was broken in two. Jenny got down next to him and looked at the cable. No, not broken.
It was chewed.
“He was electrocuted, Jenny. Don't ask me how, but I think it's got a lot to do with…them.”
She shook her head very slowly, as the little band of hedgehogs gathered around. All of them were looking up at the two humans, twittering very quietly to each other. It seemed to Jenny that they were trying to tell them something.
And they all appeared very happy.
The airport departure lounge was heaving with people the following morning. Leona and Tommy were standing next to Jenny. There was a real buzz about the place, but it had nothing to do with the fact that the runway was now free of birds. Everyone was talking about the rumours circulating the island. That Bernie Morrison had murdered old Mrs Charles and that he had suff
ered a terrible, yet justified death while mowing his lawn. Nobody mentioned Mrs Strickland.
Only Detective Sergeant Holding had asked about the schoolteacher. He'd written down Jenny's story, then allowed her some time to go and say goodbye to Mark. The policeman came forward, “We know where to get in touch, don't we Mr Burridge?”
“Yes. And I hope you don't need to.”
“Well, let's hope not. Any plans to visit us again in the foreseeable future?”
Mark smiled, nodding slightly towards Jenny, who was smiling quite openly. “Oh, I think you can count on that, Sergeant. Most definitely.”
The policeman gave a laugh, then wandered off to a far corner, well away from anyone's prying ears.
Tommy frowned at Leona, keeping his voice low. “What does he mean by that…most definitely?”
Leona shook her head. “Tommy. Try and work it out. Come on, let's go and have a look at the souvenirs.” She turned to the grown-ups. “'Bye Mr Burridge – see you soon.” And taking Tommy's hand, the two children squeezed through the press of people and were gone.
Mark watched them, smiled, then looked at Jenny. “How's that other hedgehog doing?”
“Oh, he's fine. I won't be able to release him, I don't think. I'm going to have to keep him with me.”
“So you're going to stay then?”
“I think so. Mr Tenchard spoke to me this morning. Now that the truth is out, everyone has been very apologetic. And the money from Mrs Charles's house sale, that's going to mean that there's a lot to do. Mr Tenchard was very persuasive.”
“I hope her daughter is dealing with things O.K.”
“I feel so sorry for her. Justice has been served, I suppose. But it's not very satisfactory.”
“Still no sign of Strickland?”
“Washed out to sea. She'll never be found.”
Mark raised his eyebrows. “Probably a good thing, in the end. The court-case, that would have been…” He left his words hanging in the air. Just then the flight announcement came across the tannoy. Mark smiled grimly. “That's me.”
From among the throng, Mr McGregor came forward, clamping his hand on Mark's shoulder. “Come on. We're sharing this one. I'll see you on Tuesday Jenny. As usual.”
“Yes, Mr McGregor. I'll look forward to it.”
“I know you will, Jen. Take care.” He hefted his flight bag and moved forward towards security, leaving Mark looking at Jenny with what looked like a tear in his eye. Then, without warning, he flung himself at her, and they were hugging each other again. Some people laughed, others just gasped. Those who knew Jenny had never seen such an outflow of emotion.
“I'll be back, Jen. I've got some things to sort, then I'll be back. If that's O.K. with you?”
She smiled up at him. “Don't be too long.”
He moved off to join the others for the outward-bound flight across the open sea to the mainland. Jenny didn't wait to see Mark board the plane, she wanted to leave as quickly as she could, get back to the animal-centre and back to her routine.
“Are you all right Jenny?” asked Leona, coming up to her and tenderly rubbing her arm.
“Yes, Leona. Just tired.”
“Who's going to teach us now?” demanded Tommy. Jenny thought he looked a bit dour. Could it be that he was fretting for Mrs Strickland? She felt a strange pang of guilt.
“I don't know, Tommy. Will you miss Mrs Strickland?”
Tommy gave an amazed look. “What? Are you mad Jen? I'm just hoping they give us time off before they find a replacement.”
Jenny felt a wave of relief. Then she looked down at Leona. “I hope you won't be leaving the school, Leona. You'll be missed – I'll miss you.”
Leona grinned. “No chance of that now, Jenny, not with that old hag gone. You're stuck with me. Come on, Tommy, I'll race you to the van.”
“I'm riding in the back!”
Jenny watched them both run off and wondered, not for the first time, at children's amazing capacity to forget. Life simply just goes on.
She stepped out into the bright morning and her smile froze on her lips. Holding was there. He crossed the car park towards her, lips pressed together, looking very official. “We'll be asking you to come in for questioning. You understand that.”
“I thought something would happen, yes.”
“Obviously, with a case like this…” he shrugged, and then did an amazing thing. He smiled. It was a genuine show of affection, taking Jenny by surprise. “I should have listened to you, right from the start. I misjudged you, and I'm sorry.”
For a second or two she was stunned into silence. At last, she recovered her ability to speak. “That's…that's quite all right, Sergeant. It's all been very…mystifying.”
“Yes. Perfect word. But at least you can get back to a bit of normality now.”
Just then a large white bird gently floated in from out of the blue and settled down on a nearby fence-post. It began to preen itself, working at the distinctive black smudge on its breast.
Their eyes met and Jenny forced a smile. “Somehow, I don't think normality will have anything to do with it.”
The End
Of Part One
PART TWO - DARK WINGS OVERHEAD
For Janice…
Author's Note
The concentration camp mentioned in this tale, Sylt, was a real place. It was actually the only concentration camp the Nazis built on British soil. We will never entirely know for sure what actually happened there as all the records were burned shortly before the island was liberated. What is known is that during the War, many Europeans were kept on Alderney – Jews, Russian prisoners of war, and Spanish who had fallen foul of Franco. How many of these poor unfortunates died on Alderney is impossible to say. Some historians believe that the number was 700, others say it was far more. Whatever the number, it was too many. Very little evidence of the Sylt camp, and the other labour camps on the island, remain, but if ever you visit that beautiful little island in the English Channel, and stand where these ghastly places used to be, you will sense the ghosts and the horrors that went on there.
Chapter One
THE sun was trying hard to shine as Jenny crossed the courtyard of the Island Animal Rescue to begin morning surgery. But it was as if the rain clouds had instantly returned when she pushed open the door to find Mrs Cross sitting there with Norman, her Cairns terrier, cradled in her arms, both of them looking distinctly gloomy.
“Thank goodness,” Mrs Cross gushed, “I thought you'd never get here.”
Jenny bit her tongue. “It isn't quite eight yet, Mrs Cross.”
“This is an emergency, my dear. Take a look for yourself.” And with that she thrust Norman out towards her.
The poor little dog struggled as best it could, clearly under considerable stress. As Jenny stooped down to get a closer look, she could see why. Four deep, vertical cuts ran down each of the little dog's flanks. The blood had dried, but when this accident, or attack, had occurred, the resulting wounds must have been extremely painful. From the expression on the dog's tortured face, they obviously still were.
She took the dog in her arms, holding him close, but careful not to cause him any discomfort. He seemed to respond to her kindness, and snuggled into her, whimpering softly, big eyes looking up at her. “What on earth happened?”
“If I knew that I wouldn't be here, would I?” The woman chewed her bottom lip furiously, “I was hoping you'd tell me, you being the vet an' all.”
Jenny let the woman's caustic remark go. “Veterinary nurse, Mrs Cross. The vet doesn't get here until next Monday.”
“Well that's ridiculous.”
“Sorry, but until we get more funding, he can only visit twice weekly. And things have changed a little due to Mr McGregor returning to Scotland. Mr McCloud is now the duty vet.”
“That's very confusing isn't it? Two men with almost identical names.”
“I'm not sure anyone can help that, Mrs Cross.”
She didn't look
convinced. “Well, if you can clean him up and give him a shot of something, I'd be grateful.”
Jenny smiled, despite not really wanting to. Mrs Cross was one of the few people on the island who seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure from being either miserable or antagonistic, usually both. She had no idea about how to care for her pet either, but that wasn't why Jenny smiled. A smile usually defused a difficult situation. Confrontation was not something Jenny revelled in, and certainly not this early in the morning. “I'll take a closer look,” Jenny said, playing with the little dog's ear, as she carried him into the surgery.
She soon cleaned around the wounds. There were four on each side of the animal. If she didn't think better of it, she would say they looked like a trap had caused the injuries. But that couldn't be. There were no traps on the island, not as far as she knew. Even if there were, the claws would have snapped around the dog's legs. She thought about that…Claws…snapped…She looked out of the window, working it through her mind, and saw Mrs Reece, the baker, and Mr Hetherington, the old, retired Head teacher, scurrying through the main gates. Both of them were holding their pets in exactly the same way that Mrs Cross had been carrying Norman. And, from this distance, it looked as if the animals had been on the receiving end of the same problem, deep, virulent stripes raked down their sides.
Jenny was baffled. The wounds were like nothing else she had ever experienced before, and she'd seen many injuries during her time as a veterinary nurse. The ones on Mrs Reece's cat were terribly deep and the poor thing might have to be put down. Mrs Reece was beside herself, crying as if a close family member was in receipt of a death sentence. Which, Jenny supposed, in many respects it had. People and their pets, as close as close can be. It hardly ever changed.
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