by JANICE FROST
“She won’t,” Zak whispered fiercely. “I won’t let her.” Belle seemed to understand the need for silence. She sat still, alert but obedient.
The man’s face was concealed under the fur-lined hood of a parka. His grunts became louder as he drew nearer.
“Come on. Let’s go,” Zak said, panicking. He grabbed Rowan’s arm. Already jumpy, she recoiled, and took a step backwards . . . onto Belle’s tail. Belle yelped. No one could have blamed her for that. The man stopped in his tracks. “Who’s there?” he called, looking around. And now he began striding straight towards them, his long, powerful legs covering the short distance at an alarming pace.
“Run!” Zak cried. He pushed Rowan ahead of him further into the trees. Belle began to bark. Pulling the dog along behind him Zak charged after Rowan, his heart racing, breath coming in big, laboured gasps. Zak had asthma. Pounding through the woods in the middle of a frosty night, already breathless with panic provided a perfect storm of circumstances to induce an attack. He felt the familiar tightness grip his chest.
“Rowan!” he cried, gasping.
Rowan turned around and ran back to join him.
“Use your inhaler!” she said.
Zak fumbled in his coat pocket. Finding what he was looking for, he sucked greedily.
Rowan’s face looked surprisingly calm. “Hide,” she said to him fiercely.
Zak’s mouth opened to form a silent “no,” but something about the determined set of Rowan’s face cautioned him to obey.
“Belle and I can lead him away, then you can cut round the other way to Badger’s Field. We’ll meet up with you there. He won’t know he’s not following us both.” Rowan pushed Zak sideways off the path. She tugged Belle’s lead from his hand, encouraging her to bark loudly to draw the man away from Zak.
Zak darted into some bushes and crouched down, hoping he was not visible. The man charged straight past his hiding place, focused on pursuing the sound of the barking dog ahead. Zak shrank further back into the bushes. He could still make out the man’s bulky shape crashing through the trees, led on by the dog’s frenzied barking. Then, by some miracle, the man came crashing to his knees and Zak heard him swear. The man got up slowly, perhaps shaken by his fall. Every second, Belle’s barking was becoming more distant. The man cursed again and bent double, hands on knees. Then he began to retrace his steps. At the spot where Zak had stopped to fish out his inhaler, the man halted abruptly and bent down. He picked something up and examined it in the light of his torch. His face was turned away from the beam but Zak felt that there was something familiar about his size and shape. With mounting horror, Zak saw that the man was holding part of his inhaler. Instead of discarding it, the man slipped it into his pocket, before going back to where he had abandoned the body.
It took some time for Zak to stop shaking. He waited a while in case the man changed his mind and returned, then rose unsteadily to his feet, and ventured out from the safety of the bushes. As soon as his legs felt less wobbly he began to run. He didn’t stop until he reached Badger’s Field.
“Rowan! Belle!” Zak called. He caught sight of them crouched by the hedgerow between Badger’s Field and the road. Only ten minutes or so had passed since they had parted, but it had been the longest ten minutes of Zak’s life.
“Zak!” Rowan and Belle were upon him now and for several joyous moments the friends clung to each other in relief. Gradually, their fear and relief changed to excitement.
“Did you see the size of him?”
“We’d have been dead for sure if he’d caught us.”
“You were a hero leading him away like that.”
“Who do you think he killed?”
“We have to get home straightaway and tell Mum to call the police,” Rowan said, at last.
Zak looked at her in panic. “Don’t be stupid! My mum’ll ground me for the rest of my life if she finds out we’ve been out at this time of night.”
“But, Zak, he murdered someone. What if he finds out who we are and comes after us?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
“Because, dummy, he doesn’t know who we are.”
“He could work it out.”
“How?”
“I dunno, but he’s probably smart, isn’t he?”
“He won’t find out, Rowan.”
“The police should know about the body. It could be ages before they find out. Hardly anyone comes up here in winter.”
Zak deliberated. “We could call them,” he said at last. “Anonymously.”
“Alright. I’ll do it if you tell me what to say. I can disguise my voice.”
“Okay, but not when my mum’s around. Agreed?”
Rowan nodded. Zak added, “And we’ll wait a bit, okay? Someone else might find the body first, then we won’t need to say anything.”
Rowan looked a little unsure about this but Zak stared her down. All at once, he yawned and Rowan followed suit. “Come on. Let’s get home or it’ll be Mum who calls the police if she wakes up and finds we’re not there.”
Chapter 2
Ava Merry was feeling restless. She had been back at work for a few days now. She had spent the Christmas break at home with her younger brother, Ollie. Ollie had recently moved in with Ava and was attending Stromford grammar school where he was studying A levels. Any doubts Ava had harboured about her new domestic arrangement had been rapidly dispelled when she discovered that her little brother was a gifted cook. Ollie had slaved away happily in the kitchen on Christmas day, encouraging Ava to put her feet up and watch TV. She had been happy to comply. Normally, she would have insisted on helping, but the case she’d been working on before the holiday had been intense — and harrowing. She was still bruised and sore from her tussle in the back seat of a car with a killer who had left her partner, DI Jim Neal, cradling his gravely wounded sister in his arms. The emotional fallout from the case had been exhausting.
On Boxing Day, Dr Joel Agard had turned up at Ava’s cottage with a festive bouquet, a gourmet food hamper and a bottle of champagne. His generosity made Ava feel at once delighted and embarrassed at having nothing but a pack of Homer Simpson socks to offer him in return. They had only been on a couple of dates since they’d met at Stromford county hospital, when Ava and Neal had turned up to interview suspects in their last case. Ava and the doctor both worked long, unsocial hours that seemed never to coincide. As a junior doctor, Joel was supposed to be working shifts at A&E throughout the holiday, but somehow he’d managed to wangle a couple of days off. He’d ended up staying Boxing Day night — much to Ollie’s amusement. On the following day they had driven out to the coast and taken a long, bracing walk along a deserted beach. Icy sea-spray from the incoming tide stung their faces and the wind off the sea had chilled them half to death but they’d thawed out in a cosy café before driving back to Stromford. It should all have been very romantic, but the attack on Maggie Neal still loomed large in Ava’s mind and her concern about Jim Neal and his sister dominated her thoughts. She hoped Joel hadn’t noticed her distractedness.
On her first day back at work, Ava had sat down at her desk and stared at Jim Neal’s empty office. She felt his absence keenly, not least because she was worried about his state of mind. She knew that Neal blamed himself for his sister’s injury. She wished that before he went off on leave she could have assured him one more time that none of it was his fault. Her words would have bounced off him as they had done the first couple of times, but at least they would have been the last words he’d heard from her.
Neal had attempted to talk to the killer, to appeal to her humanity. Ava’s instinct had been to charge forward, all guns blazing, and overwhelm Maggie’s attacker. Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, Ava appreciated that her tactic could have led at best to the same outcome, at worst to a tragedy.
Ava settled at her desk to work through her long list of unopened emails, most of which seemed to be from her friend and c
olleague Polly ‘PJ’ Jenkins. Nothing from Neal, who was still on leave. She had heard that he was going up to Scotland for the holiday and that DCI George Lowe had cautioned him not to return ‘until his head was in a better place.’ No one could accuse George of mincing his words. Ava had not learned this from Neal, but from her other colleagues when she returned to work.
She had hoped he might at least have texted her to let her know how Maggie was faring. Maggie had been discharged from hospital a couple of days before Christmas and she, Neal and Neal’s son Archie, had departed for Edinburgh the same day. Ava had visited Maggie in hospital the day after her attack when she was in the ICU. Drugged up with pain medication, Neal’s sister had begged Ava to convince her brother that he wasn’t to blame. But Ava hadn’t managed to see Neal again.
What if he didn’t come back to work? He could transfer to Edinburgh, couldn’t he? Ava pondered that for a couple of moments, then put it out of her mind. It wasn’t her normal practice to shy away from confronting her feelings head on but what was the point, she reasoned, in wasting time analysing a situation that might never arise? He’s coming back, she said aloud.
“Who’s coming back?”
Ava turned around. “What? Hey, PJ! Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year!” PJ was almost unrecognisable in a quilted jacket that Ava had not seen before. It was long, padded and not exactly stylish.
“I know. It’s dreadful, isn’t it? Christmas present from Steve. When he told me he was getting me something really hot for Christmas, I thought he meant from Ann Summers.”
“It’s very practical. Looks really cosy.”
“Yeah, well. His taste in jewellery is better,” PJ said, showing Ava a pretty silver ring. “You were thinking about Inspector Neal just now, weren’t you, when you said that?”
There was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”
“Have you heard anything?”
“Only that he’s taken leave for a few weeks.”
“Has he been in touch with you?”
“No. Why should he?” Ava said, too quickly.
“Well, you are partners,” PJ reminded her.
“Yeah.”
“So, A little bird told me you saw the lovely Dr Agard on Boxing Day.”
Ava smiled. She had no idea how PJ had heard that particular piece of information. “You should ace your detective constable exam, Peej. Nothing gets by you.”
“Not when young Ollie is so willing to divulge your whereabouts to anybody who asks. I rang the day after Boxing Day. He told me Joel spent the night and that you’d gone in search of a romantic beach to walk on in the freezing cold.”
“He didn’t say you’d called.”
“I told him not to. It was only to ask if you wanted to come over for the evening. Steve was on duty and I thought you might be at a loose end if the men in your life were unavailable.”
Ava pretended not to notice PJ’s use of the plural. She also made a mental note to speak to Ollie about the need to be more discreet.
The telephone on Ava’s desk rang and after a brief conversation she turned to PJ. “That was DCI Lowe. He wants me upstairs. Catch you later.”
George Lowe’s office was on the second floor. Ava took the steps two at a time, eager to find out what Lowe had to say. It had to be a new case, and she was relieved at the prospect of being busy. Lowe looked up as she entered his room. Ava had the distinct impression that she was being scrutinised and — unusually for her — she felt uncomfortable. Lowe had a reputation for being results-driven, which was understandable considering the pressures to stay within budget while ensuring that Stromfordshire received appropriate policing. Not an easy job given the very different needs of the urban and rural areas of the county. Ava knew that Lowe was not a great fan of hers. He had been unhappy with her unprofessional behaviour on the first case she and Neal had worked on, and only Neal’s intervention had saved her from disciplinary action.
There was no preamble. No good morning, no small talk. “Sit down, Sergeant,” Lowe said, his hand waving loosely at a chair. “I spoke with Hammond Bell earlier. He’s the Wildlife and Rural Crimes officer for the Wolds area. He had a bit of a garbled report earlier this morning about a body being dumped out at the old abbey ruin near Stainholme. He thought it might be a hoax at first, because the anonymous caller apparently sounded like a kid . . .”
Lowe’s phone rang. Ava leaned forward in her seat, listening to his side of the conversation. Lowe’s expression gave nothing away.
“. . . Finish securing the scene and I’ll get a team out there,” he looked at his watch, “within the hour.”
He put the phone down and nodded at Ava. “Not a hoax then, as you’ve probably gathered. Bell was just letting me know that he thinks we’ve got a suspicious death. The body is that of a man in his late twenties or early thirties. No ID. No obvious sign of violence.”
Ava felt a prick of excitement. She waited for Lowe’s order to drive out to Stainholme as part of the investigating team. Her chief also seemed to be waiting. There was a knock on the door, Ava turned round and her heart sank. DI Reg Saunders walked into the room and greeted Lowe, ignoring Ava completely. Saunders was twice Ava’s age. He was an experienced detective, but he was retiring in a matter of months and it was no secret that he was counting the days, any real enthusiasm for the job having been wrung out of him years ago. Allegedly he had been a good enough cop back in the day, but somewhere along the line he’d become jaded. He also had a reputation for being a bit old school. Not Ava’s idea of a dream substitute for Jim Neal, but it was what it was.
“DS Merry, I believe you’ve met DI Saunders?”
Ava summoned a smile and a nod. Saunders reciprocated.
“I’d like you to work with DI Saunders on this investigation for now, Merry.”
Ava nodded again, suppressing her disappointment. She wanted to ask if Lowe had heard from Neal, whether he’d be taking over from Saunders upon his return or at least working the case with them. Instead she replied, “I look forward to working with you, DI Saunders.” Saunders cocked his head in acknowledgement. If he was looking forward to working with Ava, he kept it to himself.
* * *
It was a forty-minute drive out to Stainholme. The conversation between Ava and Reg Saunders was one-sided and mostly consisted of Saunders pontificating about how different things had been when he started out in the force in the seventies. From time to time he dropped a remark that made Ava cringe. She tried not to judge him. It was thirty-five years since he had started out as a young constable. Ava had a sense that he was testing the water, seeing how far he could go before he overstepped and got a rise out of her. It wasn’t the first time she had come across people like this. Publicly, they kept within what was considered acceptable, but their attitudes remained unchanged. Every so often they would betray themselves with an unconsidered word or gesture. Ava suspected that Saunders was far too clever to say anything that could get him into real trouble.
Saunders’s other favourite topic appeared to be his forthcoming retirement and how he would be spending his time. Mostly, ‘trying to forget all the shit cases’ he’d spent his working life investigating. Listening to him made Ava feel disheartened. She hoped that at the end of her own career in the force she would look back on her achievements and remember them with pride.
“Rural and animal welfare bloke’s my nephew,” Saunders said. “Normally the bodies that turn up on his patch have got four legs.”
Ava nodded and gave a polite smile. The more rural areas of the county tended to be policed by local officers based in the market towns. They dealt with everything from hare coursing and poaching to theft of livestock, agricultural machinery, diesel and pesticides as well as conflict between local populations and the seasonal migrant workers who worked the harvests. More and more, rural crime was becoming the preserve of gangs of organised criminals, and violence was becoming more common. Murder was the remit of the serious crimes unit based in S
tromford itself.
“Bloody bleak out here, isn’t it?” Saunders commented. They were on the outskirts of the Wolds now, the landscape ahead of them beginning to swell gradually, as they left vast acres of flat wintry fields behind them.
“On a day like this, I suppose,” Ava said, her eyes on the grey sky pressing around them. “I bet it’s really pretty in the summer, though. I’ve been meaning to drive out here and do a bit of biking or running. Maybe even some walking.”
“I heard you were a bit of an exercise fanatic.”
“Yeah, I like to keep fit.”
“Can’t be bothered myself. I walk the dog a couple of times a day and that keeps me fit enough. Can’t be arsed with all these faddy diets, either. Although I like that seafood one. Ever heard of it?”
“See food and eat it.” Ava forced a smile.
“That’s the one. Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, that’s my motto.”
Judging by the size of Saunders’s gut he saw a lot of food, not to mention booze. And he was a smoker. The unmistakable smell of stale cigarette smoke lingered in his car and on his clothes. She supposed she should be thankful hadn’t lit up already.
“At least you’re not a bleedin’ vegetarian. You’re not, are you?” Saunders turned a worried face in Ava’s direction.
“No. I try to avoid red meat but I eat white meat and fish,” Ava reassured him.
“Yeah, well, live and let live. Be a boring world if we were all the same now, wouldn’t it, Sergeant.”
Ava agreed, wondering if Reg Saunders ever ran out of platitudes.
Saunders took a left turn off the main road and drove into what looked like a dirt trail leading nowhere. The car bumped and rattled over the frost-hardened ground following a track alongside a tall hedgerow that concealed their view of the field on the other side. Saunders braked near a gap in the hedge.
“Are we here?” Ava asked, straining to see any sign of the ruined abbey.