The Eye in the Dark

by Katherine Pathak

  Dani gulped down the last of her coffee. “Do you have the contact details for Arthur Keating?”

  “Of course. He comes in every few weeks to replace the pictures that have sold and collect his payments.” The café owner reached across to the shelf beneath the paintings. “Better still, why don’t you take one of his business cards? It’s got all of his details on.”

  Dani pocketed the card gratefully. She opened her wallet to pay for what she’d had, resolving to leave a generous tip on top.

  *

  On her way to Arthur Keating’s address, Dani passed the sign for Colville Airfield. With the windows down on the deserted country lane, she could hear the puttering of one of the small aircraft passing overhead.

  The Sat Nav instructed her to turn off the road and onto a rough single track. Dani grimaced as the car bumped over the loose stones, she could only hope the silver paintwork didn’t end up chipped.

  Eventually, the track halted at a substantial stone house. She parked up and approached the front door. Despite ringing the bell several times, there was no reply. A relatively new 4x4 sat in the driveway next to the house, so Dani was reasonably confident there was somebody on the property.

  She trudged towards an outhouse connected to a set of garages. It had what looked like a newly installed chimney poking out of the corrugated roof. The door was open, but Dani knocked confidently on it before entering, calling out, “is anybody home?”

  “Come in, I’m just working on a tricky section.” An elderly male voice floated out from somewhere inside.

  Dani took a few steps forward. The interior of the outhouse had been converted into a large studio. A huge wood burning stove was positioned in the centre of the space. Canvases were propped up against every beam.

  A tall, delicately built man in paint flecked shirt and jeans was standing with his back to Dani. He was applying brush strokes to a painting on an easel which was catching the light streaming through a Velux window.

  “Mr Keating? My name is DCI Dani Bevan. I’m a detective with the Glasgow police.”

  Keating instantly put down his brush and turned to face his visitor. Able to view his features, Dani placed him as in his mid-seventies.

  “A Detective Chief Inspector from Scotland. Well, well, to what do I owe this honour?”

  Dani felt a little awkward. Her jurisdiction in this area was disputable and her reasons for questioning this man were speculative at best. “I’m in London assisting the police with an investigation. A woman died in suspicious circumstances at her Hillingdon flat two weeks back. But before a few months ago, the lady had been a resident in Mitchling. She worked as a stewardess for BA. I believe she once bought a painting from you?”

  Keating took a step forward. “Miss Carlisle?” His narrow mouth parted in shock. “She’s dead?”

  “I’m afraid so. Did you know her well?”

  Keating moved over to a bench which lined one wall of the studio. He lifted across a couple of mugs and filled them from a jug attached to a coffee machine. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes please.”

  “There’s milk in the jug,” the man stated absently, gesturing to a tray with various pieces of crockery on it. “I wouldn’t say I knew Autumn well. As you say, she bought a painting from me. Usually, I have nothing to do with the folk who buy my art from Glen’s café. But this lady had taken a card along with her purchase and she contacted me.”

  Dani sipped the coffee, it was only lukewarm but very good. “Did you meet her?”

  Keating nodded. “She wrote me a letter, in what must have been the Spring of 2017. Miss Carlisle had recently bought ‘Eagle’; a painting I had made of a light aircraft which crashed into the woods behind the house about five years back. Eagle was the name of the plane.”

  “The crash occurred near here?” Dani automatically glanced around her.

  “You may have noticed as you arrived, that the airfield is only a mile or so to the east?”

  “Yes, I saw the sign.”

  “I was awoken one foggy morning by the terrible sound of a plane coming down into the forest which backs onto my garden. I dressed quickly and ran out to search for the wreckage. I knew it was only a matter of time before the thing went up in flames.”

  Dani sipped her coffee in silence, allowing him to continue.

  “I smelt the smoke before I saw the crash site. The pilot was badly injured, he was slumped against the door of the cockpit. I used a branch to lever the thing open and dragged him out. We got clear just before the fuel went up.”

  “Was the pilot okay?”

  Keating’s face was solemn. “He broke his neck. The plane had only just taken off when the nose clipped the tops of the trees which must have been obscured by the fog. Any higher and his injuries would have undoubtedly been fatal. I believe his mobility has returned to a certain extent, but he still requires a wheelchair to get about.”

  At least he didn’t burn to death, trapped in his own plane, Dani thought but didn’t say.

  “The whole incident had a profound effect upon me. I was in the RAF myself for a time. I was already painting planes as a hobby.”

  “What made you paint the wreckage?”

  He sighed. “Some might find it morbid, I suppose. For me, it was therapeutic. After the fire had burnt itself out, the lump of twisted metal seemed to have taken on the form of a wounded animal. It was almost like a sculpture had been placed amongst the charred trunks of the trees, having melded itself into the organic matter which enclosed it. I found myself sketching the image before the authorities arrived to clear it away.”

  “It seems like an odd choice of subject for Autumn to buy. She spent half her life in planes, I’m surprised she’d want to look at a crashed one.”

  Keating opened a drawer in an old metal filing cabinet near his easel. “This might help to explain it to you.” He handed over an envelope.

  “Is this Autumn’s letter to you?”

  “Yes. In it, she explains how much the painting had affected her. She asks to meet up with me, to find out the story behind it. I invited her here to my studio to talk. She only lived in Mitchling, just a ten-minute drive away.” Keating put down his mug. “Come on Detective Chief Inspector, I’ll show you what I showed Miss Carlisle on the day she came.”

  Chapter 21

  Inside the forest, under the canopy of wide green leaves, the heat of the day receded dramatically. Arthur Keating led Dani along a meandering path until the gate leading into the garden at the rear of his stone house was no longer visible.

  The dense line of trees abruptly parted and a break in the forest appeared. The tall trunks were unnaturally bowed. The ground was dusty and grey, without the covering of verdant mosses and humus which populated the rest of the forest floor. The sun had found a gap here. Its rays shone mercilessly on their heads. It was eerily silent, as if the wildlife kept their distance from the place.

  “The vegetation never fully recovered from the fire. I suppose if I raked out all traces of the ash and debris it might have a chance of rejuvenation. It’s just so difficult to get any proper equipment down here.”

  Dani touched the bark of one of the trees, it crumbled to a blackened dust in her hand. “Why was Autumn Carlisle so keen to see the site of the crash?”

  “She said my painting had a profound effect upon her. She saw it hanging on the wall in the café and was mesmerised. Miss Carlisle believed she’d seen something very like it herself, but she couldn’t recall where. I think she hoped that coming here might release the memory.”

  “Did it?”

  Keating scratched his head. “I’m not sure. She walked around the clearing for a while. I left her alone, returning to the house to brew coffee. She came back to join me when she was ready.”

  “Did she speak about anything else?”

  “We discussed her job and my artwork, but it was small talk really. I sensed she’d seen what she came to. We shook hands at the front door, and I watched her
drive away. I heard nothing from her after that. I’d not even heard her name mentioned until you came here today.” Keating turned to face Dani. “Can you tell me how she died?”

  There was a sadness in Keating’s voice but also a practicality. Dani sensed this was a man who had grown accustomed to death. “Miss Carlisle was found in her flat with her wrists cut. At first, we assumed it was suicide, but further evidence has made us suspect foul play.”

  Keating switched his gaze back to the clearing. “I only met her that once, but I don’t believe she was the type to kill herself. Autumn struck me as a survivor. Like me, she had witnessed the horror of a plane crash, even though she may not have been able to fully recall it. She’d also recognised the odd beauty of its aftermath.”

  Dani wasn’t sure she completely understood.

  “It isn’t something I’m proud of. I know the risks of aviation; the terrible consequences when things go wrong. I’ve lost friends to it. but I still find it beguiling and wonderful.”

  Dani nodded, feeling suddenly unsettled in their surroundings.

  “Let’s go back to the house and I’ll make a proper brew of coffee – piping hot this time.”

  “Thank you, that would be much appreciated.” Dani followed Keating back onto the path, striding towards the little gate without once glancing back.

  *

  The village of Mitchling looked like a picture postcard in the sun’s afternoon glow. Dani thought about James and how much he would like it there for a weekend away. They would take a stroll to the old church and maybe have a pub lunch at the King’s Arms. Today, she was only interested in Autumn Carlisle.

  She drove along the lane until she reached Maple cottage, pulling up on the grass verge opposite. When Dani got out of the car, she saw Mrs Forbes on her knees in the front garden, a wide-brimmed hat propped on top of her sculpted silver hair, her gloved hand stabbing at the soil with a trowel, the other squarely on the ground, keeping her upright.

  The woman glanced up from her labours as Dani approached the gate. The little black poodle began scampering in circles on the grass. She leant on a wooden bench to lever herself to standing. “You are one of the detectives who visited me the other day! I’m sorry, I can’t recall your name.”

  “DCI Bevan. Please don’t let me interrupt your gardening.”

  “Oh. It’s alright. I can’t bend over for too long, as it is.” Mrs Forbes eyed Dani carefully. “Is there any news about poor Miss Carlisle?”

  “Nothing significant yet. I just wondered if Miss Carlisle left any artwork here? We’ve recently discovered she possessed a painting from a local artist, but it wasn’t hanging in her London flat.”

  Mrs Forbes put her hands on her hips and stretched her back. “Actually, there’s still a heap of old junk in the shed in the back garden. I rarely go out there because the bloody trees make it so dark and dingy. I’m still waiting for the men to come and chop them down.”

  “Do you mind if I go and have a look?”

  “Not at all. Come into the kitchen through the back door when you’ve finished. There’s a jug of lemonade on the table.”

  Dani nodded her thanks and made her way around the side of the cottage to the back garden. She stared up at the maple trees which were indeed completely obscuring the sun. They towered above the cottage and did seem disproportionate when compared to the modest size of the property.

  The shed was in a corner of the plot, the bushes around it overgrown and thick with brambles. Dani turned the handle and stepped inside. The smell of damp filled her nostrils. Underneath a loosely laid tarpaulin was a cardboard box full of books. Dani rifled through the paperbacks. There was nothing of any great interest; a few Penguin classics and modern crime novels, all with curled corners and yellowing pages.

  Leaning against the box were a collection of framed pictures. It didn’t take long for Dani to find the one she was looking for. Fortunately, Arthur Keating had used a decent glass frame for his painting, otherwise, sitting out there in the damp conditions, it would have been ruined.

  She tucked ‘Eagle’ under her arm and scanned the remaining contents of the shed. There were a couple of beautiful wood carvings on a shelf; one was of an owl and the other looked like a wolf. They were obviously produced by a skilful craftsperson.

  Dani pulled the door shut firmly behind her, shivering as she marched up the lawn, slipping through the back door into the pretty cottage kitchen. She was gasping for that glass of lemonade. Mrs Forbes must have heard her enter, as the lady promptly emerged from the sitting room with an inquisitive expression on her face.

  “Any luck, Detective?”

  Dani held up the painting. “This is the one I was looking for. Do you mind if I take it back to the station in London?”

  Mrs Forbes nodded vigorously. “Of course, it belonged to Autumn, not me.” She stepped forward to examine it more closely. “Oh dear, the subject matter isn’t very cheerful, is it?”

  “No,” Dani agreed between gulps of lemonade.

  “I prefer paintings of dogs and flowers myself.”

  Dani smiled. “But you should take a good look at the stuff out there in the shed. There are a couple of wood carvings of animals that are lovely. It seems a shame to hide them away.”

  The lady looked intrigued. “Oh yes, I shall. It seems Miss Carlisle was full of surprises.”

  Dani raised her eyebrows archly, she couldn’t help but agree.

  Chapter 22

  Nate leaned out from behind the computer screen and gave the object tucked under Dani’s arm a curious glance. “What the hell is that?”

  Dani chuckled. “It’s a painting that belonged to Autumn. She’d left it at Maple Cottage when she moved to Hillingdon. I think it may have some significance.”

  The DI shrugged his shoulders. “Fair enough. I’ve got five officers trawling through this CCTV footage.” He swung his long legs out from beneath the desk and gave them a stretch. “A lot of people come and go through Heathrow each day. We’re talking thousands.”

  Dani could imagine the sheer scale of the task before them. The process had the potential to take weeks. “How many cleaning personnel can you pick out of the crowds?”

  “Oh, plenty. But it’s like you said, being able to identify them clearly enough to match their faces to the employee files is near enough impossible. Most of the time they’ve got their heads down mopping the floors.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the strongest line of enquiry we could pursue?” Dani’s tone was thoughtful.

  Nate threw his hands up. “Then suggest me another one, I’d love to hear it!”

  Before Dani could answer, Trudy approached her boss’s desk. She slapped a piece of paper down on it triumphantly. “The current address of Mr Austin Johnson, the man who sexually harassed Autumn Carlisle on a flight to Egypt in 2011.”

  Nate swung forward and clutched for the details. “Great work, Trudy.”

  “Johnson is now 36 years old and works as a salesman for a home improvement company in Woking.”

  Nate looked at his watch. “Do you fancy paying him a visit?” He tipped his head in Dani’s direction. “I’ll treat you to dinner afterwards?”

  Dani felt exhausted after her day of driving, but she sensed Nate was full of energy, like a coiled spring, after his lengthy shift behind a computer screen. “Sure, why not? As long as we take your car.”

  Nate leapt to his feet. “Of course, any excuse to get behind the wheel.”

  *

  The sun was finally setting as Nate eased his Mercedes onto the driveway of the suburban semi in Woking, where there was just enough room for it beside a bulky SUV.

  “Seems like someone’s at home.” Nate led the way to the front door.

  A plump, pretty woman in her thirties answered swiftly, she was holding a tea towel in her hand. “Oh, what can I do for you?”

  Nate held up his warrant card. “We’re looking for Mr Austin Johnson.”

  She appeared taken aback. “Austin�
��s my husband. He will be in the shed round the side of the house, fixing his bike.”

  The detectives left her on the doorstep staring blankly after them. The lean-to was beyond an unlocked gate and attached to the kitchen. The door was propped open. A man could be seen kneeling down beside an up-turned bicycle, his hands smeared with grease.

  He turned sharply as he heard them approach. “Who are you?” He demanded.

  As Nate introduced himself for a second time, Dani took in the man’s appearance. Austin Johnson was tall and broad. He had a full head of thick, dark hair. When he reached for a cloth and rubbed his beefy hands clean of grease, Dani felt reminded of someone.

  “What’s this all about?” He creased his tanned brow.

  “Do you do a lot of cycling, Sir?”

  “Oh, yes I do. I’m a member of a group. We go out all over the Downs at the weekends, brushes away the cobwebs, you know?”

  Nate nodded. “Is there somewhere we could talk in private?”

  Johnson looked cautious. He led them to a bench in the garden. He clearly sensed this might not be a conversation he’d want his wife to hear.

  “We are investigating the suspicious death of a woman living in Hillingdon, south London. Her name was Autumn Carlisle.”

  A shadow passed across Johnson’s features. “Holy shit.”

  “You remember her then?” Dani asked.

  “Of course, I bloody do. She accused me of rape, for Christ’s sake. I had to go to court and everything. But I was cleared. Thank God there were witnesses who could vouch for me.” He glanced nervously at the house. “Elinor doesn’t know anything about it.”

  “But the airline decided you’d been harassing Miss Carlisle during the outward flight. You were banned from flying with them.”