Pouring a glass of wine, I sit back down with my laptop and place the grocery order, ensuring there are lots of extra goodies for Alice and Flynn. Scrolling through my emails with the TV on in the background, I glance up at the screen. A close-up of the laminated photo of Tyler appears, and my arm jerks involuntarily, knocking half the wine out of my full glass.
‘Bloody hell!’
Grabbing a handful of tissues, I mop up the spill, with one eye on the screen. The camera pans out to reveal the shrine in the car park, then turns towards the female reporter, who speaks directly to the camera.
Residents of a quiet village in Derbyshire have been left shocked by the events that occurred at a local beauty spot last week. The death of seventeen-year-old Tyler Ingram, found in this local woodland, is being treated as murder. A post-mortem report has revealed that the teenager died as a result of hanging. Police officers have spoken to a witness to the attack and have started house-to-house enquiries in the area. Two white men wearing dark clothing, both with shaved heads, are being sought in connection with the crime. One is described as tall and of slim build, the other shorter and stockier with a distinctive tattoo on the back of his neck. A grey Volkswagen van seen in this car park close to the time of Tyler’s death has been found burned out in a suburb of Birmingham. Members of the public who may have information crucial to the investigation, no matter how small, are asked to ring the Major Crime Investigation Team at Derbyshire Police on 101 or contact Crimestoppers anonymously online or by phone.
The reporter references again there being a witness. Thankfully, I’m not mentioned by name, which I’m pleased about. It’s probably only a matter of time before they do get around to it though. The media obviously have my details. I’ve thought hard about whether I should speak to them and made the decision not to. DS Georgiou did say it can be helpful during a murder investigation to talk to the media. I told him I would think about it. After discussing it with Laurie, I’m pretty sure it’s not something I can see myself doing anytime soon. I decide against contacting Victim Support, which was also suggested, even though they work with witnesses. It’s silly, I know, but the idea of being labelled a victim doesn’t sit easy with me. Something also stops me from telling the police about the note through the door and the figure in the porch, despite Laurie’s insistent reminders that I should do so.
The following evening, Laurie makes good time and arrives as I’m packing away the food delivery. Buddy heralds his arrival by running around in circles, his level of excitement almost off the scale. The security lights are obviously working. Going to the window, I can see that as Laurie is getting out of his car, he’s shielding his eyes against the glare. ‘You weren’t joking, Fran. I was almost blinded as I pulled in. The bloody place looks like a prison compound. .’
He takes his bags out of the boot and tries to avoid stepping on Buddy, who is weaving ecstatically through his legs. He hugs me, then turns his attention to Buddy, who is behaving as though his master has been away for months.
‘I’ll take him for a quick walk and settle him down for the evening,’ he says, grabbing the harness and lead.
When they return twenty minutes later, Laurie is carrying a rectangular box. ‘Did you order something? This was in the porch.’ He unclips Buddy and places the package on the kitchen worktop.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Who is it addressed to?’
‘There’s no name or address. I don’t think it’s come by post.’ He turns it over, searching for a clue to the sender.
‘Don’t open it,’ I say, feeling suddenly uneasy. ‘It might be something nasty.’
‘But it could be innocent,’ he says. ‘We have two choices. We can just chuck it in the bin, or we can satisfy our curiosity and open it. At least if we see what it is, we will know and not keep wondering.’
I shrug my shoulders nervously. He gets a sharp knife from the kitchen drawer and slices through the packing tape, pulling aside the cardboard leaves of the box. Inside, nestling amongst the tissue paper, is a soft toy dog. Its face is terrier-like, and with its short legs, it looks very much like Buddy. It’s even wearing a collar similar to his. The toy looks up at us with glassy eyes.
It takes a moment before we notice the tiny replica knife embedded in the fur of its chest. Crafted to scale with an embossed rosewood handle, the knife is surrounded by a patch of red viscous-looking liquid the colour and consistency of blood. I wedge my hand into my mouth to stifle the scream rising through my throat. My legs start to shake, and I lean against Laurie for support. Grabbing my elbows, he holds me at arm’s length.
‘No arguments, Fran,’ he says. ‘This time we have to tell the police.’
12
It’s almost midday on Saturday before a female officer arrives to take a statement. Her name is DC Kira Bennett. Although she appears young, she has the self-confident air that comes with experience. She records our statements in a notebook, then asks us to verify and sign them. She looks concerned, but doesn’t discount the suggestion that it could be either bored local kids messing about, or perhaps someone with a sick sense of humour trying to spook us.
‘Although if it is kids, they have gone to a lot of trouble and expense acquiring the knife. Those little replicas are not cheap,’ she says.
‘Would have to be a kid with a lot of pocket money, then?’ I’m trying to sound flippant, but I’m not convincing anyone, least of all myself.
‘That’s true. I can’t imagine a young person spending so much just for a practical joke,’ she says, peering into the box lying on the coffee table.
‘Do you think we need to be worried?’ Laurie says. ‘Those men are cold-blooded killers, and when I’m away overnight, Fran is in the house alone. If it is somebody trying to intimidate her, is there anything else we can do to improve security?’
‘I don’t think we can rule anything out at this stage,’ DC Bennett says. ‘It’s a sad fact, but unfortunately, pranksters and those with mental health problems do come out of the woodwork when they see things on the news or on social media. What I do want to emphasise is that this will not be treated lightly. We take any threat of intimidation, however small, very seriously. I’m going to recommend you have a panic button with a direct link to the station. Someone will be in touch about setting it up. I am also going to arrange for an unmarked car to make a regular drive past. If you have any concerns, ring us immediately.’
DC Bennett also leaves us with contact numbers for the local PCSOs, saying she will ask them to keep a look out for any new faces or unusual activity in the village. Retrieving a pair of gloves and plastic evidence bags from her car, she places the note, the soft toy, and its box into separate bags before labelling and sealing them shut.
After she’s gone, there’s no time to talk about the interview, as Alice and Flynn are due to arrive on the two o’clock train. Laurie and I hurriedly prepare a salad to go with the quiche I’ve made. I’m going to heat it up once they arrive.
‘I don’t think we should say anything about this to the kids, Laurie. Let’s try to have a nice weekend. They don’t come that often, and telling them will just make it miserable for everyone.’
‘I agree, but a panic button…?’ He shakes his head in disbelief before picking up his car keys.
‘I know. It does seem a bit extreme. I guess it would give me some peace of mind when I’m on my own, though.’
Alice and Flynn arrive in high spirits and seem pleased to be back home. It’s not long before they revert to their usual tetchy squabbling as we have lunch. Buddy, happy that all his family are back together, lies under the table, snoring contentedly at Flynn’s feet.
I’m keen to hear their news. The last week has been so full of negativity that the ebb and flow of their conversation, spiked with inappropriate jokes and raunchy anecdotes, makes everything seem almost normal. My children have always been as different as chalk and cheese both in looks and temperament, but they never fail to induce a sense of pride and accomplishment within
me.
Flynn, fair-haired and green-eyed, grew tall and lithe during his teenage years, while Alice, with her darker hair and eyes and her square features, has remained shorter and sturdier than her younger sibling. Today, she is sporting a pixie cut dyed a shade of coppery brown.
‘It suits you,’ I say. ‘The colour is great, too. I’ll have to talk to Tash and ask her if that colour would work on my hair.’
Alice rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, Mum. It’s bad enough that you dye your hair at your age, but choosing the same colour as your daughter would be ridiculous. You should just let it go grey. It’s very fashionable now, you know.’
I feel a familiar sense of annoyance at yet another of Alice’s casual, throwaway remarks aimed in my direction. I look across at Laurie, who raises his eyebrows. We both elect not to comment. Instead, I ruffle Flynn’s hair. ‘What about you, Flynnie? Have you been applying product to your locks?’
He reddens, and I realise I’ve spoken out of turn. I notice the clothes he is wearing are slightly more expensive than his usual casual T-shirt and cargo pants. He has also been working out at the gym, if I’m not mistaken. There’s a love interest, I think to myself. I don’t want to tease him in front of Alice, though. It’s obvious he needs a bit of time before he feels able to talk to us about whom he is seeing.
Alice is looking through the patio doors at the trees, their dappled leaves shimmering in the afternoon sun. ‘We should go for a walk in the woods like we used to.’ She jumps up and claps her hands. ‘Come on, everyone, let’s do it. It will be fun.’
Flynn throws a fierce look in her direction.
‘What have I said, Flynn? There’s no need to scowl at me. It’s a simple request.’
‘Alice, come on now. Think of your mum. It might be better if we walk somewhere else.’ Laurie is using his appeasing voice. I can feel his discomfort, but I know he will be wary of Alice’s short fuse.
She sighs in exasperation, but doesn’t pursue the issue. Catching my eye, she gives me a weak smile and mouths, ‘Sorry.’ I feel heartened, even though I know she has preserved her dignity by not letting her dad or Flynn see the gesture.
It’s a beautiful day, and it does feel a shame not to make the most of it. Autumn can be a short season. Soon the nights will lengthen and the grey, rainy November days will be here. I suspect it will be winter, maybe even Christmas, before they come to visit again.
‘We should go,’ I say decisively. ‘Let’s clear the table and load the dishwasher. Buddy will be stoked to be back in the woods. And guess what? I have marshmallows for when we get back. And for tea…’ I do a drum roll on the table. ‘We have, ta-da – pizza!’
‘Yay,’ they shout in unison, reverting to a teenage show of exuberance at the prospect.
It’s definitely turning colder, and I’m doing what they insist on calling ‘mum fussing’, trying to ensure everyone is wrapped up warm enough for the walk. Flynn and Alice, along with Buddy, head for the gate at the bottom of the garden. Laurie and I will take the longer route and meet them at the car park. We grab our coats and boots and leave by the front door.
Our road is tree-lined, with mostly detached houses of varying sizes and ending in a cul-de-sac. Beyond, and curving around the back of the properties on both sides, are acres of woodland; beyond that it is rolling countryside. The woodland is one of the reasons we chose to purchase in this location. Perfect for Alice and Flynn and the dog we planned to get when the time was right. The proximity to the woods also means the houses have always been sought after and have a premium price attached to them.
How lucky we felt to live in such a beautiful area. The presence of a good school within walking distance only added to our smugness at securing the house at a bargain just before house price inflation sent the prices soaring.
Although not strictly allowed, we and the other occupants whose houses back onto the woods have taken out a fence panel at the bottom of the garden and replaced it with a gate. Having direct access means we don’t have to skirt around the perimeter via the main road to join the path leading from the car park. Over the years, those of us with children and dogs have flattened the undergrowth to create our own paths. Ours takes us through a small patch of dense conifer plantation. From here, it is possible to join one of the many walks criss-crossing the miles of deciduous and conifer trees that make up the forest. A mile or so in, the path leads into a clearing. Here, a dozen or so ancient oaks, their gnarled branches spreading wide, provided the perfect playground for the few children living in the neighbourhood when Alice and Flynn were youngsters.
Now, the population in the close is ageing, and those children, including my own, have grown up and moved on to start lives of their own. There are only two houses with younger children, and as both sets of parents are working, leisure activities tend to be accessed by car.
Flynn and Alice always enjoyed their after-school sports, but were at their happiest dragging tree trunks and branches into the clearing to make dens. With their friends in tow, sun-kissed and breathless, they would make regular forays back to the house to raid the fridge for drinks and food to take back for a picnic. How innocent those times seem now, when viewed through the prism of current events.
Our neighbour Phil across the road is putting the finishing touches to a patch of fake grass he is laying. Laurie waves, and Phil comes down the drive to talk to us.
‘Saves getting the mower out,’ he says. ‘Personally, I would have been happy having it all slabbed, but Gina wants a patch of green to break it up.’
He leans on his expensive, bespoke, farm-style gate as though resting after completing an arduous task.
‘I heard about what happened, Fran. It must have been really scary. It’s put the wind up Gina, I can tell you. Not that she ever really walks anywhere, but it feels too close for comfort, being as it’s on the doorstep.’
I only ever see Gina to wave to when she is getting into her car. She works in the city centre, doing something in the field of beauty therapy, and always looks immaculately turned out.
‘I see you’ve got some hardcore security lighting on the front now,’ Phil is saying. ‘Just give me a shout if you want any advice. There are always weak spots that can benefit from being tuned up. Hang on. I’ll get you my card.’
He rummages in the glove compartment of his top-of-the-range Audi A6. I smile and thank him. I can’t help but think that being in the security business is a pretty lucrative job.
Flynn and Alice are waiting for us in the car park. They are close to Tyler’s shrine, and both look pale. I suspect they have been reading the condolence cards and the messages attached to the flowers. Alice is on the verge of tears, and I go to embrace her. She snuggles into my shoulder just as she did when she was a little girl. Flynn shuffles his feet, then moves towards us, as does Laurie.
‘Family hug,’ Flynn says, and we all stand together, arms entwined until Alice breaks free. She sniffs a couple of times, then bends down to pick up Buddy, who allows her to bury her head in his wiry fur.
‘It just brings it all home, being here. It must have been the most horrible thing to see, Mum. He looks so young in that photo.’ Her voice is muffled, and Buddy starts to whine, unsure of what is going on.
‘He was.’ I sigh.
Seeing everyone’s dejection, I try to inject some jollity into my voice. ‘Come on, I think we’ve all had enough. Let’s go home and get the fire going. We need to get warm and heat up those marshmallows.’
13
Without the heating on, the house feels cool. Laurie lights the wood burner, and Flynn brings in a basketful of logs from outside.
‘You did make sure the gate to the woods was locked when you came back, didn’t you, Flynn?’ I say as he hands Laurie some smaller logs to get the fire burning.
‘I did, but we had a bit of a job getting it open on our way out. That whopping great bolt is stiff, and there’s all sorts of debris starting to pile up on both sides of the gate. You’re not using it, are yo
u, Mum?’
‘No,’ I say, threading marshmallows onto kebab skewers. ‘It’s too soon.’
I don’t elaborate, but their faces tell me they know I’m upset. Perhaps I’m being overprotective in not revealing the full extent of my disquiet. I don’t want them to know about my lack of sleep, the nightmares, or how I’m in a constant state of anxiety. For my own self-preservation, I want to project an aura of balance and rationality. They don’t need to know that I’m continuously looking over my shoulder or that I’m fearful of coming back into the house on my own. They have previously seen me at a low ebb, and it unnerved them. It’s important that I at least maintain a pretence of holding it all together. Being pitied by my own children is the last thing I want.
I visualise myself as the person I was when they were growing up, hoping my self-perception isn’t too far off the mark. There were, of course, moments of self-doubt, particularly when I was a new mum. But generally, I thought of myself as strong, consistent, dependable and a good role model, although Alice might have a view on that one. I wasn’t a perfect mum. I made mistakes, but between us, Laurie and I have not done too bad a job of bringing them up.
‘How’s work, Alice?’
She looks up from toasting a fluffy pink mound of marshmallow, and eyes me warily.
‘It’s fine. Why?’
‘Can’t I ask my children about their jobs without being viewed with suspicion?’
I try to keep my voice light and jokey, but there’s never a good way to broach certain issues with Alice, no matter how hard I try. Her present job is one of particular sensitivity. After graduation, she went to work in a large department store in Birmingham and got a flat-share a short walk away with Jess, a friend from university. Two years on, she is still there. Her defensiveness stems from being unable to secure a graduate job, despite her Social Policy degree. For Alice, salt was further rubbed into the wound when Flynn walked straight into his dream job as a video game developer for a small company in Worcester.
In A Deep Dark Wood: A psychological thriller Page 7
