The Listeners

by Anthony J. Quinn

  ‘The order still stands. I’m sure Bates will look forward to reading your findings. In the meantime, take my advice; stick with the most reasonable conclusions.’

  Morton said something else, but the call grew inaudible and then she lost the connection.

  7

  Although Carla could not work out exactly what was troubling her, she could feel it sharply and distinctly in her skin and nerves. The interview with McCrea had disturbed her in a way she had never experienced before. She could not be satisfied by Morton’s advice, and she refused to draw the most reasonable explanations for Dr Pochard’s disappearance. Her instinct told her that something ruthless and violent had befallen the psychotherapist. It made her greedy to know more, to track down McCrea’s nightmarish clearing in the forest. This is good, she told herself. This craving to keep investigating, to keep digging. It thrust her out of her tame routine as a mother of two children into something much darker and deeper, something she could really explore, a world of unknown limits and dangers where everything had been set in mysterious motion.

  That night, she pored over Pochard’s photographs while nursing the baby to sleep. She spread out several maps of the Borders area on the floor and began dividing the terrain into sections. She listed the sites in each section that roughly matched the photographs and McCrea’s description. After an hour she had collected dozens of locations worth investigating further, but had only covered a small portion of the Borders. Doubts began to assail her when the breakthrough moment did not arrive. How was she meant to find the clearing McCrea had described and which seemed to closely resemble the one in the photographs? She was an inexperienced investigator who had been handed the case, she now suspected, because Bates had believed it would go nowhere. She was unsure of what she was doing, and still trying to learn the basics from Morton, who seemed resolute in his determination to ignore her.

  Several times, she read the notes she had made from her interview with McCrea and his case history. She felt as though she was working at the very edge of her consciousness, and that McCrea, for all his irrationality, had deliberately placed the location just beyond her reach. Not only did memories change over time, but so did the landscape. Both were in constant flux. Did the path through the trees and the clearing still exist, and what about the pile of stones itself? She pushed aside the depressing thoughts and continued with her painstaking work, poring over the maps. She thought she might go mad herself, sifting through McCrea’s delusions and memories, searching for a clear signpost amidst the confusion.

  She switched on her laptop and clicked on Google Earth’s icon. She zoomed in on the topography around Peebles, searching for more context, another anchor in the landscape. Holding down the shift key, clicking and dragging upwards, she was able to rotate her view so that she could see towards the horizon instead of straight down. Her shoulders were hunched and her neck ached, yet inside her head she was as alert as a bird of prey. What was she looking for? A crime scene, or the innocent path taken by a group of psychiatrists and their patients on a day trip? She enlarged and changed the view, hoping to find a location that would match the features of the photographs. However, one forest path was much like another, and the views of lochs blurred into each other. She kept clicking the mouse, rotating the view, switching back to her printed maps whenever she wanted to find a new forest to explore.

  Several times, Ben woke and she had to lift him in her arms. Patiently, she settled him back to sleep. She heard David downstairs trying to meet Alice’s unending list of bedtime demands, and with a sense of blessed relief, pulled the screen closer and immersed herself in the landscape of the Borders. A wall fell away from her domestic existence, and a feeling of escape flooded through her. This was work but it was also turning into something else, a drug that made her feel invincibly tall and omniscient. The aerial images must have been taken late in the year. Along the ridges and valleys surrounding Peebles lay the browns, oranges and yellows of dying vegetation. She followed the course of the Tweed river, black and meandering, and its tributaries, and then she crossed the crest of high hills that ran south of the town. The roads dwindled into rough tracks until the only signs of civilisation were a few isolated farms lost amid the pines and deserted lochs, a lonely landscape of contrasting shades, heathery hills and dense forests, darkness and light, a completely clear canvas for her enquiring mind. She followed the patterns on the screen, down and down into hidden valleys and wells of silence, and then she came upon a shadowy wall of mountain and bare rock. Still the landscape withheld the secret she was so determined to find.

  A flicker of movement at the door made her spin round, and she saw David standing at the doorway, staring at her with a look of mystification on his face. Ben had started crying again and was wriggling in her left arm. With her free hand, she was scrabbling at the computer mouse. All about her feet were strewn pieces of paper and discarded maps.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you,’ she said. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I didn’t say anything.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘When are you coming to bed?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  They stared at each other for a moment or two, and then he stepped back into the landing like an actor reluctant to enter the stage. Their exchanges at this time of the night were often like this, full of hesitations and exhausted silences.

  ‘I’m getting close to a breakthrough,’ she said.

  He paused and sighed. ‘You know you never properly explained to me why you suddenly decided to be a police detective. How did having a baby make you want to completely change your direction in life?’

  ‘I’ll try to explain some other time. Not now.’

  ‘I think you did it because you felt cheated and exhausted by motherhood. All the breastfeeding and those sleepless nights didn’t live up to the glossy magazine articles.’

  She raised her eyebrows. Wasn’t it clear she put motherhood before everything else, that her children were at the forefront of her existence? But rather than get annoyed, she simply shook her head. ‘When you have a baby,’ she told him, ‘your dreams either slip away, or they become the driving force that spurs you on.’

  ‘Are parents of two small children allowed to have dreams?’

  ‘Everyone has dreams,’ she said. ‘What about you? Why did you become a stay-at-home dad? Was it because you decided you no longer wanted to be a classroom teacher and would rather mark exam papers at home? And now you’ve got what you wanted, you’re jealous because I have a life outside the house.’

  She tried to place Ben into the cot, but he raised his arms and began crying vehemently. She lifted him back into her arms and looked at David. So far, he had not shown the slightest bit of interest in their crying child. He stood frozen at the doorstep as if her accusation had rendered him completely impotent, turning the room into a place of shame, a threshold he could not cross without forsaking every shred of his male dignity.

  Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m not jealous at all, Carla. I’m just worried about you running after your other life and exhausting yourself.’ He scanned the floor of discarded paper. ‘But if this is what you want, then so be it.’

  ‘Yes, this is what I want.’

  There was nothing more to be said. They waited until the baby had stopped crying.

  ‘You’re off work tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Let’s make the most of it and go somewhere nice.’

  She pulled a face. ‘I need to stay here and finish this.’

  ‘OK then, have it your way,’ he said and closed the door behind him.

  She let the baby fall asleep on her chest. Then she went back to Google Earth and her notes, feeling the inner rush return as she searched for the location of McCrea’s stone pile. She tracked north and then east, following even the unclassified roads into the forested hillsides. Several times she got lost and had to return to her printed maps, stretching her tired fingers and giving them a chance to recover from scrolling
through the endless screens. Eventually, she narrowed her search to half a dozen sites that seemed worthy of investigation. Among the most promising was the forest at Cademuir in the Tweed valley. It had a secluded glen named the Pilot’s Trail after two downed German pilots who had taken refuge there during World War II and were only discovered when smoke from their fire gave them away.

  Soon the house was completely silent, the children and David fast asleep. All the lights were out, but the glow of the computer screen shone on her hands, making her skin seem transparent. She kept working after midnight, feeling proud of her diligence and determination. This was her refuge from everything else, she realised, her hiding place, and yet it linked her to the darkest place imaginable, the mind of a man who fantasised about murder.

  *

  She caught David studying her face while they lay in bed the following morning. His features were slightly bloated, his hair unkempt, and his eyes were staring at hers, not in the usual intimate way, but as if he was searching for something, as if the person he was looking at had become a stranger. Since when had he started looking at her in that way?

  It was Wednesday, her day off, and she spent the first part of the morning going over her notes again. David did the weekly shop, and then, after lunch, took Alice for a check-up at the doctor’s. Meanwhile, Carla decided to take Ben with her and investigate a loch near Cademuir, one of the locations she had pinpointed on Google Earth. She hoped the baby would be distracted by the sights and sounds of the water, and allow her enough time to search for a setting that might match McCrea’s descriptions.

  By the time she reached the loch the temperature had dropped. She could sense the darkness of a winter twilight mustering in the dank reflections of the trees. Gripping the buggy tightly, she pushed it along a track that ran beside the water’s edge. In spite of the cold, Ben was enjoying his escape from his father’s company, laughing at the wild ducks waddling over the stones, and pointing vigorously at the paths ahead.

  Since moving to Peebles, she and David had taken their children everywhere, visiting all the parks within a wide radius of the town, getting to know even the most obscure nature trails and out-of-the-way beauty spots in Cardrona Forest. On a run of easy Sunday afternoons that had felt like the most charmed of her life, they had visited the ruins of Cardrona Tower and the iron-age hill fort at Caberston Forest, setting out their picnics on patches of heather, the baby flopping on his belly, Alice rolling through the purple sprigs, and the river Tweed snaking below, disappearing into forests that filled her with curiosity and the hope of longer excursions into the countryside. Come to think of it, there was hardly a bench with a view of the Tweed valley that she had not sat on, with the buggy in one hand, pushing it gently back and forth, willing one or other of the children to sleep.

  She pushed the pram harder, veering away from the loch and its reflections, which seemed to have been dredged from a dark corner of McCrea’s imagination. It struck her that his confession had changed her relationship to the countryside. Picturing his footprints under the trees altered everything. The sunlight playing in the overhead trees went, as did the gentle sounds of the birds calling to each other, and any sense of peace or refuge amid the trails. The forest became the domain of his deranged mind, the paths wretched and shadowy, contaminated with deliriums of repressed violence. She took this darkness as a sign that she was on the correct track. However, she spent an hour pushing Ben’s buggy along the trails, and could see nothing comparable to McCrea’s clearing and pile of stones. The baby’s face grew paler and more watchful.

  She rested at a large stone overlooking the loch and Ben stared at her with a serious look.

  ‘Hello,’ said Carla, smiling.

  Ben made some babbling sounds. He seemed hungry. She felt a sudden sorrow at not spending more afternoons with him. It was her day off, and she owed it to her children to push aside everything else and give them her undivided attention.

  It was getting late, and she had to decide whether to go back to the car, or continue with the search. The wind picked up and the trees leaned and creaked against each other. She took the path that led into deeper undergrowth, setting off at a faster pace, trundling the buggy over the rough ground. The sound of a waterfall became increasingly audible. She followed a track leading deeper into the forest. Through the branches, she saw a cascade of water flinging itself from a rocky outcrop in the hillside. It was the sort of landscape she wanted her children to grow up in, but today it felt overshadowed. The lie of the path, the forest crammed with wind, the waterfall in full flow, and the gnarled roots of the ancient trees crawling over the rocks, all seemed to mimic the photographs and the sketch map she had made in her mind of McCrea’s confession.

  She pushed on, panting and puffing, the path rising steeply. She could not stop; she was completely entranced. Rain began to fall, cold and drenching, and she had to take shelter under the threshing trees. She pulled the waterproof cover over the buggy, and Ben stared at her, eyeing her warily, as if to ask, what dangerous underworld have you dragged me into?

  She surveyed the twisted roots at the waterfall and was convinced they belonged to the same scene McCrea had described in his nightmare. The rain fell heavier and the sky darkened almost to blackness. For a moment, the movement of the trees ceased, and a line of sight opened up. The view through the trees seemed eerily calm and stable. What was that collection of stones to the right of the waterfall? A cairn or stone chamber of sorts dimly visible in the almost supernatural light.

  A tremble passed through Ben’s pale face, his features resembling those of a little animal of the forest, big-eyed, staring up at her from his hiding place. Another tremble passed through his face, and this time it shook his entire body before convulsing into a protracted wail. She should turn back now and make sure he got fed; the search for the cairn would have to wait until later. She could feel the buggy shaking with his wriggling limbs and frenzied protest. It was time to act like an attentive mother to her baby, for Christ’s sake, and concentrate on meeting his needs. Wasn’t that the most important thing right now? Why let a wild hunch and her detective’s ambition put that beyond her? However, she ignored the crying, and kept staring at the waterfall scene, full of fascination for what lay further along the track. She felt she was so close to finding the location McCrea had described. Her heart beat faster as Ben’s wailing increased; her hands gripping the pram, but still she did not turn back. How long could she keep ignoring her baby’s desperate wail? What was she thinking of?

  A lone figure appeared out of nowhere on the path and began walking towards her, a small, dishevelled man with a black, suspicious gaze. Her spine ran cold, and suddenly she felt fearful for her baby’s safety. She turned the pram back down the track and glanced behind her but the figure had disappeared. What sort of person had he been? A tramp or some kind of troll, a guardian of the waterfall or a figment of her tired imagination? Distracted now, shaken deep in her maternal soul, she looked at the trees overshadowing the waterfall and the writhing roots. Slowly the scene began to lose its sinister glow, but still she felt afraid. The low sun returned and the paths steamed with the secret smells of the forest. Ben dozed off, exhausted by his crying fit, his little forest self hidden away behind his sleeping face.

  She pushed on, hurrying back along the steep path, the buggy rocking from side to side, down through the trees and into a normal dripping wet evening in the Borders. When they were both in the safety of her car, she took out her phone and rang David. She was hoping that he might come and take Ben back home, allowing her to return to the waterfall for one final look, but she couldn’t get a signal.

  She drove home at speed, the heather on the wet hills resembling a churning sea.

  *

  That evening, it took her ages to get Ben and Alice fed and into bed. Both children were restless and completely oblivious to her presence as she sat beside their beds, willing them to settle down for the night. She paced around the room, tidying away clot
hes and toys, and then sat on her chair again. In her distracted state, she read them the same story several times. As soon as their eyes closed, she pulled the blinds and shut the bedroom door softly behind her.

  She knew David was downstairs waiting for her in the living room, the door closed and the TV quietly on. This time of the day was the only private time in their routine when they could chat or complain to each other without the children hearing. However, this evening, she changed back into her work clothes and hunted out the car keys.

  In the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of her reflection, a thirty-two-year-old spent-looking woman who had just got her children to sleep and should be heading to bed herself, rather than embarking on a wild-goose search based on the confession of a mad man. The exhaustion in her face was nothing new, but tonight her eyes stared back at her, terribly animated and dark. McCrea had handed her this dangerous new edge, she thought, the feeling that she had been liberated from the evening conveyor belt of feeding, toileting, sleeping and the anxious hours turning in bed, ears pricked for the slightest whimper from the children. Her overriding instinct was to protect her babies, but another part of her must be hardwired for danger and violence, she realised, otherwise why did she find McCrea’s confessions and their descriptions of the forest so electrifying?

  Before stepping out, she shouted in to David that she was heading out again. His exact words she could not make out, but the tone of his voice was as flat as a recorded message.

  ‘I don’t expect you to stay up,’ she shouted and slipped out the front door.

  However, before she could take off in the car, David appeared, knocking the glass of the driver door. ‘Wait, we’re meant to be going out tonight,’ he said.

  She rolled down the window, blinking at him.

  ‘The babysitter’s due in half an hour,’ he said.

  ‘You’re kidding me.’