Mauve (A Very British Witch Book 3)

by Isobella Crowley

  “You alright, Amanda?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I thought he might be the type.”

  “Yeah, this morning—”

  Amanda waved a hand. “Oh, spare me, we’re eating!”

  Scarlett laughed. “Haha, no there’s nothing too crazy to tell. I guess I should feel flattered that he fancies me.”

  “Always makes me feel good when Ronnie expresses his attraction, that’s for sure. Better than the alternative.”

  Scarlett laughed again. “Well true, right? So what’s up with Ronnie? He came into the shop today looking quite rough.”

  “Well yeah, he’s feeling a bit under the weather at the moment. He was due to go on a business trip and he had to cancel. He goes on these trips every so often, very cloak and dagger. Said it might be contagious, so doesn’t want me around there.”

  “Sounds fair enough.”

  “I suppose. Told me this morning to stay away from him, which I found a bit hurtful.”

  Scarlett reached across the table and enveloped Amanda’s hand.

  “But, once I’d thought about it, I could see his point.”

  “Oh.” Scarlett withdrew her hand.

  “Yeah, he’s had this thing for ages now, seems to be lingering on and on forever. So, whatever it is, I don’t need it. Not right now.”

  Scarlett nodded and polished off the last of her panini.

  “But there is a plus side. Means I’m going to be at home for a few nights, I’m free tonight as it happens. Shall we hit the White Hart?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah, why not? What do you say?”

  “I’d love to, but I’m feeling a bit exhausted. Could do tomorrow, though?”

  “Alright by me. So, Tim’s been keeping you up all night has he? Come on, you can’t start off a rumour that he’s a sex maniac without spilling the beans.”

  Scarlett laughed. “I didn’t start off any rumour. I told you in confidence.”

  “I know, was just pulling your leg. I won’t say a word to anyone—providing you give me the gory details eventually.”

  “How about tomorrow night?”

  “Deal.”

  “You’re on.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RAF Bicester, Launton

  The gate clanked shut. The dark, damp evening made Tim’s fingertips moist and sticky. The map started just after the gate and, as far as he could see, there were no footprints. His foot squelched in the mud and he heaved himself free, only for the process to repeat itself.

  By the time he’d traversed across the mud to the grass, his black shoes had become heavy and brown, but he could deal with that later. Eyes affixed to the map, he continued through the field until he came to the first point of interest: the patch of land where they first laid eyes on the thing.

  A marker fell from his hand, but he continued forward. The grass looked as if it had been trampled on quite recently despite the ceaseless downpour of the previous twenty-four hours. Before long, his trousers were caked in mud and his socks squelched. He’d have to get himself cleaned up before the briefing, but that could wait.

  An image of the previous night flashed into his mind. Dogs howling, men shouting, bits of cow all over the place, and an enigma fleeing through the wet grass. Couldn’t have been a pretty sight for anyone with a nervous disposition. And that thing, whatever it was, must have been terrified, weighed down by its kill, snarling dogs snapping at its heels.

  Once he’d dropped the fifth marker, he paused to examine the grass, finding a patch of trodden blades. His foot shot forward, and he fought to regain his balance, until, just as he braced himself for a rather undignified fall, he won the battle and breathed a sigh of relief. Presenting himself to his subordinates covered from head to toe in mud was not the image he wished to portray.

  Regaining his composure, something caught his eye to his left, and, leaving his current course, he came across a clump of grass that wasn’t swaying in the breeze quite as much. Even more interesting, a patch of red covered the base of each blade. Another marker fell to the ground and he continued.

  Soon, he came across another red patch and then another. Fearful of veering off course too much, he crouched then reached with his gloved hand to rip up a red spotted clump of grass, which he carefully inserted into a plastic bag, so it could be used as evidence.

  Completely alone and isolated, rain tapping on his back and head, Tim extracted the map to check his bearings. Voices drifted towards him without registering, so he continued, eyes fixed to the grass in front of him, scanning for artifacts with his periphery.

  “Flight Lieutenant Clarke?” Footsteps rushed through the grass.

  Tim looked over his shoulder to see a member of the forensic team running his way.

  “Flight Lieutenant Clarke.”

  Tim scowled, then waited to hear what he had to say.

  “Flight Lieutenant Clarke.” The man caught his breath. “Flight Lieutenant Clarke, I’m from forensics. Have you found anything of interest yet?”

  “Just a few flattened blades of grass with the odd spot of blood here and there.”

  “Do you have any samples, sir?”

  Tim handed him the evidence.

  “Interesting. So, what should I tell the team, sir? What are your orders?”

  “Tell them—tell them to scour the field. I want every blade of grass turned and any clue—the slightest hint of any evidence—I want brought to my attention. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And should you find anything, anything at all—call me right away.”

  “Sir.”

  The man walked away.

  Returning his focus to the map, Tim continued along the path that the soldier had drawn earlier. The wind howled, and the rain grew heavy. The odd tree dotted the landscape, at each of which he paused to carry out a thorough examination before moving on.

  What’s that? Tim approached a tree with caution, eyes focused on a branch at about shoulder height of any average-sized man. A scrap of fabric dangled, flapping about frantically in the breeze, clinging on for dear life. He snapped a photo before retrieving the cloth. It was fragile to say the least, the wind and rain had torn it to shreds so that it almost fell to pieces in his hand.

  Handling the fabric like some ancient relic, Tim inserted the evidence into a plastic bag, labeled it, and continued.

  The flattened grass in front guided him along the mapped-out route with laser-like precision. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that when the phone vibrated and rang, he almost jumped out of his skin.

  “Clarke speaking.”

  “Flight Lieutenant Clarke, It’s forensics.”

  “Go on.”

  “We scoured the scene, just as you told us to, and we came across an abandoned piece of footwear not far from where the cow is thought to have been attacked and killed.”

  “Footwear. Elaborate would you?”

  “Yes, it was a trainer. A left, white Adidas trainer.”

  “Size?”

  “Eight. It’s a size eight.”

  “So, we’re on the lookout for an average size man. Doesn’t give us much to go on, does it?”

  “No sir, but—this is an expensive piece of kit. The owner of this clearly takes his running very seriously.”

  “Interesting. I’ll meet you back at base to take a good look later.”

  “Very good, sir. You come across anything more?”

  “Well, yes and no. I’ll fill you in during the briefing later on.”

  “Understood sir.” And with that, the call ended. In the distance—far, far off in the distance—a clutch of trees came into view. His imagination ran wild. The creature must have run in this direction, dogs snarling behind him and when he saw the trees, maybe it paused for a breather.

  With the trees getting closer by the second, Tim stopped to look around, and got his bearings. If his version of the events was in any way close to the truth, the thing must have run in the very same c
ourse that he was heading in. The grass below his feet must have been trodden down the night before in a wild chase.

  The undergrowth grew hard and slippery as the trees drew closer. Stepping behind the trees, he crouched and peered through a gap in the branches. The moon would have provided enough light to get a clear view from this position. Moving towards the denser branches, he saw a patch of grass, coated in red. There was so much blood that some of the grass had flattened itself to the tree’s roots. After placing a handful of grass in a fresh plastic bag, he stepped out of the trees and retraced the downtrodden grass back the way he’d come.

  Fatigue had reached the parts of him which the mud had not by the time he left the crime scene to deliver his briefing. All of the men stood around drinking coffee, but as soon as they laid eyes on Clarke, they bent to place their mugs on the floor, guilty looks abounding.

  “Oh, don’t stop on my account. Good afternoon everyone. So, what have we got?”

  A few of the men reclaimed their coffee while another stepped back to retrieve something that lay on the floor behind.

  “What have you got there? Come on, don’t be bashful. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.”

  They laughed out of politeness, but their expressions conceded the fact that they were freezing, wet, and in no mood for jokes.

  The shoe left behind at the scene was in a bad state. Tim examined every last detail, including the Adidas sign, which looked like it had been covered in mud and scrubbed clean to make it visible. And that was the very least of it.

  The leather was cut to shreds on either side. The top had been reduced to two torn flaps that drooped down like wings. Examining the underside, he found a series of punctures in the sole, as if something had protruded through only to be retracted back into the shoe.

  One of the forensics stepped forward. “Any ideas, sir?”

  “Possibly.” The forensics team was from a base over a hundred miles away, so they were not familiar with the goings on in Bicester. Recalling how one of the soldiers he’d interviewed had said he was afraid of looking foolish, he had no real choice in the matter.

  “I’ll keep hold of it for now, though, take it back to HQ, see if we can do some tests to ascertain the owner’s identity.” Gregory was going to be most interested in this and, ultimately, it was his call.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Coroner’s Office, RAF Bicester, Launton

  The hedge separating the footpath from the farmers’ fields rushed by. A constant gust of wind blew in through the open window, freezing the side of Tim’s face, doing everything in its power to shift his train of thought from the investigation to the environment outside.

  It wasn’t until he turned down the road leading to the RAF Bicester that the trance lifted. Striding from the car, heading into the building, he knew exactly what he had to say to the coroner.

  “Good afternoon, sir.” A soldier with a bandaged hand passed him in the corridor. Tim nodded in acknowledgement and continued towards the ray of light coming from the partially open doorway. As his foot became illuminated by the light peeking out from within, all the clinical sounds and smells drifted his way.

  Antiseptic, the cleaner’s disinfectant, specialty cleaning ointments that only medical practitioners knew the names of, intermingled with the sound of clanging, stirring, and voices. Thankfully though, no screams, not this time anyway.

  Tim had last been down this way a few months previously when he had cut his hand and Gregory had insisted he get it looked at. Turned out to be nothing, not worth the bother really, but as a consequence, he knew exactly what to expect. All clouds have a silver lining, as they say.

  Stepping through the hospital, Tim nodded at the doctor and approached the staircase leading to the basement.

  After descending the steel staircase, it was only a couple more steps to the coroner’s office. Just like the hospital, the door was open and there were noises. The smell was entirely different though, as was the atmosphere. The stench of death hit him as he approached the doorway, growing stronger with each step until he stood staring at the back of the coroner who was examining the remains of an eviscerated cow.

  Tim coughed to get his attention. “Good afternoon.” Tim flexed his arm upwards, but lowered it again the second he saw the coroner’s bloodied gloves.

  “Good afternoon, officer.” The coroner stood aside to present Tim with a full-on view of Mauve the cow.

  Tim shielded his eyes and turned away.

  “Sorry. I know it can be disturbing to see a body laid out in such a manner, especially if you’re not used to it.”

  Tim stepped forward, trying desperately to give the impression that the sight of Mauve the cow, hanging over the human-sized metallic table in pieces, was something he came across every day.

  The coroner beckoned Tim closer, then leaned over the cow to continue with his examination. As Tim obliged, he was struck again by the vile smell and took another deep breath to stop the retch that was manifesting itself in his gut from rocketing upwards.

  The coroner looked up and smiled at Tim. “You okay there? You’ve gone a bit pale.”

  “Oh yes, absolutely. Had coffee on an empty stomach this morning, must be it.”

  The coroner nodded and refocused on the cow.

  Talking to the coroner’s back, Tim began from the start. “I expect you know all this already, but I’m going to tell you again, just to make sure nothing’s been missed.”

  “By all means, fire away.”

  “Last night, a group of my men were called out to investigate reports of something on the prowl in a local farmer’s field. By the time they got there a cow, the cow that you’re working on now, had been completely eviscerated, bits of bone and half-eaten flesh everywhere.

  “I went to investigate myself this morning and found red patches smeared all over the grass. Forensic tests confirmed it to be blood.

  “I carried out some interviews too and one of the soldiers gave me a vague description that sounds consistent with a werewolf attack.”

  The coroner remained focused on the cow. “Sounds perfectly plausible.”

  “I was hoping that you could lend some weight to the theory.”

  “Well, if my preliminaries are anything to go by, I’d say that is a definite possibility.”

  “So, you haven’t reached any firm conclusions yet?”

  “Well…” The coroner covered up the bloodied limb that he was working on, and stepped away from the table.

  Tim tapped anxiously on the shelf behind him.

  “Well, it definitely was an animal attack, that we can be sure of. And a big animal too, by the looks of it.”

  “How big?”

  The coroner held up one of the cow’s legs for Tim to see. “You see these indentations here? No domestic animal could have done them, that’s for sure. If it’s not a were, it would have had to be the work of a lion or tiger. And a bloody big one too. Certainly, bigger than any wild animal you’ll find in this neck of the woods.”

  “Could it have been a large domestic dog? A pit bull or rottweiler on the loose perhaps?”

  “No, not even they could have penetrated this deep into the bone.”

  “You mentioned the possibility of a big cat. Could something have escaped from the local zoo perhaps?”

  “Well, it’s a possibility, I suppose, but—”

  “But the zoo would have notified the authorities right away for fear of being sued. So,” Tim took a deep breath, “it’s looking like it is a were?”

  “Ridiculous as it sounds, the bite marks do point towards that conclusion. Either a were, or a sabre-toothed tiger.” He chuckled.

  Tim looked at him with a blank expression. “Anything more specific?”

  “Well, the bite mark tells me that it’s an adult. And according to the DNA tests I’ve done on the blood, it’s almost certainly a male you’re looking for.”

  “Interesting. Anything else?”

  “I can give you the s
hoe size, if that’s any help.”

  “Not really. I’ve got that already.”

  The coroner looked animated. “Oh, left a track, did it?”

  “A shoe. Forensics found it lying around on the field where it was pursued. Torn to shreds, it was, completely lost its shape.”

  “Oh, well there you are then. That’s pretty conclusive wouldn’t you say?”

  “Unfortunately, no. There’s no reason at all why it couldn’t be the result of some drunken night out. Someone getting in a scuffle perhaps. People get up to all sorts when they’re intoxicated, don’t they? So, I still need more. Do you have anything else? Anything at all?”

  “Oh yes, I almost forgot, the tests showed that the animal, in its human form, probably has blond or red hair.”

  Tim furrowed his brow as if searching for a solution.

  “Give me a few days and I might be able to find something.”

  “Good luck on it all, sir.”

  “Thank you for your help. I will be in touch.”

  After ascending the metal staircase to the main hospital and stepping out into the long corridor, Tim’s mind got to work. The coroner had done his best given the time constraints, but had he really told him anything new? Probably not, he’d confirmed his existing theories at best. That was something at least. Enough to keep the investigation going until more evidence was found.

  On his way up to his office, Tim found himself continuously stopping to stare at anyone with blond or red hair. Even a nurse came under suspicion, but on closer inspection, her feet were far too small.

  With one foot through his office doorway, he stopped, turned around, and headed outside to his car. Surely someone in town would match his mind’s image. If he had a good look around, he might be able to produce a few more leads. Enough to form an identity parade, anyway.

  +++

  Jones’s Estate Agents, Bicester, England

  “Well, unless there’s anything else you need to know about the property, I’d say it was time to call it a night, wouldn’t you?” Ronnie smiled politely across his desk at the couple that were hoping to buy a property in the more affluent part of town.