Devil Forest

by Jack Lewis

  Withers leaned forward now. He reminded me of one of my foster dads a little. Or maybe a teacher. Either way, his face was friendly even if the situation wasn’t. He had a face that said you can trust me with anything. Unburden yourself.

  “Where were you on November 4th, 2013?” he said.

  The question caught me by surprise. “Five years ago? Are you serious?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of Ashley Webb. He went missing in the forest too, and reports suggest that’s where Hannah was last seen. We know you, Jeremiah, and Marion were in the forest today. I’d like to know if you were in the area back then.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I was a suspect for a kidnapping that happened when I hadn’t even started college yet? That was clearly where this was heading. Then again, they hadn’t arrested me. Knowing I could walk out of there cooled me down a little.

  I had to be careful how I played this. They probably had cause to arrest me if they wanted to, and then they could keep me here for 24 hours. That meant I was wary about getting a solicitor. In a perfect world, getting representation shouldn’t have affected me negatively, but the police were people, and sometimes they were people who abused power.

  If I had a solicitor, it might make Withers and Cromwell more inclined to keep me here. So, did I clam up? Did I tell them a different plausible reason for being in Blaketree today? Or, did I tell them why I was really there?

  From my experience, police didn’t react well to us talking about the paranormal. Occasionally, when we’d be exploring an old school or whatever, the police would come, acting on the call of a concerned passer-by or neighbour who thought we were breaking in to try to strip lead from the roof or copper wires from the walls.

  Jeremiah would always show them his paperwork giving us permission to be there – for all his faults, Jeremiah was an absolute stickler for getting the proper permits to explore a place – but the police would still want to know what we were doing. When he told them we were looking for signs of the paranormal, I could see their eyes roll so far back they were looking into their own skulls.

  This was different, though. I was in trouble. A kid was missing, and we’d been caught in the police she was last seen, and in ridiculous circumstances. How could I plausibly explain us being there, near the well, with Jeremiah injured?

  It was going to have to be the truth. There was no way around it. Damn it.

  “I’ve never been to Blaketree in my life,” I said.

  “Then why are you here today?”

  I took a deep breath. “This is going to sound strange, okay?”

  -23 – Detective Withers-

  After the story they’d just heard from the girl, Withers knew he needed to keep an eye on Cromwell. His new partner hadn’t been working in Blaketree for long. He knew about what happened with Ashley Webb, but he didn’t know.

  It was one thing to read the bundles of case files, evidence and witness reports. It was another thing to be here at the time. All the confusion. The endless searches that started at 5am before the sun had even thought about rising and ended in the deep of night when even the glow of dozens of torches didn’t light up enough of the woods and the countryside.

  It was one thing to listen to the recordings of the hundreds of interviews, another being there. Trying to get information from a guy who’d moved to Blaketree eight years earlier and was on the sex offenders register, but had an alibi stronger than the Fort Knox vault safe.

  Or trying to keep the boy’s mother calm enough to answer questions, trying to keep calm yourself when her grief took over, and she started calling you a bastard, hearing her accusing you of doing nothing and knowing that effort aside, she wasn't far from the truth.

  It was another thing altogether going through all that when you knew what had happened.

  Wither’s old partner, Terry Hoskins, had one eye on retirement since he was fifty years old. He’d never done more than the bare minimum, never cared enough to start sniffing places he shouldn’t.

  But Cromwell was from London. He was serious about the job, and Withers could sometimes feel the contempt waft from him when they talked about cases. Cromwell didn’t respect Withers’ methods. Maybe he even suspected other things.

  That was why he needed to see how he’d react to what Ella had told them. What was it going to be? Disbelief? Surprise? Maybe even anger that she could be wasting time? Withers watched him.

  Cromwell held it in until a police constable came to collect Ella and take her to the on-duty sergeant. He watched her through the window and only when she disappeared around the corridor did he let out a long breath, as though he was purging himself of his surprise and his stress. As long as he didn’t believe a word of what she said, everything was fine.

  “What did you make of that?” said Withers.

  Cromwell rubbed the bridge of his nose. He did it a lot. Usually when he was stuck in a thought. In especially perplexing cases he did it so much his skin was red.

  “I think she just spewed out so much shit we need to quarantine the interview room.”

  Phew. He hadn’t believed a word.

  “Me too,” said Withers.

  “We better put eyes on her,” said Cromwell. “I want to know everywhere she goes after she leaves the station.”

  Withers couldn’t help a smirk. “You realize that you’ve transferred to Blaketree, Brad? This isn’t the Met. We can’t put eyes on people. Sometimes, when we have too many people sick or on annual leave, I even have to pull desk sergeant duties.”

  “At least we told her not to leave the village for the next few days. We have roadblocks set up, right?”

  Withers nodded. “With a missing child case, we have to. There’s only one road leading out of town, and we’re going to stop and search every car leaving in the next few days. If Ella or her friend try to get out of the village, we’ll know.”

  Cromwell rubbed his nose again. He took a metal tin from his pocket, grabbed a white pill and chewed it. Withers knew it was a medicine of some kind, but he didn’t ask what for, nor why Cromwell chewed it instead of washing it done with water. In fact, the two had barely shared anything personal.

  Withers had tried. “So…did your family move here with you?”

  Cromwell had been driving that morning. They were on their way to interview a guy about a break-in at the post office. He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Yep.”

  Withers waited, but Cromwell didn’t add to that.

  “Married? Kids?” he said.

  Cromwell gazed at the road. “Not anymore.”

  Withers didn’t know which question he was answering, but his career had taught him enough about human psychology to know when a person didn’t want to talk. And unlike with a suspect, he couldn’t employ any psychological tricks to open Cromwell up.

  It made things both simple and complicated. Simple because they could both show up to work, get on with their job, and split at the end of the day. Complicated because Withers didn’t know how much he could get away with when Cromwell was around.

  Cromwell stood up. “This room stinks,” he said. “No air. I’m going to the hospital to talk to Friar Tuck.”

  “Friar Tuck?”

  “The fat guy who got shot with a crossbow. I’ve got a feeling about him. Him, Ella, and Marion.”

  Withers wanted to shake his head, but resisted. Best to give Cromwell a little rope and see where he went. “You know that she’s the mother of Ashely?”

  “Of course,” said Cromwell. “But I need to know why she was in the forest with a guy who got shot. I’ll try to track this Felicity and Eric, too, but I expect they don’t exist. The girl knows we can’t charge her, and she knows it’s too early to hold her. But she and the fat man have something to do with it.”

  “I’m not going to argue with a guy from the Met.”

  “I’ll head to the hospital now - are you coming with?”

  Withers shook his head. “I’ll go check in with the search teams.”

/>   “Call me if you hear anything.”

  Alone outside the station, Withers got into his car and drove out of Blaketree. He avoided the roadblock by cutting through a field and then re-joining the roadway after the block. The off-road drive played hell with his suspension, but it was a necessary evil. As a detective he was free to leave the village without getting searched, but there was no point being careless.

  He stopped at a layby on a country road, one of the rare signal hotspots in the area. He popped a cassette into the player – he’d had a cassette deck specially fitted – and then tapped the steering wheel along to Dire Straits while the phone rang.

  Someone answered after three rings.

  “You only call when there’s a problem,” said the man.

  “More of a complication,” said Withers.

  “Can you turn that music off?”

  Withers got out of the car. The road was deserted. Even if people weren’t slowly getting the news about Hannah and joining the search teams, it’d still have been a surprise to see anyone drive down here. Maybe a commuter travelling through Blaketree to get somewhere bigger, or farmer George driving down in his giant tractor. Today it was empty.

  “Listen, Lester,” he said. “Lasbeck is in the village.”

  “Jeremiah Lasbeck?”

  “You know any other Lasbecks? We caught him near the well, with a crossbow bolt in his leg. I knew before anyone told me that it was Felicity’s work.”

  There was a long pause. Withers wondered what was going through Lester’s head. He knew about him and Jeremiah’s history, and about the ritual years ago. There were some things you never let go of.

  “Don’t worry,” said Lester. “The girl is safe. Everyone is doing their job. When he wakes up, we’ll get what we need. Can you direct the search somewhere safe until then?”

  Withers winced at the idea of having to deal with a distraught mother who he knew wouldn’t see her child again, yet had to pretend to give hope to. He reckoned that if he had kids of his own, his empathy would be too much for him to get involved with it all. As it was, he could just about hold it together. He knew the risks, he knew the rewards, and he knew what they cost.

  “Just tell me as soon as there’s movement,” he said.

  He ended the call and got in his car. It was time to drive to the mother’s house and update her on the search.

  -24-

  “He discharged himself?”

  The nurse eyed me with an air of impatience. I could see why; she was stuck behind a desk with what looked like a years’ worth of paperwork, and in our brief conversation the landline phone had rang three times. The fact she was keeping her temper in check did her a lot of credit.

  “Mr Lasbeck left the hospital thirty minutes ago. I would tell you where, but when I asked him where he was going he told me to stick my big nose up someone else’s arse.”

  I sighed. “Yep, that’s Jeremiah. Sorry about that. Is he okay?”

  “I can’t divulge any medical information to you.”

  “Was anyone with him? Any police or anyone like that?”

  “Not that I could see. He had visitors earlier on, after treatment.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Sorry you had to put up with him.”

  It was just like Jeremiah to discharge himself as soon as he could. Quite how he’d managed that, I had no idea, since the bolt looked like it had got him good. Then again, if Jeremiah had lost a leg, he’d still have tried to hop out of bed.

  The fact he was able to leave in the first place was a good thing, since it meant they hadn’t arrested him, either. If his visors were the detectives, then they’d asked him voluntary questions. It might not stay that way, but it was good enough for now.

  The problem was how suspicious it all looked. Us being in the forest with the mother of a boy who went missing under similar circumstances years ago. And then I’d told Withers and Cromwell the truth. Withers looked like he’d been trying to keep from laughing, and I sensed the sterner Cromwell getting pissed off, thinking I was making it all up.

  Whatever. Right now, I needed to find Jeremiah. So, had he gone to the room at the pub?

  No. He wouldn’t go back there yet. He’d go and find his sister. Only, he hadn’t even known that she lived in Blaketree, so how would he find her? I didn’t know, but if worse came to worse I’d just start asking around.

  The first thing I did was to go to the Slaughterman’s Inn for a quick shower and a change of clothes. When I got to the pub, I couldn’t believe it.

  All of our stuff were outside. My rucksack, Jeremiah’s mini travel case, a couple of plastic bags. Just sitting there out of the street, untouched and unstolen through some miracle.

  I found the landlord wiping down beer spillage from the bar. He looked at me, arched his left eyebrow, then acted like I wasn’t there.

  “You want to explain what the hell is going on?” I said.

  “Your rooms were double booked. Both of them.”

  “Double booked? Are you insane? We already checked in.”

  He paused cleaning and rested his elbow on the bar. “Look, Miss. Little Hannah is missing. She went missing in the woods, and you and the ginger bastard were caught there. Don’t try denying it; word spreads, and the word’s usually true. I won’t have you staying in my pub if you had anything to do with it. With Ashley going missing years ago, people round here are just about ready to lynch someone. If they don’t find Hannah soon, they’ll want someone to blame, and I’m worried it’ll be you. Can’t risk having my pub trashed when the mob come for you.”

  “Fuck!” I said, banging the bar with my fist. A beer glass toppled and almost rolled onto the floor, but the landlord caught it.

  Things had been bad enough, but now we were caught without anywhere to stay. When I’d booked the trip on Jeremiah’s instructions, this was the only place in the village that could give us rooms. As it was, daylight was running out, and soon I was going to face a freezing November night in the middle of nowhere without a place to stay.

  I quickly connected to the pub internet and checked the train times leaving Blaketree.

  “Typical,” I said, see that the last train to stop here was an hour earlier.

  Even if there was a train, the detectives had told me not to leave the village. I could see their point. A child was missing, and Jeremiah and I were high on their suspect list. They might not have had evidence yet, but they’d be looking for it. I wouldn’t have been surprised to know they were watching me.

  There was only one option left; find Jeremiah and see if maybe his sister would let us stay with her. Or we could ask Marion. Neither option was appealing, but it would beat sleeping on the street, snuggling Jeremiah for warmth.

  Before that, there was something I needed to do. Seeing the callous way the landlord had thrown us out of the room without giving us a chance to defend ourselves, without caring about where we’d stay, had made up my mind. I didn’t feel guilty about doing it now.

  “I think you missed some of my things,” I said. I held up Jeremiah’s room key, thankful that he had a weird thing about keeping too many things in his pockets, and so always had me look after both our hotel keys. “Can I go check?”

  “Be quick.”

  Once I was in the room, I didn’t look for stuff. Everything had been in my rucksack and Jeremiah’s travel case. Instead, I looked at the wall. Specifically, the eye pattern on the wallpaper, just above Jeremiah’s bed.

  Follow the eye.

  That was what my friend the Ferryman had said. I had to think there was a reason for it. I wanted to think that, anyway. Hell, right then I’d have tried anything.

  I took out the pocket utility knife that Jeremiah had bought me after my flat was broken into, and I cut at the wallpaper, tracing the knife along the edges of the eye. With the paper gone, I saw the plaster underneath.

  It was obvious that the plaster underneath the eye had been chipped away and then replaced. There was a thin line forming an oval; i
t had been a rushed job.

  I stuck my knife in the crack and wedged the plaster out, to reveal a hole, and in that hole was a sheet of paper and a box.

  -25-

  After reading the note, I left the room. My pulse was firing so fast I thought I was going to be sick. I reached the pub door and grabbed my rucksack and Jeremiah’s case.

  “You didn’t find anything?” said the landlord.

  It took me a second to think about what he was saying. My head felt fogged now.

  “Oh, right. No, there was nothing else in the room. I must have been mistaken. Here.” I tossed both room keys over to him. “Do you know where Hannah Rigby’s mother lives?”

  “You want to stay away from her. Poor woman has enough to deal with.”

  “You can’t give me her address?”

  He shook his head.

  “You know that if you’re offering rooms for rent, you need to comply with fire codes, right? I didn’t see a floor plan on the door, and I saw maybe one smoke detector. Definitely not enough. You’ve probably got time to fix that now, unless someone makes a call and gets you inspected.”

  He scrunched the cloth up in his hand. “Go through the village, then take a left at the church and down the ginnel. Her house is the one with the elephant.”

  “The elephant?”

  “You’ll see.”

  And I did. After walking through Blaketree, where so many people stared at me that I started to get worried for my safety, I finally got to Jeremiah’s sister’s house. There, in her garden, was a model of an elephant so realistic it tricked my brain into thinking it was real for a second.

  I blinked away my surprise and approached the house. I saw Jeremiah and his sister through her living room window.

  The phrase 'peas in a pod' never had more meaning to me than when I saw her. She was a female version of Jeremiah; tall and wide, with hair redder than napalm. She was younger than him, but it was hard to say exactly how much younger she was. Some people could look simultaneously old and young, and I honestly couldn’t say if she was in her thirties or late forties.