Under The Woods: a heart-stopping police thriller (The Forensic Files Book 4)

by K. A. Richardson

  Without thinking, TJ jogged down after him. ‘Did you want something Alan?’

  He furtively glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes widened when he saw TJ approaching. He turned to face her with a scowl on his face. Alan Brown looked shifty – his ginger hair was unkempt and in need of a trim. He had stubble on his chin, and muck streaked across his face. Everything he wore was even more dirty.

  ‘Why would I want something off you?’

  ‘Well, you’re walking away from my house. There’s no other reason you’d be up here.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, me dad said I had to tell you that you have to pay for his broken fence post. That arsehole copper you had here earlier hit it and broke it.’

  ‘No, he didn’t. Your dad already spoke to him, and they discussed it. Your dad admitted that no damage had been caused. So, I think you’re lying, Alan. Why were you really here? Stealing my mail? Is that what you’ve got stuffed inside your jacket?’

  He was taken aback that she’d noticed the small bulge he was holding so carefully.

  ‘Fuck off. What I have is none of your business. I haven’t nicked nowt of yours. The postman hasn’t even been yet.’

  ‘How do I know that, though, Alan? How do I know the person who broke into my house last week wasn’t you? And that you haven’t been back today to get something else?’

  ‘I ain’t no thief.’ His voice turned sullen, and he glared at TJ.

  ‘Alan! What you doin’ up there?’ Neil Brown approached from the farm down the track, with a look of pure thunder on his face.

  ‘She’s accusin’ me of stealin’, Dad. I ain’t done it, though. I ain’t done nothing. Was just walking up here getting a breath of fresh air.’ Alan shot a cunning grin at TJ, then marched off towards his home.

  ‘Who the bloody hell do you think you are? Accusing my son of stealing? He’s no angel but he’s a good lad. I oughta teach you a lesson right now, you snobby little bitch.’ He took two steps towards TJ menacingly, his fists clenched at his sides.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said TJ, staring him in the eye. She felt like she was shaking all over, but she stood her ground.

  ‘Or what? You’ll phone that jumped up little twat from the police to come and take me in? He don’t scare me.’

  ‘I don’t need a man to fight my battles for me. Just go back home. And ask your son what he was hiding under his jacket. If I find anything missing from my house, I’ll be ringing the police.’

  TJ turned on her heels and strode purposefully back round the house to the rear. It was only once she was safely out of sight of the front that she leaned on the wall and paused, letting her thumping heart settle down.

  8

  12th December, 1230 hours – abandoned school near Durham

  He stood in the office and watched Cheryl on the CCTV. At this point, he was unsure if she had been faking earlier or had genuinely passed out. He’d had a quick skim through when he returned and couldn’t see her moving. If she was faking, then she was good at it.

  But it would only get her so far. He was more determined than ever to make her do his bidding.

  He’d been busy until now, having some errands to run, but he’d been thinking about her all day. Wondering whether she would complete the task. He supposed he was a bit of a bastard, really – he knew what the box held, and it wasn’t pleasant. He’d been perfecting the tasks for years. Some were better received than others – the putting the organs back was relatively simple. Once you got past the queasy ‘ew, I’m touching someone’s innards’ feeling, it was quite a fast task to do. The finding of the key was worse, though.

  He’d had the box since he was a child. His dad had taken great pleasure in getting drunk then forcing him to put his hand in the box and see what was inside. He’d hated that game. His dad had thought it hilarious, though – and he had to admit, it got him over any fears he might have developed.

  His dad had put all sorts in that box, earwigs, woodlice, even snakes. They weren’t venomous, but at twelve years old, he hadn’t known that. It had been the one and only time he’d pissed himself from fear. Which had granted him the biggest hiding of his life to date. It was like a black cloud had descended over his dad, and the horse riding crop he’d used had certainly left its mark. Or marks, as the case may be. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the sting as it connected with his bare bottom. His dad had never been one for punishing over clothes – anything that caused a barrier had to be removed. Then, he’d force his son to bend over the hay bales in the barn while he doled out the punishment.

  Sometimes, it was only one or two hits, but that day, it had been twelve. One for each year his dad had potty trained him, only to have him forget all of it on that one day. He hadn’t been able to sit down for a week. And his mother – the woman who knew what was going on – she’d stood there as his father had hit him. Watching but never saying a word, always believing discipline to be the man’s job. The only help she ever gave him was smuggling him a small pot of salve to rub on the welts on his behind. And even that, when found out by his father, had been taken away.

  He remembered lying in his bed that night, listening as his father shouted at his mam for pandering to him, and then, he’d laced her too. She never helped him again.

  That was why, when he took his first Angel, he’d decided to use the box again. If nothing else, it was effective in forcing people to listen to him.

  He depressed the button on the microphone and shouted at Cheryl to get up.

  * * *

  12th December, 1235 hours – abandoned school near Durham

  Cheryl lay motionless, not wanting to show she was awake. She knew he would probably know – she couldn’t have been unconscious for as long as she had, could she? She focussed all her attention on her breathing and maintaining her stillness.

  It didn’t work, though. As soon as he’d stopped speaking, he set the alarm off. Her already perforated ear drum screamed at her – the pain like a sharp needle into her brain.

  She couldn’t fake it anymore. Cheryl pulled herself up to her knees, begging him to stop the alarm. He let it go for a few more seconds, though, and she knew it was punishment for pretending.

  Her ear started oozing fluid again, the pain keeping her on her knees.

  When he finally turned it off, she was shaking and struggling to stop the tears. His voice boomed around the room telling her to get up, and now, she didn’t dare disobey him. Like she had earlier, she pulled herself to her feet using the table.

  Cheryl looked terrible. Her face was flushed red with the fever now accompanying the pain in her ear. She felt worse than she’d ever felt in her life.

  She crinkled her nose at the smell hovering about her – it wasn’t the sweat or even the piss on her clothing. The fluid that was leaking from her ear had turned yellow and was giving off the odour that only infection can give off.

  A wave of dizziness passed over her, and she maintained her grip on the table edge. Her body swayed, though – if she fell now, she wouldn’t be faking. Sweat started beading on her forehead – the temperature in the room raising her own with it.

  ‘Put your hand in the box and find the damn key.’

  His voice was cold, showing no emotion. Did he even feel? She didn’t know, at this point didn’t even care. All she wanted was to get out.

  As if you’ll manage that on your own.

  ‘Not again, please go away,’ she mumbled, trying to ignore the voice in her head.

  I’m not going anywhere. Let me do it. I couldn’t give a rat’s arse about putting my hand in that stupid box. What’s in there won’t hurt me.

  Cheryl wanted to concede, she really did. It had been years since she’d handed control over to the voice in her head. It had resulted in a three-year spell where Cheryl herself hadn’t remembered a thing. Did she want that again?

  ‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head as hard as her sore ear would allow.

  Reaching over, she hesitated as her hand hovered over
the hole in the box, bit her bottom lip hard in concentration, and shoved her arm in the box as far as it would go.

  Fur brushed against her outstretched fingers – lots of fur. She whimpered, wanting nothing more than to pull her hand back out.

  When the teeth sank into the side of her hand, she screamed, not able to resist the automated action of yanking her hand from the box. Her red face paled as she saw the teeth-shaped laceration and the blood dripping down her fingers.

  ‘Put your hand back in that box and get the key.’ His voice turned sneering, and she could sense him smiling. ‘It’s only rats. They won’t kill you.’

  Cheryl shuddered uncontrollably, her hand now held to her chest.

  ‘I… I can’t. I’m terrified of rats. Please don’t make me.’ The whimper that came from her sounded as though it was from someone else, as though she was far away from her body.

  ‘What did I say will happen if you disobey? Shall I sound the alarm again?’

  Let me take over – you’re pathetic. You’re going to get us both killed.

  Cheryl couldn’t do it anymore, she couldn’t cope. With a sigh, she acquiesced to the voice, handing over control.

  Instantly, a hard look came over her face, the faded blue eyes suddenly sharper and more focussed. It was as if she was someone else. Which she was, really. This person, the one who had been waiting in the wings, was not Cheryl.

  Her hand snaked out, pushed into the box forcefully and grabbed the first fur it encountered, squeezing hard and smirking as the shriek from the rat inside came forth. She felt the teeth dig into her hand again, and she flung the creature as hard as she could inside the enclosed space, causing the box to wobble as it hit the side. Gritting her teeth, she felt around the box for the key – the one thing that would get them out of there. She stoically ignored the second set of teeth digging into her hand, and the third. And within minutes, her fingers found what she was looking for. She picked it up, pulled it out of the box triumphantly and grimaced a smile.

  ‘Got it, you bastard.’

  She knew he would be pissed off that she was now in control, and she also knew if he came in this room again, she’d kill him.

  It was like she’d somehow detached from the pain and fever, almost forgetting it had ever been there in the first place. She was too cocky, though.

  The first she knew of the drugs was when the dart hit her in the neck. She didn’t know where it had come from. She didn’t know what it contained. All she knew was that it hurt. Within seconds, the ketamine took effect, and she stumbled, hitting her hip on the corner of the table.

  ‘You…fucking…’ she mumbled, her speech already starting to slur.

  Then, she fell to the floor in a slump.

  She was completely out for the count by the time the door opened, and he came back into the room.

  * * *

  12th December, 1900 hours – Sunderland City Police Station

  The station looked as though people had made a meagre effort at recognising Christmas was coming. Cheap tinsel was hanging on some of the computers in the CSI office, and a small, paltry looking tree stood in the corner with paper chains and cheap baubles decorating the branches.

  Jackson had been in the office for an hour and hadn’t even noticed. It was only the flickering of the fairy lights that forced the changes into his mind as he sat at the computer, inputting his jobs for the day. He was lucky every shift wasn’t like this – he should have finished his day an hour before, but it had been a mentally busy day. Johnny had ended up going home at lunch time, as his mum had taken ill; the mid-shift staff, which consisted of Deena, had rung in sick with the vicious stomach bug that was making the rounds of the station; and the two due in on backshift had both been late in due to a traffic collision on the A1231, so had only left the office at 5pm to do the outstanding jobs.

  He still had two more jobs to input before he could get off home. And he’d already had enough of staring at the computer screen. This was the worst bit of the job for him – he didn’t mind getting up to his eyeballs in muck, being wet through from the rain or wrapped up in the snow – sitting in the sweltering office always made him feel sleepy, and the crap lighting gave him a headache. There were no windows in the office – well, to be fully correct, there were top windows along the wall that looked out onto the corridor outside the office. But they didn’t let in direct sunlight. Which made the room darker and dingier than it could have been.

  With its grey walls and worn carpets, the station wasn’t the best place for Christmas to be represented. It was sad, really. Jackson had always loved Christmas. His mum had always made it extra special for all of them – Jackson had two sisters, and Kevin had lived with him from the time his parents died until he moved in with his wife, Madge. Christmas had always been a family affair. They ate a huge dinner that his mum cooked, played games on the afternoon with all the great aunts and uncles and vegged in the evening in front of the telly having eaten too much food during the day. It was their tradition. His mum still cooked the dinner every year, and everyone always turned up. He was gutted to be down to work Christmas day this year on the rota. Not the first year he’d have missed, but it always grated nonetheless.

  He felt his mobile buzz in his pocket for the twentieth time that day, and for the nineteenth time, he ignored it. That crazy woman Nicki just wouldn’t leave him alone. He really was fed up of her, and he knew he would have to deal with it officially, if it didn’t stop soon. The soft tinkle of a voicemail message sounded, and he sighed.

  When it vibrated against his leg again moments later, he lost his temper and pulled it from his pocket. Her number flashed across the screen, taunting him. She hadn’t left him alone for a second today, and it was time to tell her to fuck off for the last time.

  ‘What do you want?’ he snapped, after swiping to answer.

  ‘That’s no way to treat your girlfriend, is it?’

  ‘Look, for the last time, and I mean it this time, you’re not, nor ever have been, my girlfriend. Will you please fuck off and stop harassing me? Or I will have to report you to my colleagues. We were never together, Nicki. Get over it already.’

  ‘Who do you think you are speaking to me in that manner? I’m not some scrote you pulled in off the street, you know. We have something special. And I’ll be damned if I let that Teresa whore have you.’

  Jackson regretted mentioned her when Nicki had turned up at his flat. All he needed was for her to end up involved in something that wasn’t anything to do with her. He barely even knew her. Christ, if anything came of Nicki’s threats, he knew he’d be in real trouble.

  ‘I’m not with her anymore. Now, piss off and leave me alone.’

  He could almost see Nicki’s smile of glee.

  ‘I’m still going to hunt her down and have words. No one steals my man.’

  Before he could respond, she hung up.

  For fuck’s sake. He pondered for a minute – how could she find TJ? Was it even possible? Nicki didn’t work for the police, so she couldn’t know TJ was Jacob’s sister. He’d only ever seen TJ when he was driving the work van, so it’s not even like in the most obscure of cases, she’d have followed him to the address. But still, he was worried. Nicki was deranged. Not to mention cunning. He knew he was going to have to talk to Kevin about it.

  Sighing, he quickly finished up inputting the jobs, then rang his cousin to let him know he was going round to his address.

  9

  13th December, 0600 hours – woods near Rainbow Riding Stables

  The temperature had dipped to minus four through the night, and it showed. Everything was frozen as he walked along the rabbit path that led him through the woods to the clearing, and his breath was leaving his lungs in a cloud of steam. It was still dark, but the moon was full and bright.

  He was confused – the way his Angel had acted earlier was playing on his mind. She’d shown something other than fight – he knew she had that, but nobody had ever put their hand in th
e box so determinedly. There was always the element of fear – what would the box contain, what if it hurt – but the second time, she’d put her hand in it was like she’d thrown all her fears to one side. She even looked different – her face angry and resolute. It might be something he’d need to address.

  But, for now, he was here to see his Angels. He breathed in deeply, soaking up the night time scents. Frost had that certain smell that everyone knew, but no one could really describe. It hung heavy in the air. And in the midst of it, really faint, something else. That special perfume that only his Angels gave off.

  He was glad he’d left the last one’s face uncovered. He couldn’t very well have spoken to her, if her face was underneath frozen earth. He gently swiped the leaves from her face, and ignoring the aches in his knees, he knelt down, leaning in close to her.

  He didn’t really notice the jagged flesh where her lips had been – some animal making a meal of the easy pickings. All he saw was her. And as he leant further towards her, he was sure her life force whispered against his lips.

  He knew what it meant. It meant she loved him. That she always would.

  And he gave in to temptation, pressing his lips hard against her frozen mouth. She couldn’t object. Not anymore.

  He tasted the faint tang of the woods as he dipped his tongue inside her mouth.

  She was his Angel.

  Suddenly, a loud crack sounded, echoing round the wood. Something, or someone, had stood on a branch, breaking it in two.

  Quickly, he moved the leaves back to cover her face and moved into the tree line. Whoever it was, they were close.

  His eyes narrowed as the younger of the Browns’ boys strode into the clearing with purpose. He looked around furtively, as if expecting someone to be there. He wore a large backpack.