He waited five more minutes, until he was sure the men weren’t coming back, before reaching into his pocket for his flashlight and very slowly got to his feet, edged closer to where he’d last seen them. Directly ahead, a loud noise startled him.
As Jack shone his flashlight in the direction the noise had come from, he picked up first the glint of an eye, then the head of a stag. It was a large animal, standing motionless, watching him distrustfully as he moved the beam of his flashlight along its body and down its legs, then onto the ground between them. To his horror, Jack saw blood.
After stepping closer, he reached down, felt the warm stickiness. Suddenly, without warning, the stag ran off into the darkness. Then, as he stood up, Jack felt a hand grasp his shoulder.
17
Alight shone in his face, and for a split second, he confronted his own mortality.
“Jack? What the hell are you doing out here?”
Through his shock, he recognized PC Miller’s voice. “Dan?” Jack was overwhelmed with relief. “What are you doing here?”
“I left my coat in the Sherman house earlier. I saw your car, and then on the way back, I saw some lights. What was going on?”
“I’ve no idea. I saw the lights, too. As I started walking toward them, I heard an animal crashing about.”
“Did you see anything?” Suddenly, Miller’s voice was more serious.
“Just the same lights you saw. Probably poachers. But they’ve long gone.” Jack wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t mention the awful cry, or the blood he’d seen. Maybe it was fear that they were being observed, that the group had crept back while he and Miller were talking, had blended into the trees, and was watching them. They’d just killed. Jack was in no doubt about that. That blood he’d seen was fresh. There was nothing to stop them from doing it again.
There was the stag, too. The way it had come crashing in, distracting the group; how it had just stood there, watching Jack. He didn’t talk to other people about it, but since Josh had died, from time to time, he’d sensed his presence. The thought had come into his head out of nowhere. But he knew. Somehow, Josh had sent that stag to save him.
* * *
By the time he got home, Jack was chilled through. After letting a disapproving Beamer into the yard, he had a hot shower and poured himself a large scotch. For the second day running, he’d forgotten to go shopping. He thought gratefully of the remains of Lucy’s casserole from the night before. At least he had that.
* * *
As he lay in bed that night, Jack was wide awake, unable to wind his mind down enough to sleep. An owl hooted outside. Too much was uncertain right now, as it was for Jen. He couldn’t understand, either, how there was no evidence of a child at Jessamine Cottage.
In Jack’s experience, a complete cleanup of a house was next to impossible. He’d have expected forensics to find something, however small. But there had been at least four days before the place was identified as Evie’s home. Four days in which to strip the place, if someone had wanted to. Unlikely, he knew, but it was something to think about.
One thing he did know—he wanted to talk to Abbie, and then to Jen. Maybe she’d recognize him from walking in the woods. It might even help. Gods knows what it was like to be in her situation: to trust yourself so little that you couldn’t even believe your own thoughts.
The need to talk to her came from his gut. If she recognized him, maybe she’d trust him. He also needed to talk to someone about what he’d seen in the woods. Again, probably Abbie. He’d no idea why he hadn’t told Miller about the blood he’d found—or the horrible scream that still haunted him. The way the man had appeared out of nowhere had unnerved Jack. He needed to sleep. It was amazing how sleep could clarify even the most confused thoughts.
Closing his eyes, he tried to blot out the thoughts racing through his head, telling himself that he’d known Miller for years, that he was a decent man. But it was hopeless to try to sleep. It had been the same after Josh had died, when Jack had been unable to stop his mind from overthinking, from going round in circles as he went over every detail, tormenting himself with “what-ifs” and “if onlys.”
In the end, he got up and went downstairs, put the kettle on, as thoughts of Jen Russell and Leah Danning filled his head. With a hot cup of tea, he sat down and turned his laptop on, typed into the search bar. Leah Danning. Scrolling down the pages, he saw links to news items and press releases. He’d forgotten how huge the case had been. As he read these, it seemed to him as though the whole country had been on tenterhooks, waiting for Leah to be found. That a small child could disappear without a trace had left every mother fearful for her own children’s safety. He couldn’t believe how long ago it was.
He’d forgotten about sleep. His mind was fully alert as he carried on reading. The police had found nothing to link the attack on Jen Russell and her daughter to Leah’s disappearance, but this was rural Cornwall, known for its solitude and peacefulness. It was his gut again, not the cold, hard evidence the police needed, but it seemed too much of a coincidence.
He’d talk to Abbie. She knew him well enough not to think he’d lost the plot. Right now he was beginning to wonder. Anyway, he trusted her—and she wouldn’t gossip. He wasn’t so sure about Dan Miller. Maybe that was why he hadn’t mentioned the awful cry he’d heard—that and the blood.
After sitting back in his chair, Jack must have dozed off, as he awoke with a start. Beamer was barking, not the muffled kind of noise he made when he was dreaming, but a full-on alert bark, which meant he’d heard something.
“Hey, what is it?”
But Beamer ignored him, barking agitatedly.
“Come on, Beamer. Quiet.”
There was no stopping him. After getting up, Jack went to unlock the back door. Beamer followed, still barking. As he opened the door, the dog barged past before disappearing into the darkness. Jack could hear him whining as, out of sight, he followed the trail of something. Probably a rabbit or a fox. He only hoped there wasn’t a person hanging around out there.
Then the night went completely silent.
“Beamer? Here! Good boy!” Jack called, but there was no reply. Cursing the dog, he pulled on his boots, then reached for a jacket from one of the hooks beside the door, feeling for the flashlight in one of the pockets.
“Beamer?” Outside, he switched it on, shining the beam around the yard, but there was no sign of the dog. “Beamer!” Jack raised his voice. There were no neighbors to worry about disturbing. The nearest house was at least a mile away.
Out there in the darkness, there was nothing. No birds, not even a breeze. Above him, the moon was obscured by clouds. Everything was black, muffled. Silent.
He called again, then at last heard Beamer coming through the bushes—at least, Jack hoped it was him. A sense of relief filled him when the bushes moved and the dog’s head came into view. He was wearing that slightly apologetic look he had when he knew he’d done something wrong. Then, as Jack shone the flashlight at him, he saw he was carrying something.
Beamer followed him to the back door, where Jack reached for his collar, but the dog pushed past him, carrying his trophy inside. The last thing Jack wanted in the house was a dead rabbit, which no doubt Beamer would mangle on the floor for him to clean up later. Hurrying after him, he found him lying in the kitchen, the rabbit held between his paws.
Only when he switched the kitchen light on, Jack saw it wasn’t a rabbit. Looking at him, Beamer whimpered, and then he got up and walked away. Jack took a closer look. What he’d thought was a rabbit was in fact a bundle of fabric, maybe clothing. He picked it up, and under the dirt ingrained on it, he could make out a floral pattern. Then he quickly put it down, looked at his fingers, which were coated with blood.
18
October 9 . . .
Jack stuck his head round Abbie’s door. “Glad I caught you. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course. What’s up?”
He went in, closed the door beh
ind him, then sat on the chair opposite her desk, placing the bag he was carrying on the floor. It contained the blood-stained fabric Beamer had found. “Last night I stopped by Jessamine Cottage to look at the place. I wanted to get a sense of where Evie lived. As I was leaving, I noticed some lights in the woods. They seemed to be hanging around. I thought I’d better take a look.”
“Go on.” He had her full attention.
“At first, there were a couple of flashlights. Then they were joined by more. Eventually, there were about four of them. I got as close as I could without letting them know I was there. I wasn’t sure what to make of what happened next.” He glanced at her, but she was still listening intently. “From the way they moved, it looked as though one of them was carrying something. The beam was flashing around all over the place, as if someone was struggling with something. I heard this cry. I assumed it came from them.”
“What kind of cry?” she said sharply.
“High pitched. Like an animal. I think, in all honesty, it could have been a child.” He glanced at her again. “I thought they’d killed whatever it was, but they’d barely started. I heard someone laugh. It sounded evil. Then there was another cry, more of a scream this time, which went on and on.” Jack could still hear its echo in his head. “I tried to get close enough to see what was going on. Then I startled a pheasant.”
He relived the moment the flashlights had spun round toward him. “I honestly thought they were going to come after me. Lucky for me, a stag picked that moment to go crashing through the woods in the other direction. It completely distracted them. They left not long after.”
“Did you see anything else?”
“After they’d gone, I went over to where I’d seen the lights. There was blood on the ground. Not just drops. Quite a lot of blood.” He didn’t tell her about the stag standing there, watching him. “I bent down to see if it was fresh. Then, as I got up, there was someone behind me.”
Abbie looked startled.
“Frightened the life out of me. Fortunately, I knew who it was.”
Abbie leaned forward. “Who?”
“Miller. He was on his way to Evie’s when he saw the lights, too.”
“He hasn’t mentioned it to me.” Abbie was frowning.
Jack shrugged. “He probably knew I would. Anyway, I don’t think he’s in yet.”
“No. Not if he was on duty last night.” Abbie was quiet. “What do you think was going on?”
Jack shook his head. “It was probably poachers.”
“It doesn’t sound like poachers. . . .” Abbie looked at him.
Jack sighed. “If you really want to know, last night I was thinking about the Leah Danning case.” He looked at Abbie. “It wasn’t long after I started here. At the time, no one talked about anything else. Then, last night, I was thinking the same thing’s happened again.” He frowned. “And maybe I’m wrong, but it’s not the kind of thing that happens round here—”
“Children go missing everywhere,” Abbie interrupted.
“I know.” Jack was silent. “But historically, apart from Leah Danning, there are no other cases. There was something about the way Leah vanished that doesn’t add up. Dogs were brought in—straightaway. The countryside was searched and searched again. Yet there was no sign of her.” He paused.
“What are you suggesting?” Abbie frowned.
“It’s the same with Angel.” Getting up, Jack went on. “The fact that there’s no trace of her. It’s the common denominator in the two cases. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
Abbie was silent. “And?”
“I don’t know. Either we have someone incredibly methodical who’s completely covered their tracks, or someone’s hiding something.”
“You’re not suggesting someone on the inside?” Abbie looked horrified.
Jack shook his head. “I was thinking more along the lines of someone—anyone—deliberately concealing evidence to throw us off the track.” Seeing Abbie’s face, he shrugged again. “Just thoughts.”
But Abbie was thinking. “Do you by any chance know a man named Xander Pascoe?”
Jack shook his head. “I haven’t met him. He was a suspect for a while when Leah Danning disappeared. But I know his mother. Janna Pascoe.” She was a formidable woman. A true matriarch was how Jack thought of her. “She was walking through Truro when she was hit by a car. It must have been a good ten years ago. The driver was being chased by the police. He got away, and she was rushed to the hospital. She recovered, but she lost the use of her legs.”
“What do you know about her?”
Jack shrugged. “She’s a tough lady. Her husband died way back, and she’s been running the farm ever since. After she was hit by the car, she sued the police and lost, but she has money. The house is full of antiques. And art.” He remembered it all well, the mess of the farmyard and what looked like a run-down old Cornish farmhouse on the outside. Inside, it was like a museum. “That’s all I know—apart from the fact that she hates the police.”
“Right.” Abbie was frowning.
“I think that’s about all I can tell you.”
“Xander Pascoe was interviewed when Leah Danning went missing. He’s a strange one. Surrounded by a wall of silence is how it seems. No one had a bad word to say about him. The police were never able to prove anything, but somewhere in the notes from the investigation, it mentions that when they searched the Pascoes’ home, they found a kind of shrine in Xander’s room. They didn’t take it further, because Xander had alibis.” She paused.
Then Jack remembered. “Last night my dog heard something outside. I let him out, and he ran off. When he came back, he was carrying this.” He picked up the plastic bag containing the bloodstained fabric. “The blood was wet when he brought it in. I’ll send it to forensics.”
Abbie hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. “Are you busy? Or do you have time to show me where you saw the people last night?”
Jack thought about what awaited him, none of it important. “There’s nothing that can’t wait.”
“Maybe we should go and take a look.”
* * *
Jack pulled up close to where he’d parked last night, Abbie just behind him. As they walked through the woods by daylight, there was none of the sense of menace he’d felt last night. Apart from the occasional cry of a bird, it was completely quiet.
“We need to go this way.” He pointed to a narrow path that sloped downhill. It had taken him a while to get his bearings, but now he knew exactly where he was.
“This is where I hid, watching them.” They’d reached the patch of brambles he’d crouched behind. “The flashlights seemed to come from over there.” He pointed to where the trees thinned slightly.
Abbie slowly started walking in the direction he’d pointed, studying the ground as she went. As Jack followed behind her, he was trying to work out where he’d seen the last two lights coming from.
“Where did you see the blood?” She stopped in the middle of the path.
“Somewhere here.” Jack gestured to an area that he thought was reasonably accurate. Slowly, methodically, both of them scrutinized the ground, but there was nothing. Then Abbie stooped down to pick up a handful of leaves and let them flutter to the ground.
“There’s nothing here.”
Jack didn’t reply. He was looking at the leaves she’d just picked up, at where they’d settled on other leaves. He frowned. “If you wanted to cover your tracks, you’d do exactly what you’ve just done.”
“Excuse me?”
He walked over to where she was standing, then bent down and scooped up more of the leaves. “It would be the easiest way to hide blood on the leaves. Pile on more leaves. Unless someone really looked, no one would ever be the wiser.”
After crouching down, he started to remove carefully the top layer of leaves, then the next, until it was clear he’d reached leaves that had been there a long time. Then he moved slightly to one side and repeated the process again and
again; behind him, Abbie did the same.
“Jack?” he heard her say. “You better come here.”
He walked over to where she stood looking at the leaves she’d uncovered, where the blood from last night was clearly visible, no longer fresh but congealed and dried.
She reached for her phone.
CASEY
2000 . . .
My sister was given a pretty name, Leah. With her white-blond hair and fair skin, there was proof, indisputable, right in front of you, that I was the plain child with the plain name. Dull, where Leah sparkled; emotionless, while Leah’s default beaming smile lit up rooms and seemed to touch people’s actual hearts. It wasn’t fair, Leah having that hair, that smile, and skin that was soft as a peach.
I got used to it. You can get used to anything. Now, as soon as I saw Anthony’s face, a haze would come over me, and his voice would seem to fade into the distance, as though I wasn’t there anymore. He could do whatever he liked, but he couldn’t hurt me.
The last time, his friend Barney had been there. I’d been really scared at the thought of two of them. And the shitface had seen my fear, because as he glanced across at Barney, I’d thought of a snake watching its prey, its eyes lit up, its tongue flickering across its lips.
I didn’t know what had changed that time. I’d wanted to go to that faraway place in my mind, but I couldn’t. Instead, I’d felt the most putrefying, stinking emotions rage through me, like sewage in my veins. I was frightened, revolted, reviled. Then, suddenly, as I looked at him, at my hand obediently doing what he wanted it to, anger rose in me. Anger that was like bile, choking me, until I forgot about my fear.
As I thought about everything he’d done to me, which he was going to let his friend do, I screamed as loudly as I could. In that moment, I saw an evil in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. I struggled away from him, then found myself cornered. A new fear came over me. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do to me. I tried to scream again, but I was paralyzed. Then, as he closed in on me, I threw up.
Part of the Silence Page 9
