The clock ticked loudly on the wall. Looking at it, Charlie was surprised to find she’d been standing there for over ten minutes. No doubt Steve would be getting irritated – though he loved and supported Charlie, he always accused her of overthinking things. He was probably right, annoyingly, but she couldn’t help it. They could have held Jessica’s start back a year, but had chosen not to. This was partly because she was a mature girl who’d seemed ready, but also to make their working lives easier. Had they made a mistake? In trying to make things better, had they ended up making everything worse?
Jessica hadn’t mentioned any problems at school, so Charlie was left to guess at the cause of her disquiet. For the first time since Jessica was born, Charlie felt powerless to help her. Which meant they probably had many more nights of agonized screaming ahead. Looking down at her daughter, slumbering in the bed below, Charlie suddenly felt tearful, anxious and scared.
5
He remained frozen, gripped by fear. His pursuer was now just a few feet from him.
Torn as to what to do, he’d remained hidden in the sanctuary of the gorse bush, ignoring the persistent prickling from its numerous spines. He’d continued to scan the gloomy forest, debating which direction to head in, when suddenly the shadowy figure had emerged from the darkness, heading in his direction. Instinctively, Tom had tried to make himself smaller, curling up into a ball. But his pursuer continued his steady progress towards him.
Half of Tom wanted to close his eyes, the other half knew he had to keep them open. He had to know if he’d been spotted. So he kept his gaze fixed on him, finding, then losing him amid the trees. On he came, looming ever larger, like some figure from a grotesque nightmare.
Reaching the bush, the figure paused. Tom wanted to scream and shout, to bellow out his fear and alarm, but he reined in his terror. He had been holding his breath for over a minute now – his lungs were heaving and he was desperate to breathe out. But his lips remained clamped shut, his nostrils clenched, fearful of emitting even the tiniest noise. Should he be discovered now, there would be no hope for him, trapped as he was in the bush.
Ten seconds passed. Then ten more. Then the figure turned, looking straight at him. Tom braced himself for a bark of triumph, for a sudden lunge towards him, but to his surprise his pursuer now moved on, padding away from the bush, spying out the forest for his prey. Faint with relief, Tom held his breath for a few more seconds, then exhaled, releasing the trapped air slowly and silently.
He counted another minute, watching the figure disappear into the forest, then eased himself onto his feet. Casting wary looks around him, he pressed down on his left foot. Pain seared through him, but he swallowed it down. If he was to escape this ordeal, he had to move fast.
He headed for the faint path he’d glimpsed earlier. Perhaps the moon was emerging from behind the clouds, perhaps he was becoming accustomed to the darkness – either way he could now make out his way more clearly. To his enormous relief, the path became more defined and he stumbled along it, half running, half limping. Inexplicably, he wanted to laugh, a sudden burst of optimism and relief threatening to erupt from him. Dismissing this crazy thought, he ploughed on, treading quickly along the path, taking care to avoid the fallen thorns and shadowy rabbit holes that punctuated the track.
He was making solid progress, putting good distance between him and his pursuer, but now he slowed. The path, which hitherto had seemed well defined, suddenly petered out. Sweating, he looked left and right. Nothing, nothing, nothing …
Closing and opening his eyes, trying to quell the panic, he tried again. And this time he made out something to his left. It wasn’t a clear path, but seemed to be some kind of continuation. The bushes had been flattened, a few flowers trampled …
He moved on, following the outline of this track as best he could. He lost it, hesitated, then found it again. Over and over again this happened – his flight which had been swift up to this point was beginning to falter. And now, once again, he lost the path all together.
‘Shit, shit, shit …’
He breathed the words, hoping they would soothe his pounding heart. But fear was assailing him, making his limbs shake and his brain ache. There had to be a way out of here. There had to be a way …
Desperately, he surveyed his surroundings. Was that another path off to the left? He didn’t really want to head in that direction, but what was the alternative? Stumbling through bush and briar, frightening the wildlife and drawing attention to himself? Even as he thought this, a pheasant took flight nearby, calling out in raucous alarm.
This decided him and Tom plunged towards the path. He was careless now of the pain in his foot, sprinting as fast as he could down the flattened track. Yes, this was more like it. This was a proper path that would lead him to safety, back to normal life, back to his beloved Melanie …
With each step his speed increased, adrenaline driving him on. He would be ok, he would get out of here. Then he would finally be able to make sense of this nightmare. All he had to do now was keep going.
He rounded a bend, hoping to find a widening of the path, a light glimmering through the trees, anything. But instead he skidded to a halt by a large gorse bush. Faltering slightly, he stared at it. It looked familiar and, yes, there was a tell-tale stain of blood beneath it. This was the same bush he had sheltered in earlier. He had just run around in a large circle.
A twig snapped loudly behind him. His heart in his mouth, Tom turned. He knew what he would find, but still the sight took his breath away. The hooded figure was now just twenty feet from him, blocking his path.
‘Please … I haven’t done anything …’
His pursuer took a step forward. Then another. As he did so, the moon broke free of the clouds, illuminating the hunter, who now came to a halt just short of his prey.
‘Who are you? What do you want from me?’
He screamed his question, but the figure didn’t react. Screwing up his eyes, Tom strained to make out his pursuer’s face, to understand what evil he was facing, but he could discern no human features at all within the hood.
Only darkness.
6
The wind battered her body as she roared along the road. It was a pleasant sensation, making her blood pump faster, energizing her for the day ahead. Crouched over her Kawasaki, Helen felt her spirits soar. It had been a restless night, but a new day always seemed to bring fresh hope.
Swinging onto Southern Road, she drifted gracefully to the left, hitting the indicators and gliding into the bike park. It was early and Southampton Central had yet to spring into life, allowing her free choice of the dozen or so spaces reserved for solo travellers. Bringing her bike to an elegant stop, she killed the engine and flicked out the stand. This had been her daily routine for as long as she could remember and it felt good.
Sliding off her helmet, she undid her leathers. Then, retrieving her phone and bag, she turned towards the imposing limestone and granite building in front of her. As she did so, however, another bike slid past her, coming to a halt a few spaces along. Curious, Helen hesitated. This was not a bike, nor indeed a rider, she recognized, which made her suspicious. In these days of heightened security, anything out of the ordinary was worthy of investigation.
To her surprise, the rider, who had now dismounted, gave her a cheery wave. Seconds later, his helmet was off and he approached her, a friendly but respectful smile on his face.
‘Morning, ma’am.’
‘DS Hudson,’ Helen replied, concealing her surprise. ‘You’re keen.’
‘Wouldn’t you be?’
Whether it was a compliment or a genuine question, Helen couldn’t tell. But it was true that she always turned up for work at Southampton Central full of enthusiasm. And it was one of the things that had impressed her during Joseph Hudson’s job interview. He had worked a number of difficult patches in his career – South London, inner-city Liverpool – but he retained an energy and an optimism that were refreshing. Many of those
who’d climbed the ranks were ground down by the experience. But not him.
‘Well, seeing as you’re here bright and early, why don’t I give you the tour? I’d hate a newbie to get lost on his first day.’
‘I think I can probably take care of myself,’ he replied, suppressing a smile. ‘But, if you can spare the time …’
Trotting up the stairs, they passed through the central atrium. First stop, inevitably, was Jerry Taylor, who had been working the front desk for as long as Helen could remember. Jerry guided Hudson methodically through the various security protocols, dotting every ‘i’ and crossing every ‘t’ with rigour. As he did so, Helen took the opportunity to appraise her new DS.
For a long time, Helen had resisted interviewing for Sanderson’s replacement. Her brutal murder still made Helen feel sick – she blamed herself for pushing Sanderson too hard, propelling the young woman to put herself in the line of fire – and the idea of ‘replacing’ her seemed obscene. Nevertheless, there remained a hole in the team – something Superintendent Simmons, the new station chief, was at pains to remind her of. So, they had placed the advert. Predictably, they had been swamped by applications – despite the dangers inherent in the job, Helen’s unit was prestigious and popular – but in truth Hudson had stood out from the very first interview. A strong academic background, with specialist training in cybercrime, allied to many years’ operational experience targeting organized crime, sex trafficking, drugs and worse, gave him a head start. But it was his attitude, personality and bearing that swung it for him. Fit, healthy, with a handsome, open countenance, he was insightful, incisive and refreshingly good company. Not every police officer had a sense of humour, but Hudson clearly did, tinged with a dash of rebelliousness and cheek. He was one of those guys whose straight face was undone by the smile in his eyes, which was something Helen appreciated. He would have to work closely with both Helen and Charlie in leading the team and she instinctively felt that he would be a generous and engaging colleague.
‘Ok, I think we’ve verified that he’s not working for the Russians,’ Jerry intoned, with his best attempt at a cheeky wink.
He was a fossil, but a nice one, so Helen thanked him and moved on, guiding Hudson into the main body of Southampton Central. Minutes later they were striding along the seventh floor – Helen’s home from home.
‘You’ll have time for the full tour later. For now, I’ll just give you the highlights. Human Resources is on floor two, the canteen on three, the armoury – should you ever need it – is on the first floor and the gents’ locker room is on the floor below us. Ok so far?’
‘Two, three, one, six,’ Hudson responded.
‘Seventh floor is mostly given over to MIT, but remember this door well. If you’re here you’ve either messed up or done something noteworthy.’
They had paused outside Superintendent Simmons’s office, her name etched in gold on the mottled glass. Simmons was an old friend of Helen’s – her mentor in fact – and Helen felt sure she would give their new recruit a warm welcome. But that would have to wait – Simmons was in conference and Helen wanted to acquaint Hudson with the inner workings of the Incident Room. The sooner he was up and running the better.
Buzzing through, they pressed on into the inner sanctum. Helen had spent more hours than she cared to mention in this room – some very pleasant, some decidedly not – but it always felt good to return. Crime never died and was constantly evolving, meaning there was always a job for Helen to do.
‘This is where you’ll spend most of your time. Data analytics are over there, the main body of the team here,’ she continued, pointing to various groupings of dog-eared desks. DC Ellie McAndrew could be seen finishing a phone call at one of them.
‘I’m over there – I’m the only one who’s allowed a door – and you’ll be there, sharing a station with DS Charlene Brooks. Everyone calls her “Charlie” and she’s a first-rate colleague … but don’t talk to her first thing in the morning. She has a little one and takes a few coffees to warm up.’
‘Noted.’
‘Good, now let me give you an overview of what we’ve got on the books.’
She was about to lead Hudson towards the incident board, when she noticed DC McAndrew hurrying towards her. She and Helen had had their ups and downs over the years, but McAndrew was a skilled, professional officer who wasn’t easily shocked. Which was why her pale, flustered expression alarmed her.
‘Sorry to interrupt, ma’am. But something’s come up.’
It was obvious from her tone that this ‘something’ was decidedly out of the ordinary. Instantly, Helen knew that a day that had started so brightly was about to get a whole lot darker.
7
She gripped her hand tightly as they hurried along. This was partly because they had to cross roads, but mostly because they were late. Charlie had eventually drifted off to sleep around 2 a.m., inevitably slumbering through her alarm, waking just before eight. This necessitated a rushed breakfast, during which Charlie remembered that it was the conclusion of the school’s Space Week today – meaning that Jessica had to attend school dressed as something ‘intergalactic’.
Fortunately, Jessica had been convinced by Charlie’s argument that a couple of cardboard tubes fixed to her flanks, topped off with a pointy hat, was sufficient to make her resemble a rocket and the pair had departed with a fair chance of making it to school before the bell. Drained as she was, Charlie set a decent pace and before long Skyswood Primary came into view. Chancing a look at her watch, Charlie realized that, miraculously, they had three minutes to spare.
Slowing her pace, Charlie glanced down at Jessica, who was ambling beside her. She seemed content enough today, but now began to drag her heels as they approached the gates.
‘Should be a fun day today,’ Charlie said gamely. ‘Bet you don’t do any maths or literacy. It’ll just be dressing up, games and mucking about.’
Jessica shrugged, as if not bothered either way. She seemed more interested in her rainbow shoelaces.
‘What do you think you’ll be doing? Competitions? Space travel? Do you actually get to go to the moon?’
Jessica shook her head gravely, as if this were a possibility. They had come to the gates now and Charlie released Jessica’s hand. As she did so, she saw Jessica pause, as if nervous to cross the threshold. Turning to follow her gaze, Charlie took in the playground, which was teeming with kids, dressed as all manner of aliens and astronauts. It should have been heart-warming, but today it made Charlie feel decidedly odd. Jessica was young for her age, but still the other kids seemed so big. From here, it looked as though she would be swallowed up by them.
Crouching down to her daughter’s level, Charlie stroked her back reassuringly.
‘You know, sweetheart, if there’s anything that’s worrying you, you can always tell me …’
Jessica said nothing, still seemingly engrossed in her shoelaces.
‘If someone’s said something, or scared you, or hurt you in some way …’
The thought made Charlie feel a bit sick, but she carried on.
‘… then it’s ok to tell me, so we can deal with it. Mummies can make anything better, you know that, don’t you?’
Jessica nodded, smiling briefly, and for a moment Charlie thought she might be about to say something. But at that moment the bell went and, picking up her bag, Jessica trotted towards the throng.
‘Love you lots,’ Charlie called after her, realizing too late that she had forgotten to give Jessica her customary goodbye kiss.
She watched her daughter go, feeling a knot in her stomach. If there was something wrong, if something was bothering Jessica, it would remain a secret.
Jessica was now lost in the throng and Charlie strained to make her out, lingering unnecessarily. But as she did so, a piercing ring tone filled the air, wrenching her attention away from the playground. Flustered, Charlie pulled out her phone, to find it was Helen calling. Immediately, Charlie felt her body tense. Whe
n Helen called this early it meant only one thing.
Trouble.
8
Emilia Garanita looked at the screen … to see herself staring back.
She was at her desk, scrutinizing a publicity shot that was due to appear in one of the national dailies, alongside a puff piece about her. As ever, she found fault with her appearance, with the historic scarring that marred the right side of her face, even though in reality this was one of the better photos.
There had been a lot of them recently. Emilia’s abduction by Daisy Anderson, the spree killer who’d terrorized Southampton for twenty-four hours, had served the journalist well. She’d done numerous TV interviews, written countless profile pieces and now, nine months on, her book about ‘her time with Daisy’ was due to be published. Hence the picture on her screen.
Spinning on her chair, Emilia tore her gaze away from the computer to take in the newsroom around her. It was a view which continued to give her satisfaction. In addition to the notoriety and money that her brush with Anderson had generated, she had also used her heightened profile to leverage her position at the Southampton Evening News. Threats of resignation, and defection to more august publications, had proved enough to force her editor to restore her to the position of Senior Crime Reporter, at the expense of the incompetent time-server who’d briefly filled the role. In Emilia’s mind, this restoration of rank was long overdue and, to be fair, Martin Gardiner had promoted her with good grace, even though his hand was being forced. As Emilia surveyed the staff members working with her, and under her, she sensed that at long last all was finally well in the world.
The only fly in the ointment was her inability to actually create the stories. There had been the usual slew of unpleasant, predictable crimes in Southampton recently. The odd sexual assault, a racially motivated attack in a nightclub and a spate of aggravated burglaries, which continued to unnerve homeowners throughout the city. But there was nothing that really got the juices flowing – after the drama and bloodshed surrounding Daisy Anderson, everything else seemed beige.
Down to the Woods Page 2
