Down to the Woods

by M. J. Arlidge

  ‘Then let’s do it.’

  Turning, Helen marched off towards the fringes of the wood, where the rest of the officers were now gathered. Hudson followed close behind and finally Charlie too. Normally, big operations of this kind excited her but today she couldn’t shake a nagging feeling of unease. Perhaps it was the scale of the task, perhaps it was the menacing clouds, but something seemed to be taking its toll on her mood today. She tried her best to slough off her anxiety, but even as she put her best foot forward, the rain started to fall. Sharp, spiteful rain. It was as if the weather itself was conspiring against them, mocking their endeavours.

  Was it the gloomy vista of the forest that depressed her? Or the memory of Martin’s haunting face? Whichever, there was no way she could let her feelings show, so, marshalling her team, she led them forward, driving into the depths of the forest, hoping that concerted activity might quell her growing fears.

  24

  She tugged anxiously at the curtains, peering outside. The journalist who’d appeared on her doorstep last night hadn’t reappeared, but Janice Smith couldn’t shake the feeling that she was out there somewhere. Her cover story of a workplace survey was obviously nonsense – it was no coincidence she’d turned up at their house on the same day that Janice had made her shocking discovery. She was after her story, pure and simple.

  The very thought of this made Janice feel queasy. Because it meant it was all real. She still couldn’t really fathom it, couldn’t process what had befallen her. She had gone out to work as usual yesterday – up with the lark to check on the nests. It was the part of her job that she enjoyed the most, striding through the forest at first light, the dew fresh on her shoes. She loved the stillness early in the day, the sense that the world was just awakening. Few ventured where she did, into the hidden recesses of the forest, and she often wandered along the faint tracks in a world of her own. Yesterday morning had been the same – until she’d been brutally yanked from her daydreaming.

  She hadn’t been able to take it in at first, assuming it must be some kind of prank. Students mucking about. A local artist perhaps, with a weird sense of humour. Even a TV show with hidden cameras. But inside she knew the sight in front of her was too macabre to be any of those things. Creeping slowly towards it, her heart thumping in her chest, she had taken in the arrow flights, the thick, clotted blood around the wounds. And then she knew.

  It was the first dead body she’d seen, barring her parents of course. But they had been serene, peaceful, beautifully presented for their wakes. This body was brutal and ugly and Janice had felt the nausea rising in her as she stared at it. Turning away, she stumbled from the clearing, scrabbling for her phone. Panicking, flustered, she dropped her mobile on the forest floor, and even when she did have it in her hands again was all fingers and thumbs. It took her several attempts to successfully dial 999.

  Everything that had happened since then had been progressively more unreal. Giving her statement to the police. The phone calls with senior management. The journalist ringing her doorbell … Fortunately, David had been on hand to comfort and support her, hurrying from work to pick her up. He had been by her side throughout what had become an increasingly distressing day and he had held her close last night, as they strived in vain for sleep. This morning he’d insisted on staying at home, but she had shooed him out. It would have been nice to have him with her, but they couldn’t afford for him not to work and what was there to say? She’d given her statement and hoped that would be an end to it. She would take a few days to get her head straight – HR had insisted on that – then she would return to work. Simple as that.

  Now, however, she regretted pushing him out of the house. She’d done the housework, watched a bit of TV, tried to keep herself busy. But that awful image kept intruding – the half-naked corpse rotating back and forth … She tried to shut it out, but it lingered, insistent, horrifying. Suddenly she longed for company, for distraction. The walls seemed to be closing in on her, but she refused to bother David again – he seemed to spend most of his life propping her up. She refused to be weak. No, she would have to deal with this herself, by going about her life as normal, getting on with things. Which meant going out – to Tesco’s, to the garden centre, anywhere.

  Peering out, Janice searched the close, looking for anything out of the ordinary. As usual, everything was quiet. There was a red Corsa she didn’t recognize, parked a few doors up, but the woman inside seemed to be engaged on a phone call and paid their house no heed. So, summoning her courage, Janice snatched up her coat and shopping bag and hurried outside, hoping to lose herself in the real world.

  25

  It was like nowhere else on earth.

  Helen had ventured into the New Forest on many occasions, but it still surprised and overwhelmed her. It was not just its scale, nor its unique character, the thousands of wild horses and donkeys that roamed its many miles of woodland giving the place an untamed, even mystical feel. It was the sense of history you felt as you walked under the towering trees that always struck Helen most forcibly.

  She was working her way east from the campsite, her team spread out around her, eyes peeled for any sign of human presence. They had started early, as the tourists, hikers and campers would be active later, and for now the forest was eerily quiet. As she padded through the hushed woodland, Helen’s mind turned on those who had gone before. The path she was following had been walked by Celts, Romans, Vikings, Normans and more. Thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of souls had sought sanctuary in the forest over the years, had lived, died and perhaps even been buried here. Layers of history, real lives, were literally under her feet, concealed beneath the forest’s ancient soil. How many secrets were hidden from view, tantalizingly close, yet for ever obscured? As ever in life, the truth lay just beneath the surface.

  Helen’s mind flashed back to a crime committed centuries ago. William Rufus, son of the famous Conqueror, shot and killed by an arrow in this very forest. It was an uncomfortable coincidence – local legend suggesting Rufus’s ghost still stalked the forest, seeking his killer – but not one Helen had shared with the team. She didn’t think it had any bearing on the current investigation – that was too far-fetched, wasn’t it? – but there was no denying the continuing legacy of that infamous death on the landscape.

  Murder or hunting accident? The debate continued in academic circles, but today tourists could visit the Rufus stone, the alleged spot where the arrow struck. Or wade through Tyrrell’s Ford, the stream the king’s killer, the unfortunate Walter Tyrrell, crossed when fleeing his pursuers. It was a crime that was imprinted on the very fabric of the forest, a disquieting echo of the present-day barbarity. Was it possible the killer was aware of this parallel? Or was there another reason he or she had chosen such an unusual weapon?

  The truth was they wouldn’t know until they found Nathaniel Martin, until they engineered a break in this troubling case. Motive, opportunity, the very nature of the attack itself – so many aspects of this crime remained shrouded in mystery, which was why today’s operation was so important. If they were wrong, if Martin wasn’t hiding in the confines of the forest, what then? News of the crime would break soon enough and Helen was determined to have solid progress to report before then.

  But a breakthrough seemed a long way off. The vista in front of Helen was serene, birdsong the only disturbance amid the deathly calm. The three teams had been at work for an hour already, the officers patiently stalking the quiet landscape, searching in vain for a sighting, a clue, anything. But perhaps this was how it was always going to be in a forest that kept its secrets close.

  26

  Charlie crested the fallen tree, landing deftly on the other side. As she did so, she scanned the way ahead, her eyes darting here and there. She and the team had walked in total silence for over an hour now, probing and evaluating everything they saw. They had searched thick foliage, peered into deep holes and even cast their eyes up the mighty trunks that towered abo
ve them. But they had uncovered nothing of interest and Charlie now raised a hand, signalling for the team to halt. Slowly the officers gathered around her, seeking temporary shelter from the increasingly heavy rain.

  ‘Let’s take five. You’ve all got water and cereal bars. For those of you who need a loo break, there are loads of bushes around.’

  A couple of officers hurried off, while the rest refreshed themselves. Taking a swig of water, Charlie pulled her radio from her belt.

  ‘Team C, this is Team A,’ she said, clearly but quietly. ‘We’ve reached our first rest point. Nothing to report, over.’

  There was a pause, then Helen’s voice crackled through her handset.

  ‘Ditto. Stay in touch. Over.’

  Charlie turned the volume down, as Helen checked in with Hudson’s team, who had little to report either. Turning away from her colleagues, Charlie took a step deeper into the forest, her eyes wandering over its rich, green fabric. The others were grateful for the rest, an opportunity to break the tension by sharing a joke or two, but Charlie didn’t feel like small talk. The truth was she felt indescribably anxious.

  This was natural enough, she told herself, they were sweeping the forest for a suspected killer. But it was more than that. Charlie had a strong sense that they were the weaker party here, that their quarry had an advantage. While attempting to be silent in their progress, it no doubt sounded like they were crashing and lumbering about to anyone who knew the forest well. Indeed, they had already disturbed numerous birds, advertising their presence to anyone lurking close by.

  Charlie told herself she was being paranoid, but right from the off she’d had the strong sense that they were being watched. On a number of occasions, she thought she felt a presence close by – to the side, just behind, in the bush to the left. She had spun, hoping to catch sight of this voyeur, only to find the forest staring back at her. Was she mad? Or was someone – or something – out there right now, watching them?

  ‘DS Brooks?’

  Charlie jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion. Turning, she found one of the uniformed officers staring at her.

  ‘The boys are ready to crack on, if you are.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Charlie tried to retain her professional front, but the officer knew he’d spooked her. Her heart pounding, Charlie signalled to her fellow CID officers to follow the uniforms’ lead. It was time to resume the hunt.

  On they went, Charlie taking point, as they spread out to cover the widest area in the shortest possible time. Gradually her heartbeat began to slow, the sweat on her brow receding, but the sense that they were being watched wouldn’t go. It gnawed away at her, her brain fighting her strong instinct that she and the team were in danger.

  There was nothing to do but press on, however, so she strode boldly forward, looking this way and that, even as the rain continued to beat out the rhythm of her anxiety.

  27

  She was biding her time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

  Emilia had pretended to be on a heated phone call, lingering in her car as the timorous Janice Smith emerged from her house and scurried away down the road. She had given her a head start, then hopped out of her car in pursuit. Emilia enjoyed tailing people – she was good at it now – and this morning’s assignment presented few challenges. The nervous middle-aged woman was scuttling along quickly, but had no idea she was being followed. Better still, she was alone.

  Before long they were on the high street, Janice passing the time of day with an acquaintance, before darting into Sainsbury’s. Emilia was close behind, feigning interest in the magazines, while Janice dithered in the fruit and veg section. Eventually, however, the forestry worker moved on, heading deeper into the supermarket. Now Emilia came alive, shadowing her prey until finally Janice Smith came to a halt in a deserted aisle.

  She was in the freezer section, a place shoppers tended not to linger because of the icy chill. This suited Emilia perfectly – she didn’t want an audience – and she strode forward to intercept the unsuspecting woman.

  ‘Janice?’

  She looked up from the frozen peas, confused.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Janice, I’m Emilia Garanita. Senior Crime Reporter from the Southampton Evening News.’

  She handed Janice her business card.

  ‘I was wondering if I could have a very quick word? I understand you’ve had a terrible shock.’

  The woman stared at her, stupefied.

  ‘There’s a café here. I could buy you a cup of tea, something to eat perhaps?’

  Emilia gently removed the peas from Janice’s hand and placed them back in the freezer.

  ‘How do you know about …?’ Janice finally stammered.

  ‘The police have made an official statement,’ Emilia lied, lowering her voice as she continued, ‘naming the victim, the circumstances of the murder …’

  None of this was pre-planned, it just came naturally, which pleased Emilia immensely. She was always able to lie instantly and with total conviction.

  ‘I don’t know, I …’

  ‘Janice, I appreciate it’s hard to talk about. You had an awful shock yesterday, something you were totally unprepared for. It’s no surprise you’re still coming to terms with it. I would be just the same, believe me.’

  She laid a comforting hand on her arm.

  ‘But it is best to talk about these things. And, being honest with you, it’s best to do it now. The story is out there, which means the press are going to want to know who found the body, why they were there. I’m afraid you’re going to be the subject of considerable interest …’

  Janice Smith looked horrified at the prospect.

  ‘… and the best way to protect yourself, and your husband, is to get your story out there as soon as possible. Once it’s done, it’s done. There’ll be nothing there for the journalists and they will move on. They’re not stupid …’

  Janice was clearly wavering, shocked by Emilia’s sudden approach, but also partly convinced by her argument.

  ‘I’m not sure I can …’ Her breathing was getting quicker, she seemed flustered, upset. ‘I’m not sure I want to talk about it. It was so awful …’

  ‘I know, but trust me, Janice. You’ll feel better for it. Now why don’t I take that for you …’ She took the heavy shopping basket from her. ‘… and let’s get that cup of tea. I know I could do with one.’

  It was over, the battle was won. A shaky Janice allowed herself to be guided down the aisle towards the café. She seemed simultaneously nervous but grateful for the support. Emilia was happy to offer it, confident now that Janice Smith was going to give her exactly what she wanted.

  28

  Charlie stole a look at her watch and was dismayed to find that several hours had passed. It was approaching noon and still they had nothing to show for their endeavours. All three teams were deep in the forest now, scattered over a wide area of virgin woodland, but their constant searching had failed to locate Campbell’s route to the clearing or any evidence of his attacker’s whereabouts. With each dogged step, a tiny sliver of optimism seemed to evaporate – Charlie could tell that her team were cold, dispirited and, above all, soaked, the rain continuing to pour down on the unfortunate party.

  Some of the back markers were beginning to drag their feet and Charlie knew that she should probably call time for lunch, give her bedraggled team some time to dry off. But something stopped her. Was it just frustration? Her desire to have something positive to report? Or was it that little voice inside her, reminding her that an important discovery could be just around the corner? She had listened to that voice before and been proved right, though never in circumstances as forlorn or hopeless as this.

  She picked up her pace slightly, anger mingling with determination. Ten more minutes. She would give it ten more minutes and then –

  Suddenly, she saw it. Movement up ahead. It was concealed by dense foliage, but she felt certain she had seen a shape moving.
Something sizeable, something dark, shadowing their progress. Acting on instinct, she changed direction sharply, sprinting towards the bush. Immediately, the shape reacted, darting away fast. Haring round the bush, Charlie was just in time to glimpse a tall figure disappearing into the trees.

  ‘Over here!’ Charlie shouted over her shoulder, her eyes glued to the retreating form. ‘Suspect at two o’clock.’

  Then she was off, slaloming through the trees, desperate not to lose sight of him. For an awful moment, she thought he’d vanished, but then a flash of movement to the right, followed by the loud squawk of a pheasant. Now Charlie had a bead on her quarry and she powered forward. All thoughts of her morning tiredness were gone – she was focused, full of energy.

  The fleeing shape knew the forest well, changing direction sharply, constantly disappearing from view, before suddenly reappearing far ahead. But Charlie kept pace, clutching her radio in one hand, her baton in the other, as she hurdled the fallen branches that littered the dense woodland. She suddenly felt convinced that Martin – for surely it must be him? – would soon be in custody, that despite his natural advantage there would be no escape.

  Ducking a low branch, she came across a small stream. She crested it without difficulty, landing gracefully on the other side. As she did so, she looked around for signs of the fleeing figure, but he was nowhere to be seen. Where the hell had he gone?

  Pad, pad, pad. Charlie froze, certain she could hear something. Yes, there it was again. Somewhere in the quiet woodland, she could hear footsteps creeping away. Straining, she tried to locate the sound. Turning slowly, she followed the direction of the river – and then she saw him. Or at least his shadow, skirting the edge of the stream. Carefully, she took a step towards him, then another. And suddenly he was off again. Despite her caution, she’d been spotted.