Written In Blood

by Alex R Carver

  “Right, now that’s out of the way,” she said once they had given their orders to the waiter, “what have you been getting yourself involved in? Why did you need Izzy’s help yesterday?”

  “I was arrested for murder,” Zack said. He anticipated the response from his friend and was not disappointed – she reacted almost exactly as he had expected her to.

  “What the hell? What d’you mean you were arrested for murder?” Sophie flushed when she realised she had asked the question more loudly than intended, and that it had drawn attention. “Sorry,” she apologised.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Zack ignored the curious looks being thrown his way from the neighbouring tables. “Like I said, I was arrested for murder. I found the body of a teen first thing yesterday on my run…”

  “You still go running first thing? What the hell for? You’re retired, you can go running whenever you want, if you really must do something that stupid. Personally, I don’t see why you do it, I can’t see the point in running and getting all sweaty just to stay in shape. Eat what you want, drink what you want, and do what you want, that’s my philosophy. It’s better to be happy than to be in shape.”

  “Easy for you to say, you can eat and drink whatever you want without putting on weight, so you never have to worry about staying in shape. We’re not all as lucky as you, and some of us don’t fancy ending up resembling a fat blob.” With that said, Zack got on with his story. “When a second teen was found in the woods, and the sergeant in charge of the case discovered I was the last person to see her, he decided that I killed both girls...” It took him a short while to fill Sophie in on everything that had happened from the moment he discovered Georgina Ryder’s body to when he was released the previous evening.

  “It sounds to me,” Sophie said once Zack was finished, “as though the sergeant is a moron. Is that where you got the limp? Did he try to beat a confession out of you?” Her eyes swept over Zack, searching for other injuries.

  “What?” The question surprised Zack so much he spluttered and sprayed Sophie with the cider he had just taken a sip of. He apologised quickly, but still had to laugh, both at the question and what had resulted from it. “You should be the writer, with an imagination like that. Of course he didn’t try and beat a confession out of me, but now you mention it, I think he might have tried that route if Izzy hadn’t been there. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone to be so fixated on a suspect without a scrap of evidence to back it up.

  “Would you believe he even wanted to know where my Aston Martin is – he seemed to think there might be some evidence in there; that I’m kidnapping teen girls, stuffing them into a car with a small boot and just enough space for a willing person, and taking them away to kill them.” He shook his head disbelievingly.

  “If you didn’t get the limp through the sergeant trying to beat a confession out of you, how did you get it?”

  “After Izzy persuaded the sergeant to let me go, told him to is probably closer to the truth, I suppose,” Zack remarked. “The cousin of the girl I found, who’s also the boyfriend of the other girl that was found, decided to get drunk and break into my place with a couple of friends so he could attack me – he decided not to say that Oliver Ryder’s intention had been to kill him, it sounded too melodramatic, and was likely to prompt an overreaction from Sophie, which he didn’t need just then - Izzy called the cops while I dealt with them…” He couldn’t help thinking, as he listened to his own description of events, that his actions sounded a lot braver and less fraught with danger than was the truth.

  “Jesus, Zack! In the space of, what, four months, you’ve gone from investigating murders, to writing about them, to being accused of them.” Sophie could not keep either her amazement or her concern from her voice as she stared across the table at her friend. “What’s next? No, I don’t even want to think about that. You should never have moved to that village,” she told him. “I know you wanted to get away from Cathy, and all the trouble she caused, but there was no need to move so far away, so quickly, especially when it makes it so tough for you to see Jo, she misses you.”

  Zack could not deny that he disliked not being able to see his daughter as much as he wanted to, nor could he deny that his decision to move more than two hours away from where he had lived had been a hasty one. He was stuck with the move he had made, however.

  “You know how the saying goes, ‘act in haste, repent in leisure’. I’m repenting in leisure.” He gave a short, humourless laugh as he said that. “And this investigation, led by the idiotic Sergeant Mitchell, is my punishment. Fortunately, Izzy should be able to make it go away soon enough; she’s already made it clear she’s not happy with the way things have been handled. Maybe once I’m no longer in the frame for murder, times two, I can try and figure out what I’m going to do – I’m not sure I fancy staying somewhere that finds it so easy to consider me a murderer – but that’s going to depend on what money comes in over the next two or three months.”

  “Are things as tight as all that?” Sophie knew her friend’s finances had been strained by the divorce, and the actions he had taken afterwards, but she had not suspected to just what a degree he had overextended himself in trying to get away from his troubles.

  Zack answered with a shrug that suggested the problem didn’t matter, though he did admit, “Tighter than I’d like. Tighter than I anticipated. It’ll be alright,” he said. “It’ll just take me a bit of time to get myself sorted, and into a more comfortable position. The new book’s going alright, though, so I’m sure everything will be okay. That’s enough about me, though, what’s going on with you, has anything exciting happened since we last spoke?”

  Sophie snorted. “Even if we hadn’t spoken only a week ago, there’s little chance of anything exciting happening to me, I don’t live an exciting life, you should know that by now. About the most exciting thing that happens to me is the coffee machine at work having a fit and spraying hot water everywhere; thankfully, that hasn’t happened in a couple of weeks. I swear, it doesn’t matter how many times the bloody thing breaks, Larry’s not going to replace it ‘til someone gets scalded.”

  “Still not getting on with the boss I take it,” Zack said.

  Sophie shook her head. “I honestly don’t know why he made me assistant manager, he doesn’t listen to a thing I say; I don’t know how many times I’ve told him about the machine now.”

  “Maybe because he’d be out of business in next to no time without you, and if he goes out of business, he’s got no hope of selling the place, at least not for a price worth getting.”

  The two friends continued talking about the things that had happened to them since they last spoke while they finished their meal.

  25

  Melissa couldn’t help wishing she was somewhere else as she waited nervously with Sergeant Mitchell. It was not that she didn’t want to see her grandmother, she was always happy to see her, it was the reason they were there she had a problem with.

  “Hello, Lewis, Melissa, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Constance Hawkins asked when she saw who was on her doorstep.

  “Hello, Constance, sorry to disturb you on a Sunday,” Mitchell said. “But we need to ask you some questions, I hope that’s alright.”

  Constance smiled. “Of course it is, I’m always happy to have visitors, no matter what the reason. You’ve timed your visit well, I’ve just put the kettle on for a cup of tea, would either of you like one?”

  Mitchell and Melissa nodded in unison.

  “I didn’t see you in church this morning, Melissa,” Constance said disapprovingly as she shut the door.

  Melissa flushed. “I was busy, nan, I had to work.” It sounded like an excuse, even to her. “I’ll go as soon as I’ve got a chance.” Thankfully, nothing more was said about her absence from church.,

  “So, how can I help you, Lewis?” Constance asked once she had made the tea and the three of them were seated in the living with their drinks. “You
said you have some questions for me.”

  “That’s right. I want to ask you about Friday afternoon; I know I spoke to you about it yesterday, but I need to confirm a few things,” Mitchell said, putting his cup back on its saucer and then setting it down on the coffee table. “I hope that’s okay.” When Constance nodded, he got down to business. “Can you remember what time it was when you saw Lucy Goulding leave Mr Wild’s place on Friday afternoon?”

  Constance made a sincere effort to remember, but was forced to shake her head. “I’m sorry, I know it was sometime between three o’clock and half past, but I don’t know the exact time.”

  “That’s okay, Mr Wild wasn’t able to give us an exact time either,” Mitchell said. “Can you tell us what happened after you saw Lucy leave Mr Wild’s?” He saw the unhappy look on Constance’s face and anticipated what she was going to say. “Mr Wild has said he didn’t leave the house after Lucy left, and his lawyer has suggested that because of your age you might have been mistaken about what you saw; that’s why I had to let him go.

  “Because of that, I need to check that you’re sure of what you saw, so I can add it to whatever other evidence we’re able to find and make an airtight case against him.”

  “His lawyer doesn’t know you like we do, gran,” Melissa said, almost choking on a large mouthful of fruitcake as she tried to swallow it quickly so she could speak. “She thinks because you’re a bit older, you must have problems with your eyes; we know you don’t. Even if you did, it’s not like you can’t recognise an Aston Martin when you see one; you might not be able to say what model it is, but when it’s been parked next door for months, you know it when it goes past.”

  Constance nodded, but then said, “It wasn’t that fancy car of Mr Wild’s I saw on Friday, it was his Land Rover.”

  Mitchell felt his heart sink. “You are certain it was Mr Wild you saw driving down the road after Lucy, though, aren’t you?” His heart sank into the pit of his stomach when he heard Constance’s answer.

  “Of course I’m sure. Even with the sun in my eyes I know my neighbour.”

  “The sun was in your eyes?” It was several long moments before Mitchell could bring himself to say anything more than that.

  Constance nodded. “It was that sort of day,” she said. “It didn’t seem to matter where I stood, or which way I turned, the sun was constantly in my eyes, fair blinded me it did. I’m not likely to make a mistake about seeing my neighbour drive down the road, though, even when I couldn’t see him all that well. I mean, who else could it have been in that Land Rover.”

  It took every ounce of self-control he could muster to keep Mitchell from swearing, loudly and repeatedly. The situation was going from bad to worse, and he could only wonder what his witness was going to say next to scupper the case he was trying to put together. “To my knowledge,” he began, picking his words carefully. “There are three Land Rovers in the village, and probably more in the local area, that look almost identical to Mr Wild’s, it could have been any one of them if you couldn’t see who was behind the wheel properly.

  “Did you see the license number, or anything about the vehicle that would enable you to pick it out as Mr Wild’s ahead of any of the others in the village?”

  A shake of Constance’s head answered the question. “I’m sorry, I wish I could say I had but I didn’t. Who else could it have been, though?” she asked. “Neil Stuart has no business being over this way; I would never have thought it was Mr Wild if it was Chris Peake – even with the sun in my eyes, I can tell the difference between a man and a woman, and I saw Glen Wright head down the road in his other Land Rover earlier, before two that was.”

  “Could you perhaps describe any of the clothes worn by the driver?” Mitchell asked hopefully. “Maybe we can identify Mr Wild that way.”

  *****

  “Well that was a waste of time,” Mitchell said as he unlocked the patrol car he and Melissa were using. He couldn’t keep the frustration he felt from his voice, though he did hold it in until Constance had closed the front door and he was reasonably sure he was not going to be overheard. “Your gran can’t be certain it was Mr Wild she saw driving down the road after Lucy, which means we’ve got nothing we can pin on him but a bunch of coincidences. If we try and arrest him again without getting some real evidence, that lawyer of his is going to eat us alive.”

  Melissa felt some sympathy for the predicament Mitchell was in, but couldn’t help thinking that if he had waited until he had evidence, rather than rushing to a conclusion he couldn’t support, he would not be in his current position.

  “Hopefully, the post-mortem will give us some evidence we can use,” Melissa said, speaking over the top of the car. “Or the forensics team will find something; they had most of yesterday at the two crime scenes, and they’re back again today. Whoever killed Georgina and Lucy, whether it’s Mr Wild or someone else, I can’t see that they’ll have managed to avoid leaving any evidence at all, it’s just a matter of time before it’s found.”

  “And how many girls could he have attacked before then?” Mitchell wanted to know. “No girl in the village is going to be safe until Wild is behind bars.”

  Melissa wondered if the girls of the village would be safe even with Wild behind bars; she wasn’t convinced the author was responsible for the murder. She said nothing of what she was thinking, though, sure that Mitchell would not take well to the suggestion he was wrong. Instead of voicing her thoughts, she said, “Why don’t we take a walk down the road and see what we can see. We know Lucy didn’t make it as far as the village, at least not as far as we’ve heard; that means she must have been grabbed between here and the church. We might be able to find something that will tell us what happened to her and where.”

  Mitchell considered the idea briefly before deciding it was a good one. He had been about to suggest they get some lunch and consider the next thing they should do, but they could do that after searching the area for clues, which he doubted would take them long.

  “I’ll take this side of the road, you take the other,” he said, locking the car again.

  Melissa nodded, pleased that he thought her idea worth following. She had taken just a couple of steps, her eyes on the ground at her feet, when she absently reached into her pocket for one of the chocolate bars she kept about her person. She tore open the wrapper and chewed noisily as she scrutinised the ground before and around her; she didn’t want to say as much, but she had very little idea of what she was looking for, and could only hope that any evidence there might be would leap out at her.

  Mitchell reached the end of the row of three houses before he realised Melissa was not keeping pace with him. Looking around, he saw that she was about ten yards back, standing at the gate in the wall and looking down the path that ran along the side of the field. He glanced in the direction Melissa was looking, but could see nothing to explain why she had paused in her search of the road.

  “What’s up?” he asked. “Have you spotted something?”

  “No,” Melissa admitted. “There’s nothing along the road, not that I’ve seen, anyway, but I was just thinking, we’ve assumed Lucy was grabbed between here and the church, within about five minutes of her leaving Mr Wild’s, because she would have been seen if she made it as far as the church or the pub. What if we’re wrong, though, what if she didn’t head for the village; Lucy would have made it home in about half the time if she cut across the fields and followed the river, and if she did take the short-cut, she could have been grabbed at any point between here and the other side.”

  Mitchell considered that theory, as he again looked over the gate at the field and the dirt path. “Would Lucy take the shortcut?” he asked finally. “It might save her twenty minutes or so, but would she really have crossed the fields to do so?”

  “I don’t see why not, it’s not like she’s afraid to get dirty, and if the outfit she was wearing really was the sort that would get a reaction from her parents, she’d have wanted to
get home before them, so she could get changed,” Melissa said. “I think it’s more likely that she went across the fields than down the road towards the village; whoever it is that grabbed her, Mr Wild or whoever,” she added quickly when she saw that Mitchell was about to say something, “would have been taking a hell of a risk in grabbing her off the road – anyone could have come along and seen him, especially since she would have been nearly at the church by the time he could have caught up to her. Going across the fields would have given her attacker more time to grab her, without being seen. He could have taken her to wherever it is he killed her then, which he’s got to have done by car because it’s over a mile from here to where she was found, and probably longer from wherever she was grabbed.”

  Mitchell was not happy that the idea had come from Melissa, rather than him, but couldn’t deny that it had merit. “We’ll continue on down to the church, checking the ground between here and there, then we’ll come back up and start a search of the field. If we find anything, we’ll mark the spot for forensics.”

  The search of the road revealed nothing – Mitchell and Melissa made it as far as the church and the pub, which faced one another across the road, without finding anything to suggest that Lucy Goulding had ever been that way – so they returned to the field, where they hit pay-dirt, at least Mitchell did.

  Mitchell had gone about a hundred and fifty yards, when he spotted something up ahead in the narrow strip of scrub grass that grew alongside the wall. He hurried forwards and dropped to his knees the moment he reached the object he had seen - it was a book, one of several that were scattered over half a dozen feet. He was about to pick up the nearest of the books to take a closer look at it, when he saw the name on the cover – Zack Wild; a quick glance at the other books revealed that they were all by his one and only suspect, and when he used a pen to flip open one of the covers without disturbing any evidence, he saw that the book had been autographed by the author with a short message to Lucy Goulding.