In the Moors

by Nina Milton

  I’d already noted from the cuttings in the library that the Wetland Murderer had stolen the tiny victims from a wide area, so it was understandable the police would take a long time to find their grave. “How were the bodies discovered?” I asked.

  “There were a bad drought that summer.” He flicked a glance at me. “You won’t remember, but the bogs dried up and summat began to show through.”

  “And you volunteered?”

  “Yes, I went,” said Arnie. “The bogs are a dreadful place to hide a body. They needed a bloody regiment to lay tracks and manhandle the equipment.”

  “But they didn’t use the army.”

  “No. They used us. P’raps they thought it would keep us busy—we were mostly the fathers of missing children.”

  The thought saddened me. Building a track through the wet to retrieve your buried child. The final thing you could do to relieve the suffering.

  “They were just dumped. He never had to do any digging; they’d’ve sunk beneath the stagnant water. It’s all black because of the peat. There’s a lot of willow growing over the moors. Where they were hid, them babbies, massive trunks were coming out of the water, growing there for years, I’d say.”

  “All four bodies buried at once?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Looked like it. No doubt there’s some report that can tell you for definite.”

  “But how could he have got them there? Isn’t it remote?”

  “Not remote, exactly. Peat is what they farm. There be paths all over. But there aren’t many souls about.” He took a swig of Three Bells. “Know my thinking? He used a barrer.”

  “A what?”

  “A wheelbarrer. They were only little ’uns, after all. You wouldn’t think anything of someone wheeling a barrer in that country place.”

  “It must have been dreadful. Having thoughts like that.”

  “It’s what killed our Di,” said Arnie. “She went back to the sherry big time; drowned in it. She were my second wife. First one went off with some bloke, and I hope he’s making her life a misery. I gotta be a bad judge of women. Never wanted to bother again, that’s for sure.”

  Arnie took time to swill his whisky round and round, as if he was regretting pouring the last of the bottle for me. I picked up my glass and took a tiny sip. I could see how the burning at the back of the throat might feel like a sort of salvation.

  “Me heart was in me mouth when they pulled them black bones out of the wetlands,” said Arnie. “But our Patsy were too slippery to get caught. She could blag her way out of any trouble, even the worst. I think the cops were right. Long gone. Nothing to do with any of that business.”

  I nodded in what I hoped was a sagacious manner. It was not for me to tell Arnie how to deal with the dreadful news I’d brought him. In my heart I knew I had a match—Arnie’s missing daughter had been in the car the day that Cliff was stolen away.

  She’d already become a victim of the Wetland Murderer.

  I had to pass Hughes and Heavens on my way home, so I drove into their parking lot and asked at reception if I could speak to Miss Smith.

  “Have you an appointment?”

  “N-No. I thought I’d just pop in.”

  The receptionist gave a thin professional smile. “I’m afraid she’s very busy.” She picked up a receiver and talked into it. Of course Linnet would be busy. I’d have to leave a message. I tried one out in my mind: I’ve found the missing victim was impressive but untrue. I’ve found Patsy Napper’s father Arnold was a bit of a mouthful.

  “Okay,” said the receptionist. “Miss Smith will see you.”

  I strode into the office. “I’ve found Arnie Napper!”

  From the other side of her yacht-sized desk, I saw Linnet’s face open with surprise—mouth, eyes—the lot. I felt extremely good about getting ahead of her in this way, and I knew my face was beaming.

  Linnet cleared her throat. “You … sorry?”

  I plonked myself on the client chair, sticking out my legs. The sadness of the interview had left me. I glowed in triumph. “Sorry, Arnold Napper is Patsy Napper’s old dad. I’ve been with him all afternoon.”

  “God almighty.”

  “I know. Although that particular deity had no part in the process.”

  “You’re saying you found him through some shamanic technique?”

  “Actually, he was still at the address he was at when he registered Patsy as a missing person.”

  “Even so. I could use your investigating skills.”

  “You won’t believe what he’s told me, Linnet. He even went to the burial site when they brought out the bodies.” I gave a laugh, sheer exultation. “I guess it sounds a little grisly.”

  She bent over the desk and scribbled a note. “From what I’ve been told, you’re having to get used to grisly.”

  “Oh,” I said. “You’ve heard that I found those bodies.”

  “More investigative technique?”

  “Actually, that was purely shaman’s luck.”

  “Well, I must say, excellent work.”

  “Thanks.” I swear my chest actually puffed out. I know my cheeks were warm. She was silent for half a minute or more, as if she felt she’d been too effusive with her praise, although it was a bit late for that. I watched her finish her notes and close the folder.

  “Look,” I began, “Sorry, I know what you’re thinking—I said I’d bring anything to you first. But I had to tell the police.”

  “Definitely.” Linnet rose and came round to me. She looked tired, as if she’d been up since dawn. “Definitely well done. I hope you’ve made notes about this missing girl, because I want all the details.”

  “Actually, no. It wouldn’t have looked polite to flip open my pad in front of Arnie Napper.”

  “Look, Sabbie, it’s gone five. No harm in packing up for the night a little early. Fancy a drink?”

  She did that thing at her closet, swinging jacket and accessories from peg and shelf. She picked up her document bag and led the way past the thin-lipped receptionist and across the road into the Admiral’s Landing. The bar staff seemed to know Linnet quite well, because she raised a hand as she passed the bar, walking straight on to a corner table. Moments later, a dish of a barman brought a bottle of rather nice Shiraz and two glasses.

  “Hope you like red.”

  I didn’t like to say that I was more of a crisp white girl myself, but when I sipped the drink she poured me and the curranty, peppery tangs burst in my mouth, I wondered if I was missing out.

  “Mmm, nice,” I said, putting down my glass. I felt my eyes pop when I looked at hers. It was empty, all but the ruby glow at the bottom. She poured a second and sipped more slowly. “You’re quite a heavyweight,” I said in awe.

  “Comes with the territory.” She sipped again. “Tell me all. It’ll help you fix the memories before they fade. Tell me how you found that place, the … bodies. It must have been grim.”

  “Yes.” I looked across at her.

  She gave me an encouraging smile. “Go on. Spill the beans.”

  I started with the signpost and the poplar tree—she deserved to be filled in on the journey at the prison—and soon I was running on without thinking quite what I might say next. It was so lovely to talk to someone who wasn’t silently thinking I’d flown over the cuckoo’s nest. I even told her about Ivan.

  “I know I’m never going to see him again, but maybe you can help me. I can’t work it out in my own mind. Was he trying … would it have been rape?”

  “Without a doubt,” said Linnet. “You should have contacted me straight away! Never mind if it didn’t fully happen, that was due to your courage and quick thinking. You can still press charges, if you want.”

  “Goddess, no.” I shuddered. “Let’s forget it. I haven’t told you what happened today yet.” I started describing my
search for Patsy, the way Arnie’s story had unfolded over tea and whisky. She listened in silence without taking a single note. When I’d finished, Linnet topped up both our glasses, silently evaluating the new data.

  “Interesting, Sabbie.”

  “Sad, really. It made me think how we will all look back at the end of our lives and regret our mistakes, and how we’ll still make them because we won’t know they are mistakes until we’re old.”

  “What was his mistake? He pushed his daughter out, but he wasn’t responsible for what happened next.”

  “It was something about love. He could hardly bring himself to use the word. Too soppy. But it tormented him, I could see it did, that he’d never told his daughter how much he loved her.”

  “Loved her so much he’d—what was it—slapped her in the face?”

  “He didn’t understand about teenage girls. She’d changed overnight. And love can be very strange—domineering, possessive. Sorry, I’m back to Ivan. Must be the wine.” I took a consolatory sip, because I was way behind Linnet and not the least bit squiffy, which was just as well—my car was parked outside the solicitor’s office.

  “Waffle as much as you like, Sabbie; I’m off duty here. But I have to ask: Are we taking this new development to the police? Because we should, I suppose.”

  “You mean, they’ll twist it all round?”

  “You can rely on the fact they are keen to build up a case for the prosecution. It shouldn’t work like that; they should treat all information with impartiality, but I’m afraid they don’t.”

  “They want their first guess to be right. Well, some of them do. Rey Buckley, he thinks outside the box—”

  “Leave this with me. I’ll make some inquiries before we go any further.” She tackled her glass, shifting the line of red by several fingers. “So let’s recap. This girl left home of her own accord and was reported missing by her father.”

  “Both parents. But the mother died.”

  “And the exhumation of the corpses?”

  “I think he had this gut feeling she’d be there. Even so, he told me Patsy was too clever to get caught … he was unable to express what he really felt. Arnie’s sort of ‘soft centre, hard exterior’, you know?”

  “Sounds like you got on with him.”

  “I did. I’d go back. I feel I’ll have to, after … if there is an after. To tie things up.”

  “There’s always an after in my experience.”

  “As a professional, do you get gut feelings about things? Can you guess how cases’ll turn out?”

  “Not always. The ending can come as a shock. But more commonly, you’ve evaluated the odds and are going for the best result within them.”

  I suspected she’d already evaluated Cliff’s odds. Was she going to recommend he plead guilty? I shuddered. There was no mitigation for child killers—they went down for life. I tried to straighten the thoughts in my head, but before I could ask her about this, she began to talk.

  “It’s the nasty shocks that stay in the memory. I’m in a hard-nosed profession, but I don’t mind admitting things sometimes get to me. I was remembering a case I had in Aberdeen. The victim, the way she’d been treated … well, she would never bear children, let’s put it that way.”

  I blanched. “And you prosecuted this man?”

  “Yup.” Linnet gulped at her wine, as if all the shock endings had choked up inside her over the years.

  “Successfully?”

  “He got the result he deserved. His victim watched justice being done. But these beasts—monsters—they leave scars that are impossible to recover from, ones not on the body. Flashbacks, constant apprehension. But this victim had physical repercussions.”

  “You couldn’t do anything to help her.”

  She shook her head, fast, once and looked across the room, studying the décor.

  The image wouldn’t leave my mind, either. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever have children, but I’d hate to know I never could.”

  “Have that ripped away from you.” She took a fast swallow of Shiraz and laughed suddenly. “Make you want a child all the more, probably.”

  “Is that what happened? To that man’s victim?”

  “No idea. I left Aberdeen after a line of gruesome cases in a row. I fancied a change. Thought about my roots. Sent out a few feelers and came up with Hughes and Heaven.”

  Whatever she thought about her strong constitution, the wine was getting to her. Her lips were pale, almost white, and her mouth was beginning to move involuntarily, the stage before you start to slur your words.

  “It’s our gain.”

  “Actually, Sabbie, take a tip from me: never try to find your past. Worst thing you can do.”

  “All I know is that you’re working hard to do your best for Cliff.”

  She grinned, emptied the bottle into our glasses, and raised it in the air, without turning round. In seconds, the dishy barman had left a replacement on the table.

  “Whoa, I’m driving!”

  “I tend to take a taxi. Drop you off, if you like?”

  “Better not. I’ve got an early start, don’t want to overdo it.”

  “How nauseatingly dull you are.” For a moment, I thought she was being bitchy, but then she flicked on a grin that gave me a momentary glimpse of the person underneath the proficient façade. “We’ve done nothing but talk about me. What about you? We’ve probably got a lot in common.”

  “I dunno. I was a bit of a late starter. I bet you were fed through some posh school and straight into university. Hot house and all that?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t worry. I took a well-earned gap year.”

  “Blimey, I don’t blame you!”

  “And it turned into three years. South America. It’s an amazing place. Very cheap. Very cheerful, in an odd sort of way. You can get lost in it. I liked it, anyway. I didn’t get back until I was twenty-one.”

  “So you were a mature student, like me?”

  “I believe it only benefits a person. There’s more to life than being force-fed qualifications.”

  “How true. Well, I should know, took me ages to get going.”

  “What? You’re a mere kitten. Loads of time left for you to carve out a career and have babies.”

  “I did say I wasn’t sure yet about babies. My sister’s got two, so I make do with them.”

  “And me, two nephews. I adore them.”

  “Hers are a boy and girl. They’re pickles, but I only see them in small doses.”

  “I’m the same,” said Linnet. “I love their company, even when it’s exhausting—kids are like grownups but without the veneer of polite society, don’t you think? All you want to do is make them happy, but it’s never that easy.” She looked down at her hands, turning her silvery ring. “Anyway, it’s too late for me to have babies of my own. I’m off the chart.”

  “Nowadays, there isn’t a chart, is there?”

  She straightened her back. “Okay. You can see into the future?”

  “Actually, shamans tend to see into the past—”

  “Past, future, what the heck. Tell me what you see about mine.”

  “I couldn’t.” I shook my head, laughing. “Not unless I began working with you.”

  “Couldn’t? Or won’t? You never get a sudden glimpse?”

  “Not often.”

  “I don’t understand how it works. Does it happen when you’re just sitting with someone, or brushing past them in the street?”

  “Actually, it’s quite random. And it’s all mixed up with what I learnt about psychology at Uni—body language, that sort of thing.”

  “I think I see.” She leaned back in her chair. “Go on, tell me what’s coming off me at this very minute.”

  What I was getting was that hotshot Linnet was already fairly pissed, but I kept
that to myself because I was beginning to covet the feeling. I hadn’t got drunk on a girlie night out, where you giggle over nothing and talk about men’s dangly bits, for a long time. “The vibes are rising …” I twitched my fingers like a sham medium. “The vibes are saying … that the ring on your right hand means a lot to you.”

  Her reaction was instant. She wrapped her left hand around the ring. She was clutching the finger so tightly that, even in the low pub lighting, I could see the tip of it turn red then blue. “You’re right.” Her mouth gave a tight smile. “Go on. Tell me more.”

  I leaned right over the table. “You have a past lover. You came back to find him. That’s why you left Aberdeen.”

  A laugh hiccupped from inside her. Then another. She was dissolving in giggles. “And have I found him? Or maybe her?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  Linnet covered her face with her hands until the laughter subsided. She wiped her eyes with her fists. “That was a guess—right?”

  “Yeah. Well, it gave you a laugh. You don’t look as if you get enough of those.” I raised my glass to her. “Oh hang it. How about I take you up on that offer of a taxi. I can jog back in the morning to get my car. It’ll do me good.”

  Linnet pulled her mobile out of her bag and switched it off, signifying that her business day was at an end. “Great,” she said. “Let’s get down to some serious drinking.”

  EIGHTEEN

  I woke up on Thursday morning in exactly the state I deserved. I lay on my back for a minute, remembering the night before. We’d both got slaughtered, Linnet and me. That woman had a committed attitude to partying. We’d stayed at the Admiral, as they do nice food, and Linnet said the tax man would foot our bill. We shifted closer to the big screen to watch a game. Linnet had got keen on footie while in Aberdeen. I don’t know my off-side from my off-centre, but by the end of the evening I was yelling and singing along with everyone else—I was pretty good friends with Shiraz, too, although right now, with the strange way the ceiling was behaving, the idea of taking even one sip of its rich redness made me feel like puking. I rolled out of bed and stared at the carpet instead of the ceiling.