Beast of Robbers Wood (DCI Arthur Ravyn Mystery Book 3)

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  “Midriven?” Stark said, shrugging on his coat. “That’s on the Orm, isn’t it? What going on down there?”

  “Schoolgirl missing.”

  “Really, Arthur,” the woman standing beside him said. She was thin and silver-haired. The harshness of her hatchet-sharp features was mellowed only by ice-blue eyes that were almost luminous. “When you concentrate on anything, your manners always seem to go out the window.”

  At the word window, Stark’s head jerked up. Calm down, he told himself. Don’t let yourself get rattled.

  “Yes, of course” Ravyn said. In contrast to Stark, Ravyn’s bespoke suit could have been in the tailor’s shop that morning. “May I introduce Detective Sergeant Stark, our Met transfer. Stark, this is Assistant Chief Constable Karen Ramsey.”

  “So pleased to finally put a face with the name.” Her hand was dry as old parchment but her grip was stronger than his. “I get so caught up in administrative duties these days, I don’t often have a chance to interact with the people upon whom we rely so much.”

  “A pleasure, ma’am,” Stark said.

  “Yearning for the Smoke yet?” she asked.

  “Not as much as I thought I might, ma’am,” Stark replied. “I’m finding it…well, I can’t quite say ‘relaxing,’ but a change of pace.”

  “You’re married, aren’t you?”

  Stark’s jaw tightened. “Yes, ma’am, seven years now. I think Aeronwy is settling in nicely.”

  “That’s a Welsh name, is it not?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Stark said. “We’re expecting a child in a few months.” He cursed his nervousness. “Our first.”

  “Congratulations!”

  Ravyn cleared his throat, softly.

  “Yes, well, it has been nice chatting with you, Sergeant Stark, but duty calls,” ACC Ramsey said. “Truth to tell, I wish it were me going to Midriven rather than you, but administration creates chains no hammer can break. Mark well what this man says and does; you can learn volumes from the chief inspector.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s one lesson I have learned already.”

  Ravyn tossed Stark the car keys. “Good day, ma’am.”

  “You’ll let me know what happens in Midriven?”

  “Yes, through Superintendent Heln, of course,” Ravyn said.

  “Yes,” Ramsey said after a moment. “Of course.”

  “Have you ever tried the food at the Hook and Eel?” Ravyn asked. “It’s not at all fancy, but I like it. I sometimes have fish and chips there in the evening, usually around half nine.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” she said.

  “Few have,” Ravyn said. “It’s off Scale Alley. You should give it a try sometime. It’s just the place to go if you don’t want to run into people you see every day.”

  “A chance to get away from the grind?”

  “Exactly.” Ravyn glanced toward Stark. “Let’s go.”

  As Ravyn moved off to the car park, Ramsey touched Stark’s arm. “Should you have any problems, I have an open-door policy.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Stark said, moving to catch up. “I’ll keep that in mind. It was nice meeting you.”

  Ravyn was already in passenger seat, partially reclined, when Stark climbed in. He started the engine, buckled his harness, and glanced at the cardboard-backed county map he had tucked between the seats months ago.

  “It’s hard to get lost in Hammershire,” Ravyn said. “At least on the marked roads. And Midriven is on the Orm.”

  Stark nodded, otherwise ignoring Ravyn. He pulled out of the car park and turned toward the winding river road. He had made a point of learning the names of all the villages and the routes to them from Stafford, but he liked to confirm that the map matched his memory. Unlike the guv’nor, Stark thought, he was merely mortal.

  “The girl who’s missing, sir…”

  “Lisa Martin, a student at Midriven Comprehensive,” Ravyn said. “Her mother, Helspeth Martin, reported her missing when she did not come home after school.”

  “Rather hot on the trigger, isn’t she, sir?” Stark said. “Maybe she’s just out having jollies with her mates.”

  “PC Vainglory, the resident constable, agrees with you,” Ravyn said. “However, at the urging of the mother, he checked with the school, rode his bicycle along the route she said Lisa was supposed to walk, and checked with a few of her mates. He also made the rounds of all the places a young girl might spend time. Then he called the station, reluctantly, and filed a child-in-danger report.”

  “And it got routed to you?”

  “No, that was ACC Ramsey’s doing,” Ravyn explained. “She was in communications at the time and asked me to handle it.”

  Stark frowned. It was the ACC’s prerogative to take a hand in special cases, but Heln might still assume Ravyn had gone over him. Besides, Stark thought, it was hardly a special case. Some bird was off with her mates, or snogging; at worst she had scarpered off to a place with brighter lights and streets that did not roll up at dusk.

  “I think she might be a runaway,” Stark said. “Some kids can’t wait to escape village life, and a few don’t wait.”

  Ravyn nodded. “She would not be the first in Midriven. It’s PC Vainglory’s considered opinion she is a runaway. Evidently, she has a reputation for being ‘fast,’ whatever that means these days, but not to hear the mother. He might not have called, or at least not for a day, if the mum had not got up his nose. If she is not actually out with her mates, as you suggest, I hope she is only a runaway.”

  “What makes it special to ACC Ramsey?”

  “A personal connection,” Ravyn said. “She was born there. A friend of hers also vanished when they were about Lisa’s age. The police and all the villagers said she ran away. Karen never believed a word of it. When the call came in, it opened the old wound.”

  So, she had to go and rub salt in it herself, Stark thought, but said: “I can see why she’s concerned, but sending us…”

  “She will document her intrusion, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ravyn said. “Heln won’t like it, but he’ll have to take it. But it will mean he’ll insist all the more that we adhere to the chain of command and submit reports until the case is wrapped up, one way or another. You know how he is.”

  “No, sir, not really,” Stark lied, then wished he had kept his mouth shut. Ravyn’s comment was metaphorical, not interrogatory, he hoped “I suppose he has to stay on the right side of her.”

  Ravyn uttered a rare chuckle. “Everyone tries to stay in the good graces of the Assistant Chief Constable, and that includes the Chief Constable himself.”

  “I’m surprised, sir,” Stark said. “She really didn’t strike me as being a right old dragon.”

  Ravyn shot Stark a sharp, silencing glance. “Karen Ramsey can be a good friend or an implacable foe, but she is not a dragon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Stark said. “I meant no offence. It’s just that…” He paused. “Never mind, sir, I suppose I should stop before I shove my other foot down my throat.”

  “It happens often,” Ravyn said. “You claimed your marriage is on an even keel now. Are you distracted by something else? Your private life is your own, but if you cannot concentrate I need to know about it or you need to take care of it.”

  “Nothing in particular, sir.” He felt Ravyn staring at him. “I’ll handle it myself. It’s complicated.”

  “I’m sure it seems that way,” Ravyn said. “Keep in mind that you are not alone. As you know, I am not overly sympathetic…”

  “I have noticed that, sir.”

  “…but I am a good listener and I have passed through the fire many times,” Ravyn continued. “Also, Dr Penworthy would help you if asked, and ACC Ramsey has an open-door policy.”

  “Yes, sir, she told me.”

  Ravyn’s eyebrows arched in mild surprise. “Both of them will keep anything you say confidential and you may gain insights you might not come up with on your own.”

  “I
appreciate your concern, sir, but I have to handle this on my own,” Stark said. “It’s not really my way to ask for help.”

  “Even a lone wolf occasionally needs a pack.”

  “Sir, what the ACC said about going on the call, did she really mean it?” Stark was uncomfortable being in Ravyn’s crosshairs. “Was it because of what happened to her mate years ago? I mean, it seems out of character, her being high in the administration.”

  Ravyn wished Stark would say what was troubling him. He had his suspicions, both about why Stark was so distracted of late and why he was lying so often, but the sergeant had to take the first step himself. He would have to do so soon, Ravyn thought, else a supplementary evaluation would be issued, something he was loath to do since Stark was unlearning many of the bad habits instilled by the Met and performing splendidly otherwise.

  “You don’t know much about ACC Ramsey, do you, Stark?”

  Stark shook his head. “Getting to know the brass is never high on my to-do list, sir. It’s my experience that getting noticed is often not a good thing. Better to keep one’s head down.”

  “ACC Ramsey used to be PC Ramsey, Traffic Division.”

  Stark uttered a little snort that could have been interpreted as derisive. “Fast-tracked, I suppose? Because she’s a woman?”

  “No, she performed well during an investigation, so much so she was promoted to detective constable,” Ravyn said. “Her work led to the capture of a particularly nasty child murderer.”

  “I suppose someone felt obligated to toss her a bone.”

  “She was recommended by the detective inspector in charge, eventually replacing the inspector’s sergeant,” Ravyn said. “It was quite an improvement, the sergeant being a ponce.”

  “That inspector, was he…” Stark let his words hang and smiled nervously.

  “Yes, it was I,” Ravyn said. “Back then, women were groomed for high positions, qualified or not. I think it is to her credit she declined such disrespectful treatment.”

  Stark thought of his own fast-tracking into the Met CID and felt a tinge of guilt. He had never asked for special treatment, but had not refused it when it came his way. After his fall from grace, he was relieved to discover the Masonic tradition was a thin thread in Hammershire, not likely to raise its head.

  “She would have attained her present position earlier had she taken the path of least resistance, but I don’t think she could have held onto it,” Ravyn said. “Rising through the ranks as she did, kicking and fighting—not to mention surviving me—gave her an edge she might not otherwise have. As with any keenly honed blade, the unwary or the foolish run a chance of being cut.”

  Stark focused on the afternoon traffic. It seemed everything asked or explained somehow led him to an uncomfortable place, and he did not think he was being overly sensitive.

  Except for a stay in Wales, resulting in marriage for him and escape for Aeronwy, his landscapes had been London’s streets. He saw the sweep of the River Orm most of their journey, a sinuous ribbon mirroring the sky, and when he could not, they were in the embrace of one wooded tract or another. They passed through village after village, some on the river, others on the edges of forests; some home only to a few souls, others to a couple thousand. At one time Stark would have thought the villages quaint, but now he viewed them as he would a bandage over a festering wound.

  “It will be getting on to dark before we make any headway with witness statements,” Stark said. “Late to the game, sir.”

  “Three cars were dispatched to Midriven from Deeping Well,” Ravyn said. “Vainglory was told to use them and any volunteers he could trust to begin a search. I hope he does not make a dog’s dinner of it. We’ll check on him first.”

  “If I recall, Midriven is not that big, maybe a couple thousand people,” Stark said. “Shouldn’t be hard to sweep it.”

  “The village itself, no,” Ravyn said. “But there are outlying farms, some desolate areas, and, of course, Robbers Wood.”

  “Of course.” Stark wished he could recall the map more clearly. “It covers a large area, does it?”

  “Extensive,” Ravyn said. “Largely unexplored. Most steer clear of the woods. I hope the search will not lead us to Robbers Wood. It is ancient in the extreme, and also quite dangerous.”

  Stark waited for what he knew was coming.

  “There are three legends connected to the woods,” Ravyn said.

  Stark neither rolled his eyes nor sighed, with effort.

  “The first pertains to highwayman Ned Bly, a terror to the area till he got his neck stretched in 1837,” Ravyn said. “Older villagers hold that his ghost often comes out of Robbers Wood and rides on Flintlock Lane, taking the heads of travellers. The second tells of a sacrificial stone deep in the forest upon which maidens were offered to dark gods. The stone was split by the sword of Sir Lamorak of the Round Table, but still contains a deadly danger. It’s from that action the village derives its name.”

  “I thought it came from being near the river,” Stark said. “From being at its midpoint or something like that.”

  “The word ‘riven’ is from Old Norse, ‘rifa’ or ‘rive,’ meaning a split or crack in a stone,” Ravyn said. “Sir Lamorak destroyed the stone, banishing the dark gods, so they say, but a curse remained.”

  Stark glanced at him doubtfully. “Old Norse? Like Vikings?”

  “When the Orm, Dresal and Warym were larger waterways, raids by dragon boats were common,” Ravyn said. “Before people started calling the tract Robbers Wood after Bly’s exploits, it was known as Freya’s Forest, another indication of Norse influence.”

  “You said three legends, sir?”

  “Yes, that third is about the Beast.”

  “The Beast? A…” He hesitated. “A monster?”

  “No one knows, though there are several ancient accounts.”

  Please, Stark thought. Please do not start reciting them.

  “It is the most ancient of the legends and the most persistent,” Ravyn said. “It resurfaces every time a farmer finds a slaughtered animal or someone goes missing.” He paused. “If we do not find Lisa Martin or prove she ran away, people will begin to talk about the Beast again. Then they will start to panic.”

  “But that’s all rubbish,” Stark said. “There’s no Beast hiding in the bloody forest.” He added: “Sir.”

  “I hope so, Stark.”

  Chapter 2

  Missing Girl

  PC Delbert Vainglory watched with suspicion and scorn as two detectives left their vehicle and approached him outside the Ned Bly Pub. He was the resident constable. Midriven was his responsibility, not theirs. Villagers trusted him, not outsiders. He had no use for interlopers, either detectives from Stafford or ponces from Deeping Well. Again, he cursed Helspeth Martin and her wild-way brat. As the two detectives from the Hammershire Constabulary neared, he forced a thin smile.

  “I’m DCI Ravyn.” He shook the man’s hand. “DS Stark.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Stark said, lowering his offered hand when it was declined.

  “Aye, I know who you are,” Vainglory said. “Saw you two years ago, maybe, when they made me go to Stafford for some rot.”

  “Three years this past June the nineteenth,” Ravyn said.

  Vainglory regarded Stark with a narrow gaze. “Don’t know you none, except that you’re a foreigner of course.”

  “I’m from London.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Tell me about your search efforts so far,” Ravyn said, his tone crisp. “Show us on a map.”

  “Now why would I carry a map of my own village?” Vainglory demanded. “I know this village like…”

  “Stark.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant turned and stalked back to where he had parked the car. He jammed the key into the lock, opened the boot, flipped through an expanding file till he found the correct map, then slammed the boot closed. “Here you are, sir.”

  “Thank you, Stark.” Ravyn
opened the official county map of Midriven and spread it flat on a table. He had seen it years ago, but it would be helpful to Stark, and also to Vainglory, despite his claim. “Now, show us where you’ve assigned officers and volunteers.”

  “Here’s the Comprehensive and here’s Autumn Lane where the Martin girl lives.” He jabbed both points with a blunt finger. “I told the officers to go door-to-door along the main road, especially in the council estate. Lots of yobs there. Likely as not she’s off with one of that lot, snogging or drinking or whatever.”

  “What about canvassing along the other streets?” Stark asked.

  Vainglory frowned. “What for?”

  “Where do you have the volunteers searching?” Ravyn asked.

  The constable sighed. “Once you sent those others down from Deeping Well I didn’t need no volunteers, did I? Not just to knock up those along the high street ‘tween school and home.”

  “What about along Flintlock Lane?” Ravyn asked.

  “Isn’t any need for that, is there?” He noted Ravyn’s expression and added: “Sir.”

  “Autumn crosses the main road, but begins on Flintlock.”

  “She don’t walk that way from school.” Vainglory looked from one detective to the other. “Least that’s what the mum said when she was caterwauling in my office.”

  Ravyn shook his head. “Your actions are insufficient.”

  “I did my best.”

  “Hardly,” Stark said.

  “From this point forward you are going to…”

  “Begging your pardon, sir.” Vainglory’s tone left no doubt he was not begging anyone for anything. “I know the girl in question. If she’s not run off to Stafford or beyond to become a tom, she’s in one of those council houses pleasuring some yob whose family has not been in Midriven five minutes. No better than her mum, she isn’t, her taking up with that Roger Pym, who, for all anyone knows, might be with mum and mare, if you know what I mean.”

  After a long moment, Ravyn said: “PC Vainglory, I want you to listen very carefully to what I am going to tell you.”