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

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  Again, Stark snorted in disgust. “Well, as I said, I had better get back to the search. We’ve got to turn up something.”

  “I want you to leave early enough to search our records about Hardwick’s sister. Even if written off as a runaway, the newspaper clipping indicates we should have some record of it.”

  “I’ll let the patrol sergeant know, then I’ll…” He paused as he thought about Ravyn’s use of the word ‘record.’ The case was old and cold, and likely deemed unimportant. It would certainly have escaped being digitized. He thought of dust and the smell of mould. “Yes, sir, I’ll do that as soon as I get back.”

  “I also want backgrounds on Treadwell, Hardwick, Pym, Teype and Zoriah Stoneman,” Ravyn said.

  Stark blinked in surprise. “The old nutter you talked about? Why him?”

  “When the son took control of his affairs, he kept the old man out of the woods,” Ravyn said. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that in a village like Midriven, where the past is right on your doorstep, that any man, even one thought of as pixilated, would so casually enter a stand of woods that everyone else avoids like a plague?”

  “I suppose so, sir,” Stark said. “Still, there’s no telling what a daft charlie will do.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet he knows his way around those woods like nobody’s business.”

  “His father as well,” Ravyn said, speaking slowly, thoughtfully. “And maybe the son who took over the family business.”

  “Check on them as well?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Ravyn said. “Should you find connections of any sort during the background searches, follow them. In a place like Midriven, there are bound to be ties of all sorts, links between people and events that we, as outsiders, cannot begin to imagine.” He paused. “And it’s sure to extend back over time as well.”

  “You’re thinking of other cases?” Stark asked. “Not just that sister of Hardwick’s?”

  “Yes, the other vanished girls, dismissed as runaways, even by villagers, but were they?” Ravyn’s tone took on a musing quality. “If runaways, no one cared; if a victim of the Beast, no one dare ask. Just often enough to be explained away, but occurring over such a period of time as to eliminate a human hand, enforcing, locally at least, the reality of the Beast. Is there a hidden pattern?” Ravyn paused, eyes half-lidded, and Stark tried to imagine the tremendous amount of information passing through his mind. “Look at them all, Stark, but skip cases where a missing girl turned up arrested, dead or married in another town. If never resolved, run it down, even if everything about the case screams runaway. And pay attention to dates and intervals.”

  Stark smirked, despite his best efforts. “Shall I chart the rising of the moon and its phases, sir?”

  “No, that will not be necessary,” Ravyn replied. If he detected a trace of mockery in Stark’s tone, he gave no indication. “I shall handle that on my own.”

  “Yes, sir.” Stark imagined Ravyn recalling some almanac or an ephemeris he had perused as a lad. “I’m sure you will.”

  “Make sure you include Dolores Cooper in your search.”

  “Sir?”

  “The ACC’s missing friend.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”

  “And, Stark, as much as you can, keep this to yourself.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant searched for some trace of suspicion, but found only Ravyn’s usual mild expression, the same face he turned toward friends, villains or traitors. “I’m not one for chatting about cases with others, you know that. I’m still the interloper, and likely always will be. That’s the Hammershire way, isn’t it?”

  Ravyn nodded, but his attention had already shifted back to the immensity of the woods, as if in its depths he might find an answer to the fate of two girls. Stark fought the urge to unburden himself to Ravyn, to confess the secrets he had lied to conceal, to reveal the pressure Heln was putting on him. This latest contact between Heln and Aeronwy had him on edge. He wanted nothing to do with Heln, his enigmatic vendetta against Ravyn, or his Byzantine intrigues in the Hammershire Constabulary, but he had to think first of himself and his family. He felt sick.

  Ravyn’s mobile chimed and Stark breathed.

  “Ravyn.” The chief inspector listened a moment, then broke in urgently: “Do not do anything to her! Nothing! Do you understand? Yes, that will be all right, but nothing else, absolutely nothing else. I’ll be there soon as I can. Yes, thank you.”

  Stark ran after Ravyn. “What is it, sir?”

  “Give me the keys!”

  Stark tossed them over. “What’s happened?”

  “Call SOCO and Dr Penworthy, tell them to get to the Tucker Farm off Old Pike Road.” Ravyn jammed the accelerator, throwing Stark back. “Lisa Martin has been found. She’s alive!”

  Chapter 8

  Found Girl

  The candle moved slowly back and forth, mere inches from Lisa Martin’s face. Her eyes did not follow the flame. Her pupils did not contract from the brightness. Her shallow breaths did not cause the fire to waver at all.

  “Deeply in shock,” Dr Penworthy said, her voice no more than a whisper. “Profound catatonic stupor brought on by trauma.”

  “What kind of trauma?” Ravyn asked.

  Penworthy shook her head. “She has had a rough time, various lacerations and scrapes, as well as contusions.” She pointed to dark skin at the wrists. “Consistent with restraints, probably ropes. It all points to imprisonment, perhaps some physical abuse, finger marks on her arms where she was grabbed hard, and probably injuries sustained during her escape. None of that, however, would necessarily induce such shock. The body is resilient, so is the mind, but this girl has suffered much more than simple mistreatment.”

  “Has she…” Ravyn paused. “Has she been interfered with?”

  Penworthy forced a grim smile. “How delightfully Nineteenth Century of you, Arthur. As far as I can tell, she has not been sexually assaulted. A thorough exam will be performed and samples taken when she is admitted to hospital.” She sighed. “I’ve done what I can. She’s in no immediate danger and is fit for transport.”

  “Is she aware of us?” Ravyn asked. “Know where she is?”

  The pathologist shook her head. “Doubtful, on both counts. If she has any awareness of us at all, it may be as shadows in the corner of her mind in which she has taken refuge. I would say very little of the real world is penetrating her stupor.”

  “Can it be penetrated?”

  “A intra-muscular injection of lorazepam might bring partial awareness in a few hours, or not,” Penworthy said, putting away her instruments. “The same might hold true for zolpidem, but neither drug comes with any guarantee.”

  “Are there other drugs?” Ravyn asked.

  “A few, but they merely attack outward symptoms,” Penworthy said. “If she is to have any hope of recovering to any degree, the underlying causes of her condition must be addressed.”

  “Making her relive the events of her abduction?”

  “Probably not,” Penworthy said. “Memories of the trauma may be forever out of reach, a blank spot in her mind, or they may come back when her mind figures out how to reintegrate them without any further damage to her psyche.”

  “But she will eventually come out of this state?”

  “Some do, others don’t.” She snapped her bag shut. “I’m very much out of my field, Arthur. My realm is the physical body, and deceased ones at that. You’d best save your questions for whomever is given her case after she is admitted.”

  Ravyn nodded, but his attention was on the young blonde girl seated on the stiff wooden chair, a plaid blanket draped over her shoulders. Outwardly, she resembled the photo he had seen, but the spark of life was missing. The eyes were dull, the face slack.

  “Are you finished, Doctor?’ asked Angus Powell-Mavins.

  Penworthy nodded to the SOCO. “I’ve done my best to leave things as they are for you.”

  “I appreciate that, Doctor.”

  “Be
gentle, Angus,” Ravyn said.

  “Aye,” the Scene of Crime Officer said with a curt nod. “As tender I would be with a wee bairn.”

  Scrapings were taken from under the girl’s fingernails and a fine comb pulled debris onto paper held by a technician. Everything was sealed into plastic bags. A small, almost noiseless hand-vacuum took up everything adhering to clothes and skin. The technician folded the plaid blanket and sealed it inside a large evidence bag.

  “You ride with her to the hospital,” Powel-Mavins told his aid. “Bag her clothes when they get them off her and bring them in.”

  “Right, guv,” the young forensics tech said. She gestured to the two ambulance men by the door. “All right, lads, let’s go.”

  Lisa did not struggle when the two men guided her to a gurney and strapped her in place. She lay on her back, hands at her side, eyes unblinking. They carried her out.

  “Angus, when you…” Ravyn started to say.

  “Aye, get this report to you before it’s humanly possible to do so,” the Scotsman said. “I’ll put it at the top of my priorities, along with everything else.” Uttering a growl, he followed the others out.

  Ravyn turned to a constable. “PC Withers, you know where the girl lives, don’t you? Oak Cottage in Autumn Lane?”

  “Yes, sir.” she replied.

  “Go there and tell the mother what has happened,” Ravyn said. “Provide transportation to the hospital for Helspeth Martin, and her alone. A guard will be there, but remain in the room at all times when they are together. Ensure you have a notebook and pencil to take down anything said, by either of them. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “On your way then.”

  She started to leave, then turned back. “I believe there is a step-father or boyfriend of the mother’s in the picture. What if…”

  “As I said, only the mother.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Ravyn motioned to Stark.

  “Sir?”

  “Arrange for a guard on the girl,” Ravyn said. “I want him in place before she’s out of the ambulance. He’s to stay with her at all times, even when she’s being treated.”

  “Staff will bristle at that.”

  “Should they have complaints, they know where to file them,” Ravyn said. “Once she is in a room, he is to allow in only medical personnel, the mother and PC Withers, and us. He is to require identification from everyone who enters.”

  “You think she will be in danger?” Stark asked. “In Stafford?”

  “She somehow escaped captivity, but I rather doubt it was because she killed her captor,” Ravyn said. “He’s still out there.”

  Stark nodded.

  “Were I responsible for her abduction,” Ravyn continued, “I would not rely on catatonia for her silence. I would seek a more permanent solution. And I would not wait long.”

  “I agree with your caution, sir, but our perpetrator doesn’t stand a chance in hell of getting to her,” Stark said. “Visitors have to sign in, and anyone not hospital staff would be noticed right away. If he tries anything, we’ll put the arm on him immediately.”

  “I don’t think so, Stark,” Ravyn said. “People have an appalling ability to rationalize. Surely you’ve seen how people spring forward to explain away even the most egregious actions.”

  As always, the guv’nor had a point. As usual, Stark was loath to concede it. Many times he had lambasted celebrities or villains for illicit behaviour, only to have Aeronwy remind him that they ‘must have had a reason.’ Not long ago, he had read of a terrorist attack in London, a knife-wielding fanatic who cut off a soldier’s head. Some pundits had the temerity to dismiss the incident as ‘evidence of cultural misunderstanding.’ And the sheep nodded. He could all too easily imagine someone wearing a hospital uniform entering her room and plunging a needle into her IV line, with no one suspecting anything untoward.

  “After you take care of security, join me,” Ravyn said. “I want to question Tucker again.”

  “You think he knows more than he’s telling?”

  Ravyn smiled. “I think he knows more than he remembers.”

  Adam Tucker sat stiffly in a parlour that did not match the life of a rugged bachelor farmer. The room was soft, subdued, feminine, in direct contrast with a man whose face was as craggy, his skin as brown as the soil he tilled. His eyes and hair had been bleached by decades of toiling beneath the harsh sky. Nothing in the room was less than fifty years old and most furnishings were much older. He stood when Ravyn entered.

  “Please be seated, Mr Tucker,” Ravyn said. “Make yourself comfortable. I just want to ask you a few more questions.”

  Tucker sat on the edge of a chair, back straight, bloodless hands clasped tightly in his lap.

  “But you’re not comfortable here, are you?” Ravyn asked.

  “No, sir, not much,” the farmer admitted. “It was my mother’s room, and her mother’s before her, and Gran’s before that. They had their friends here, in for tea and the like. I don’t use it myself, but I thought… Well, you know, the police…”

  “No kitchen table for coppers,” Ravyn suggested.

  “Didn’t seem right,” Tucker agreed. “Not respectful.”

  Ravyn touched a side table’s polished surface.

  “I keep it clean as best I can” Tucker said. “Out of respect.”

  “You’ve no char to do for you?”

  Tucker uttered a harsh laugh. “Who’d want to come this far out of the village? The only help I get out here is Barrington, worthless git though he is.” He laughed again, but this time it was tinged with melancholy. “Only the simplest tasks for him, but he’s good for sharing a bottle.” He paused. “Ain’t right to drink alone.”

  “Let’s go outside,” Ravyn said. “I need to ask you about how Lisa came to you, and also about some other things.”

  When they exited the parlour, Ravyn heard the farmer utter a soft, almost inaudible sigh. He quietly shut the door.

  “I’ve read DS Stark’s notes about how you found Lisa Martin,” Ravyn said. “Can you take me to the exact spot?”

  Tucker nodded and motioned for the chief inspector to follow. They headed toward where the Old Pike passed between Robbers Wood and Tucker’s freehold. Now that Tucker was in his preferred element, tension vanished from his body. Ravyn was slightly shorter than the lanky farmer but he had no trouble matching the man’s easy, unhurried stride.

  Footfalls pounded behind them as Stark caught up.

  “Everything set?” Ravyn asked.

  “Done, sir,” he reported.

  Ravyn caught a note of hesitation. “But?”

  “But I was shunted to Superintendent Heln for approval,” Stark said. “He agreed. A constable will be there.”

  Ravyn shot Stark a penetrating look.

  Only after his call had been redirected did Stark realise Heln had expected such a call, had left orders that any call from Detective Sergeant Stark be transferred to him. Had Stark reached a decision yet? The window of opportunity was nearly closed. Any man should desire promotion, but especially one with a young wife, and a baby on the way. Stark had had no chance to accomplish the task Ravyn had set for him before Heln started in, and he nearly went to pieces when Heln voiced his last comment. Stark did not know how he had reined in a furious reply but was glad he had. No, he had not yet decided; yes, he understood time was against him; and after a long silence he asked the question Ravyn had given him.

  “He agreed, but he did question the allocation of manpower,” Stark said. “Can we leave it at that?”

  “Of course.”

  The farmhouse and outlying buildings vanished behind them. Ravyn and Tucker seemed at ease surrounded by tilled and fallow fields, by the empty expanse of the sky above, but Stark battled a sense of apprehension. He missed narrow streets and tall buildings, the knowledge he was surrounded by thousands of his own kind. Here, he felt they might be the last men on Earth and that some ravening creature
might await them over the next rise.

  Christ! he thought. No wonder the bumpkins believe in that damn Beast, generation after bloody generation.

  Once over the rise, they saw a fence line, the cracked remains of a little used roadway and the black, brooding woods stretching to both sides.

  “Is this where Barrington mended the fence?” Ravyn asked.

  “Aye.” Tucker pointed at a stretch where the railings did not match each other. “Simple enough, but Barrington made a dog’s dinner of it, didn’t he.”

  “He heard the Beast,” Stark said. “He got shook.”

  Tucker snorted. “Wanted a drink, you mean. But, as reasons go, that’s not the worst I’ve heard.”

  “You don’t believe in the Beast, Mr Tucker?” Stark asked.

  “Don’t know I would say that exactly.” Tucker looked toward the woods for a long moment “Still, there are enough wild creatures and wilder men without adding in a beastie what no one has really seen, don’t you think?”

  Ravyn gave the mended fence a cursory glance, then inspected the pieces of railing set aside. Mud from a booted foot was clear on the wood. He looked across the sere and lonely land, towards where sky and ground collided. He saw tiny buildings set among fields, bracken, reeds and islands of thrusting stone.

  “Your nearest neighbour…”

  “Linder’s farm,” Tucker said. “Two miles, bit more maybe. His grand-father’s father was a Scouser. Linder’s a strapper…” He glanced at Stark. “…but still a decent sort—knows his place and keeps it.”

  Only in Hammershire, Stark thought. Four generations out of Liverpool and poor old Linder is still a newcomer.

  “Lonely country,” Ravyn said.

  “Aye.”

  “A solitary man travelling by night might make good time and easily not be seen,” Ravyn said.

  “Sure,” Tucker said. “Keeps to hard ground, away from mire, aye. No one to see him, no one to help him, not after God takes the sun from the sky. Not when darkness falls and evil is exalted.”