Even Pretty Things Rot: A dark, heart-pounding psychic thriller

by Farah Ali

  Henning stretched open Abigail’s eyelids and Jack winced at the ugly burgundy sockets.

  ‘You found her so you know she was full of soil. As before I have sent the soil and flowers to Raven’s Crossing for analysis. From what I can tell most of the flowers were the same, only a few differences. It suggests the killer is simply using what he has around him.’

  ‘Thanks for sending it, but I doubt we’ll find anything. He’s too clever.’

  Henning nodded and continued. ‘Her body was hollowed out in much the same way as the Hayle girl. No finesse, but sufficient for the killer’s purpose. But yes, he is clever. At least clever enough not to leave trace evidence.’

  An assistant pushing a gurney with a man on top so obese his flesh flopped over the edges crashed through the doors startling them both. Henning barked some orders and Jack watched the dead man disappear into the freezer.

  ‘My apologies. Now where was I? Ah, yes. The McNally girl also had three red rose petals tucked inside her labia.’

  Jack sucked in his breath.

  Henning shrugged. ‘In truth I cannot tell for certain whether she was a virgin. It was easy with the Hayle girl, her hymen was mostly intact. The McNally girl’s hymen is not intact. But not every female is born with one, many tear them as they grow up, through tampon use, sport and so on. Individual differences in human biology is a fascinating—’

  ‘I understand,’ interrupted Jack before the doctor got too distracted. ‘I asked her mother if Abigail was sexually active, she said no. But Abigail’s best friend said she lost her virginity four months ago at a party. Either way I don’t think the victim’s virginity is important to the killer.’

  Henning chuckled grimly. ‘Yes, it looks like that. I imagine it would have been incredibly difficult for him to determine that beforehand in any case. But no semen was found and like Bianca she was not sexually assaulted.’

  Jack opened an extra button on his shirt. ‘Two bodies and I’m not any closer to catching this guy. I can’t even be credited for finding the girls—that was all thanks to Lila.’

  ***

  They had been hiking for three-quarters of an hour. The sun was completely hidden by clouds yet the back of Jack’s shirt was soaked with sweat and his tongue felt rough and swollen. The water bottle had emptied a long time ago and thirst nagged away at him.

  Lila strode ahead and he stumbled behind her, doubts and worries scuttling their way across his brain like insects. His thoughts strayed back to Warren’s tale about the man who fell through the ground and died in a cave, his skeleton unfound in the dark. What would it be like to spend the night alone in the forest? He suppressed a shiver.

  Of course Jack wasn’t alone, and Lila, surprisingly at ease in the forest, would certainly get help before he died. But still. As he scanned the ground for anything suspicious Jack cursed Warren under his breath.

  The sound of running water made them both look up and Jack only just stopped himself from slamming into Lila’s rigid back.

  ‘Abigail’s down there,’ said Lila in a toneless voice.

  Jack followed the direction of her finger. The ground inclined sharply towards a trickling stream. They climbed down using the exposed roots and in single file walked towards a rocky outcrop. The water passed through a shallow semi-circle of rock and out the other side. A deep sigh escaped Lila and she hugged herself. Here was Abigail McNally violated by soil and flowers, a crown of daisies around her head. Jack stepped forwards and bent over her, his heart thudding dully in his chest.

  ‘I’m sorry, Abigail. Sorry I couldn’t save you.’

  He peered through the arch of rocks. Was the killer nearby? Jack thought they wouldn’t risk living too close, but neither would they want to be too far from their masterpiece. Carrying dead weight was difficult which confirmed his belief that the killer was a man. Someone who lived in town or someone who lived in the forest. Or both. Someone who lived in Deerleap, but who’d built another home in the forest where they could get their sick thrills in privacy. Jack bared his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t risk sending his small team to comb such wilderness and he didn’t have the manpower to monitor suspicious entry and departure from Deerleap into the sprawling forest.

  With sorrow he stared at the body at his feet. The breeze ruffled Abigail’s dark curls and the flowers shimmied obscenely. He glanced over his shoulder. Lila’s eyes were pinched shut. Jack left Abigail and stood next to her. He wanted to put his arms around her, to comfort her. Instead he wiped his face on his arm and checked the time on his watch.

  ‘We better head back. Do you know how to get out of here? We must be pretty deep inside the forest.’

  Lila nodded.

  ‘That’s a relief. Shame we can’t radio in our position, it would save time. Lila? Look at me.’

  Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The light brown was flecked with gold and Jack was struck by the fatigue he saw there. And the pain. Did Bianca and Abigail remind her of her own personal tragedy?

  ‘Thank you. For helping me find Abigail. And Bianca.’

  With a barely perceptible shrug, Lila turned away and listlessly climbed back up the slope. Jack watched for a moment, a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, before climbing after her and grazing both knees. Near the top, he grabbed Lila’s outstretched hand and pulled himself up. He smiled in thanks, but she avoided his eyes and as she bent down to tie her laces Jack made a silent promise to discover the truth about her family no matter what. He would do anything to ease the burden of pain from her shoulders. It was the least he could do.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bert cowered in the corner as the storm broke over his head.

  ‘I’m sorry, so sorry, please don’t be angry.’

  He’d dreaded coming home and spent most of the day at Happy Cones sweating under his uniform, giving out the wrong change and mixing up orders. Mrs Rogers, a normally calm, kind lady, had become so exasperated she’d yelled at him in front of a group of sniggering teenagers.

  At closing time a morose Bert swished the mop over the sticky patches on the floor and wondered whether it would be better to stay over at the tiny apartment he rented in the centre of town. He slept there occasionally, when Alma got sick of him or when he thought it necessary to avert suspicion from his odd routine.

  Of course nobody knew about the home Bert had built for Alma deep in the forest with a wall of trees and rock to protect them. The apartment was important to maintain a cover of normality and he got all his bills there, but the cabin was where they had lived together in bliss for the last five years. A house builder and carpenter in his previous life, Bert’s marital home was a labour of love and he was proud of it—he’d even constructed a water tank so they had indoor plumbing and a generator supplied them with electricity.

  Alma still complained, but the thought of living in Deerleap Hollow, or rather the thought of living amongst other people, horrified her so much she had to make do.

  But Bert knew he couldn’t avoid Alma forever and when Mrs Rogers asked whether he was hoping to mop his way to China, he reluctantly left, trudging back into the forest, quaking in his shoes with a newspaper tucked under his arm, his pink and white uniform damp and uncomfortable by the time he got home.

  Alma, resplendent in a gingham apron over a full cherry-print skirt, pecked him on the cheek and let him know they were having chicken pie for dinner.

  ‘Why, whatever’s the matter Bert? Are you ill? You’re such a sickly colour.’

  Her simpering smile mutated into a snarl when he showed her the front page of the Daily Hollow.

  And now here he was in the midst of a tempest, on the floor, his cheeks stinging as he faced the full force of his wife’s fiery wrath.

  She picked up a vase and threw it against the wall then yanked the curtains until they ripped off the rail.

  ‘It’s not fair, you promised me nobody would find her, you promised me!’ Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed. ‘All that hard work, ruined,
and to have both stolen from me like that! It’s not fair. This is all your fault.’ Alma pointed and he recoiled as if she’d struck him. ‘You said she was in a good spot, you said I’d be able to keep her, that’s what you said don’t deny it.’ She thumped her breast. ‘Now I wish I was the one who died in that fire, not Norma. You loved her first, after all. I bet you wish I had died.’

  Tears spurted from Bert’s eyes. ‘No, don’t say that, I’d be lost without you.’

  Alma clenched and unclenched her fists.

  ‘Please Alma love, please listen. It’s not my fault, dearest heart. I don’t understand how they found her. I still don’t understand how they found the last one and—‘

  ‘Shut up, just shut up!’

  She flew at him and Bert covered his head as the slaps rained down. When the blows stopped with a scream he peeped through his fingers. She was panting, hands on hips, her long brown wig askew, her good eye merciless and cold in her disfigured face. Love, desire and fright coiled around him.

  ‘Alma you need to keep calm, it’s not good for you.’ He’d hoped to placate her, but his words set her off again, her guttural voice rising into a grating shriek as her hands became claws.

  ‘Keep calm? Keep calm? How dare you? How dare you, Bert? I’m going to scratch you for that, scratch you deep.’

  She advanced so menacingly that Bert scrambled to his feet, his back flush against the wall. The last time she scratched him, he had dealt with seeping wounds and curious stares for two weeks afterwards. He’d told Mrs Rogers that a stray cat had done it.

  ‘A stray cat?’ Mrs Rogers eyed him dubiously. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a tiger? You’re going to scare the children. Oh well, just make sure your plasters don’t fall off into the ice cream.’

  Right now Alma reminded him of a spitting, hissing, feral cat. She launched at his face and he grabbed her wrists, her sharp nails an inch from his eyes.

  ‘Dammit Alma, listen will you? It’ll be okay, I’ll get you another one, I promise. And this time we won’t take her far away from the cabin, we’ll keep her close.’

  Alma pulled and twisted. He knew she would knee him in the groin if he didn’t subdue her soon. Still holding her wrists he pushed away from the wall and got behind her, restraining her. Her body trembled against his and he could almost smell her rage.

  ‘I thought it would be safer for us, but I was wrong.’ He exhaled. ‘And at least if we keep one in our own garden you can visit and tend to her whenever you want, even at night time.’

  Alma broke away and whirled around. He took a wary step back.

  ‘One in my garden?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Bert said eagerly.

  She paused, her small tongue darting in and out. ‘That would be better. Much better. I always thought it was silly to hide them so far away.’

  Bert breathed a sigh of relief. Then Alma wailed and stomped over to the crumpled newspaper and he tensed up again.

  ‘But how are you going to get me another one now? Look, look at this.’ She thrust a page into his face. ‘It says the police are warning all girls and women to be alert, not to go out alone, not to talk to strangers, to report anyone suspicious. The schools are telling everyone to pair up when they’re outside. We’ll never get another one. Never.’ She sniffed, wiping her running nose.

  ‘Oh, darling, stop crying, you’re breaking my heart.’ Hot tears ran down Bert’s cheeks. ‘I’ll do anything to make you happy. I’ve failed you, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

  Alma spread her hands. ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll find a way.’

  Alma shook her head in disgust and stood by the window clasping her elbows.

  ‘Oh God, those deer are here again.’ She stormed out, her arms pumping.

  Suppressing a sigh, Bert followed. It had been disappointing for him to learn that Alma didn’t want children, but it was probably for the best. If she couldn’t cope with misbehaving animals how would she deal with a crying baby?

  Alma had an inexplicable hatred for the deer in the forest. She said she hated the way they looked at her, their lack of fear and respect, the way they ate her flowers, the way they crept around the cabin. Bert wondered if the truth was that she hated their sleek, delicate beauty, but he would never dare to ask.

  Three does and two fawns nibbled at the vegetable patch Bert had created. One fawn looked their way, flicking its ears, before returning to its meal.

  ‘Shoo. Shoo. Shoo-shoo-shoo,’ Alma pelted them with stones.

  Startled, the speckled fawns backed away hiding behind their mothers. The does tensed, but stayed, chewing calmly, watching Alma’s progress towards them with human-like disapproval.

  Alma bent down and scooped another handful of gravel.

  ‘Get away you horrid creatures, get away. Shoo, SHOO!’

  Frightened, the fawns bleated. The mother’s flicked their ears, and then as one they turned and strolled into the trees. Bert wringed his hands. Although not native to Deerleap he had lived and worked there long enough for the Ayal lore to seep into his consciousness.

  Alma picked up a big stone and was about to lob it when Bert grabbed her arm.

  ‘Enough, Alma, they’re going now, see? No point in wasting energy.’

  She stomped her foot. ‘I hate them. Hate them. Why can’t you shoot them? You should shoot them. Or let me poison them like I want to.’ She smiled.

  Bert looked around him uneasily and lowered his voice. ‘You know I can’t do that. Because of the covenant. Nobody knows you’re here, but if they find dead deer then you can bet they’ll be onto us sooner than you can shake a twig. Deerleap practically worships the darn things.’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘Stop fretting about those stupid animals, they’re not important.’

  Alma scowled, wanting to retort, but her tantrum had exhausted her. She put a limp wrist to her forehead. ‘I need to lie down. I’m going to get a migraine, I just know it.’

  Bert’s face creased in concern. ‘Let’s go inside, I’ll bathe your forehead in cold water.’

  Bert took her arm and led her back into the cabin. She paused on the threshold, her one blue eye calculating.

  ‘You’ll get me another girl, I know it. But I want you to do something else for me.’

  ‘Anything, my love.’

  ‘I want you to find out who discovered my work.’ She glanced at the tightly packed trees surrounding them and bared her teeth. ‘I’m curious.’

  ‘I will, Alma.’ Tentatively Bert kissed her lips and his heart sang when she responded.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack slammed the door of his office and leaned against it swearing under his breath. He had just returned from the town hall after a meeting with the mayor and police chief. Patrick Blore, even more obnoxious than usual, had reamed him out for the lack of progress.

  ‘No arrests? No suspects?’ A forceful tug of his beard. ‘Arrest Devechi. So what? I don’t care if he has an alibi, people lie. Just arrest someone, for goodness sake.’

  Jack had glanced at the police chief during the blustering tirade. Angus, studiously avoiding his look, folded his arms and nodded along with Patrick—this more than anything else had raised Jack’s blood pressure.

  ‘They won’t commit any more resources, but expect me to magic a suspect out of thin air. Idiots. I told them we need to coordinate a search in the forest,’ he muttered to the empty room.

  But when he’d suggested it, Patrick had shouted him down, banging meaty fists on the gleaming walnut desk.

  ‘Impossible. You expect us to send people into that massive craziness of a forest without radios or compasses? It’s too dangerous. It consists of thousands and thousands of acres. Are you mad? We’ll end up having to send in people to rescue the people who went in first.’

  Angus agreed. ‘It won’t work. And you can’t even say for certain whether the killer lives in the forest.’ His brow furrowed. ‘To be honest, I’m still not clear how the McNally girl was found. I’m hearing worry
ing rumours that Lila Cassandra is helping you. Someone saw you go into the forest with her.’

  Patrick tugged at his tie until the knot unravelled. ‘Great. Just great. Our new Inspector is consulting psychics. Do you know how bad that looks? My phone has been ringing non-stop with people demanding we find the killer. What should I tell them? Not to worry ma’am, Inspector Montague and a brain-damaged girl with delusions of grandeur are on the case.’ He snorted. ‘Ridiculous.’

  Jack stepped forward, his ears ringing. He visualised grabbing Patrick by the back of his over-privileged head and smacking his face against the desk. He could almost hear the crunch of his broken nose.

  Angus, mindful of the sudden change in body language, put a restraining hand on his shoulder. Jack remembered where he was, who he was, and unclenched his fists.

  ‘I understand you’re under pressure, Mayor Blore. So are we. My team and I are working flat out to find this man.’

  Patrick sniffed and poured an inch of whiskey into a crystal glass. Dismissed, Angus followed Jack out of the gilded room.

  ‘If I hadn’t been there would you have hit him?’ Angus quirked an eyebrow as they stood by the elevator.

  Jack willed the dial to swing from the ground floor to level three. ‘No. I have more self-control than that.’ But he wondered if that was the truth. He could deal with personal insults, but the comment about Lila boiled his blood.

  ‘Good. Don’t take it personally. I’ve known Patrick all my life. He’s a decent man really. A little highly strung perhaps. I’m sure you’ll make an arrest soon and—’

  ‘Actually, I think I’ll take the stairs. Good for the heart.’ Jack stalked away, angry his chief hadn’t come to his defence.

  The ringing telephone interrupted his bitter thoughts. It was Maggie.