The Wilds

by Kit Tinsley

  Turning her attention back to the road in front of her she saw the fallen branch, but far too late to do anything about it. Her front wheel buckled with a crunch as it hit the branch at full speed. The back wheel came up behind her, and within a split second the bike and Linda were flying through the air. With a heavy thud, her body collided limply with the ground, amongst the long grass.

  Charles Altman hiked along the bank of the marsh like a man with a purpose. Flynn had let him know about the missing girl, and that she had last been seen at a campfire on the bank. Flynn had said that the girl’s boyfriend had reported her missing, and that idiot Pearce was holding him for questioning. Flynn didn’t like Pearce, and Altman had no better opinion of him. He had spent most of his career as a cryptozoologist being laughed at for his theories. He didn’t mind that, it was to be expected. Laughing at his theories was a lot less frightening than taking the seriously. So people not believing him was something he was used to, but what Altman hated more than anything was being taken for a fool. Pearce treated him like he was stupid; this was ridiculous. After all, in his life before he had been a well-respected vet, and vets are better trained than doctors. It was one thing to not believe him, but to question the validity of his methods was unforgivable in Altman’s eyes.

  Up ahead he saw the smoldering remains of a campfire. There was still a small amount of smoke rising from it, like a fine black mist. This must have been the spot. Hopefully the site was still fairly undisturbed. He knew for a fact that Pearce wouldn’t have had a thorough search done, but the area was popular with dog walkers. He had seen a few heading the other way along the bank earlier. He hoped that if they had been by this way they had kept their dogs away from any evidence which might remain.

  Altman got down on his knees at the side of the dying embers. He held his hand over the remains of the fire. There was still warmth, but not what you could really describe as heat. He kept in his crouched position and surveyed the area, not sure what he was looking for, but knowing he would recognise it when he saw it. Despite the recent rain ,the ground up on the bank was firm and dry, the beast would have left no impressions up there. Perhaps there were some further out on the marsh, after all the sea water that regularly came inland there would keep the earth moist. The only problem was it was a massive area, and Altman had no idea which direction the beast had come from or gone. His best hope for finding evidence was up on the bank.

  There was a blanket laid out on the ground not far from the remains of the fire. There, shining in the sun, was what he was looking for. He scurried over to it on his hands and knees, not wanting to stand up in case he lost sight of his goal. He reached the blanket and stretched out his hand. He grasped the golden strands of hair and lifted them up. He felt them between his fingers.

  Damn, it was nothing. The hair was too soft, fine and long to belong to any big cat he knew of. He put the hair to his nose and inhaled. The smell was sweet and fruity, this was not the hair of the beast he was hunting; this was the hair of the missing girl.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ demanded a voice from behind him.

  Altman jumped to his feet and spun around. From the force of the voice he had expected someone older than the young man stood before him. He looked no more than twenty, probably younger. He was tall, with a messy mop of dirty blonde hair.

  ‘Nothing, I was just...’ Altman couldn’t think of an explanation for his behaviour. The truth was more bizarre than any lie he could think of.

  ‘Are you with the police?’ The young man asked.

  ‘No,’ Altman said.

  ‘Then I think you should leave.’ The force was there in the young man’s voice once more.

  ‘And what’s it got to do with you, young man?’ Altman said, raising himself up to his full height, which was still a good six inches shorter than the young man.

  ‘Well, that’s my blanket, and my girlfriend’s hair you’re sniffing,’ the young man said taking a step closer to Altman.

  The boyfriend, of course.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Altman said. He lowered his gaze to the floor, not wanting to meet the young man’s stare. He looked at the boys trainers, and then noticed the small clump of hair just in front of his feet. Altman put his hand out with the palm facing the young man in a stop motion.

  ‘What the …’ the boy started to say.

  ‘Shh,’ Altman ordered. ‘Don’t move.’

  The older man bent down in front of the confused young man and picked up the hair. This felt more like it. It was much coarser than the girls hair, and only a few inches long. Its dark colour suggested it may be a panther he was searching for.

  ‘What’s that?’ The young man asked.

  ‘Maybe an answer, young man,’ Altman said with a wry smile. ‘Maybe an answer.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Linda woke up lying on her back in the long grass of the field. The bike had landed on top of her, and with what seemed like an unnatural amount of effort she pushed it off herself. Her head was throbbing and when she put her now free hand up to it she felt the sticky liquid on her face; she didn’t need to look to know it was blood. At first she couldn’t remember where she was, then it came back to her. There had been something stalking her, chasing her. She’d hit something in the road and had been thrown from her bike.

  The thing chasing her! Panic coursed through her body as she scanned the long grass around her looking for some sign of movement. Something caught her eye just off to the left. A slight movement and the sound of rustling. Instinctively Linda shuffled backwards, the sound of her movement attracted the things attention. She watched in terror as the grass began to move nearer to her.

  ‘Oh God! No. No. No,’ she cried out in despair, as the movement edged closer still.

  A hare popped out of the long grass and regarded Linda with a confused curiosity. Linda was in too much shock to even breathe for a moment. It was only when the animal in front of her twitched its nose that she knew how ridiculous her panic had been. A hare, running along at full speed, would surely have been able to keep up with her bike.

  ‘You scared the crap out of me,’ Linda said laughing, though panic had not really been the animals fault at all. She blamed Jason and that bloody fool Altman. They had big cats running around her head as freely as they had them running around the countryside. Relief washed over her, soothing her tense muscles. She wiped the blood from her forehead with her sleeve.

  The hare grew bored of her and hopped back into the long grass. Linda watched as it went away from her. The movement of the grass was exactly the same as what she had seen following her. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Joe’s face when she told him about this. Her husband would no doubt roar with laughter.

  She looked over at her bike. The front wheel was buckled terribly, there was no way she would be riding home on that. Oh well, it was only another two miles home; she could walk that in about forty minutes. She tried to get to her feet and felt a sharp pain shoot through her ankle. She toppled back to the floor.

  With all the excitement caused by the hare, she had not even noticed the dull throb in her ankle. It was only when she tried standing, and putting pressure on it, that the sprain became apparent. Perhaps she wouldn’t be walking home after all. Looking around she spotted her handbag lying a few feet beyond her wrecked bike. Her phone was in there. She would have to call Joe on his mobile, and get him to come and pick her up. She used her elbows, and her good foot to push herself towards the bag.

  She stopped dead. There was the rustling sound again. She glanced to her side and saw undeniable movement from the long grass. For a split second the panic returned full force, making her heart pound like it was knocking for freedom from her chest.

  Then it faded as she remembered her earlier stupidity, and the little hare that had frightened the life out of her. Linda propped herself up and looked to the movement.

  ‘You back again, Mr Hare?’ she said.

  Something small flew out
of the long grass, a brown ball spinning and spraying her with warm, sticky fluid. It was only after it hit her and rolled onto the floor that she saw the full horror. There on the ground at her knees was the head of the hare, its nose still twitching and helpless eyes pleading with her. The fluid it had sprayed her with was blood.

  Linda tried to scream, but was silenced by the thud of something else hitting her chest. The body of the poor animal. Linda backed away and despite the pain tried to rise to her feet once more. Her ankle felt like it was going to explode from the pressure, and gave up the challenge. Linda fell crumpled to the floor. Fortunately for her, she fell face down. She was spared seeing the thing that leapt from the long grass. She felt it’s great weight as it landed on her back, and felt its teeth tearing at the back of her neck. With a deafening crunch, its jaws broke her spinal column, and Linda felt nothing more. She just slowly drifted into eternal blackness.

  Karl had never been inside a police station before. For some reason, he had expected something grander, with more of a buzz of activity. It was the way the television and film had made him think they should look. What he was faced with, though, was a small waiting room, with chairs, a table, a vending machine and a few scattered magazines. Across the room was a large desk behind glass. It looked more like a post office or bank than he had pictured a police station.

  Jason led them up to the desk where a police man in his early fifties with a large grey mustache and a considerable beer belly waited. The look on his face suggested that he was not overly happy to see Jason.

  A door opened and a female police officer led a crying woman towards the front doors. Karl didn’t know the woman, but from the way Jason was watching them intently, it was clear the reporter knew her.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll turn up,’ the young constable said as he guided the woman along.

  ‘I just don’t understand it,’ the woman sobbed. ‘I saw him go into the shed, and he never came out.’

  Jason’s eyes widened at this. He turned to Karl and whispered.

  ‘I think we have another missing person,’ he said. ‘That’s Sue Sampson. Her and her husband Jerry own one of the farms out on Maltham Lane.’

  Karl wondered if Jason was talking about one of the men he had met earlier that day. If so he hoped it was the rude man with the dogs.

  ‘How can I help yo,u Mr Flynn?’ The desk sergeant said.

  Jason smiled.

  ‘Good afternoon, Sergeant Brody,’ he said in a cheerful tone. ‘We’d like to speak to Inspector Pearce please.’

  The policeman, Brody, sighed loudly.

  ‘The Inspector is a very busy man, Mr Flynn,’ Brody said. ‘Perhaps you should phone up and make an appointment.’

  Jason nodded.

  ‘Believe me, Sergeant Brody, I know what a busy man the Inspector is, and far be it from me to try and hinder his great work in anyway, but my friend here is the brother of the missing man, and we have some important information for the Inspector.’

  Brody looked at Karl inquisitively then shook his head.

  ‘No, I’ve known Jerry Sampson for years. I don’t think he had any brothers, just a sister,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘So Jerry Sampson is missing?’ Jason said. ‘I was talking about Philip Morgan who went missing the other night, but that’s interesting.’

  Brody looked as though he wished the floor would swallow him up. It was clear he knew he would pay for giving this information away to Jason of all people.

  ‘Well no,’ Brody said, trying to backtrack. ‘His wife came in because she couldn’t find him, but it’s only been a few hours since he was last seen, so he’s technically not a missing person yet.’

  Jason nodded.

  ‘I know all about the technicalities Sergeant Brody,’ he said. ‘Now could we please see inspector Pearce, it’s very important.’

  Begrudgingly Brody picked up the phone next to him on the desk. He waved towards the seating area, wanting them to wait there. Jason smiled and moved away from the desk. Karl followed.

  Pearce looked at the computer screen, and hated it. He remembered the days when all of this paperwork was done by hand. Yes it had still been a chore, and in many ways the worst part of the job, but at least he had known what he was doing with a pen and some paper. It seemed to him that the computer had a mind of its own. He would try and do one thing, but it would respond by doing something else. Not only that, but staring at the screen made his eyes and head hurt. There was nothing he could do about it, of course; it was progress, and trying to stop it was like standing on a beach with your arms up telling the incoming tide to go back.

  He read the statement that Mrs Sampson had given about her husband. She had been sent away with the usual story that they could not do anything for twenty-four hours. Pearce, though, already felt certain that Jerry Sampson was dead. With all the events that had been occurring recently and their farm being so close to Maltham Woods, there seemed little doubt about his fate.

  Pearce wondered if it was time to act upon his suspicions, if it was time to deal with the problem head on. After all, the idea had been bothering him for years, practically since he had joined the force, maybe even before. What if he was wrong, though? The risks to his reputation were too great. For now the best course of action was to keep a close eye on the situation and see how things panned out.

  The phone on his desk rang. It was a welcome distraction.

  ‘Pearce,’ he said gruffly as he answered the phone.

  ‘Good afternoon, Inspector, it’s Brody on the front desk.’ He didn’t really have to say that, Brody had been here as long as Pearce, he would have known who it was.

  ‘What is it?’ Pearce asked. He was never a man for pleasantries at work, they took up precious time that could not be got back.

  ‘Mr Flynn is here, with the missing man’s brother,’ Brody said. ‘They want to speak to you.’

  So Mr Morgan had not heeded his warning about Flynn, and was now going to be another fly in the ointment of his investigation.

  ‘Tell him I’m busy,’ Pearce said. He did not have the time or the patience for another run in with Flynn.

  ‘He says they have some important information for you,’ Brody said. ‘It seemed pretty urgent.’

  Pearce felt a pain behind his eyes. He was not sure if it was from working on the computer or from Flynn’s presence.

  ‘It’s always important with Flynn,’ Pearce said. ‘Tell him I’ll send someone down.’

  ‘Okay, sir,’ Brody said.

  Pearce hung up without feeling the need for any sign off. He rubbed his aching eyes. He couldn’t face Flynn again, not without the temptation to punch him in the smug face he wore so well. How had he turned out like that? Pearce wondered, when in childhood he had always been such a polite and respectful boy. Pearce knew that there was too much of that pikey Eddie Flynn in him, and not enough of his mother.

  Pearce picked up the phone again and dialed a number.

  ‘DS Booth,’ Came the answer on the other end.

  ‘Booth,’ Pearce barked down the phone. ‘Get in my office.’

  With that he hung up and waited.

  Holly Booth entered a few moments later.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ she said.

  ‘Your friend Flynn is downstairs waiting,’ he said. ‘Go and see what the hell he wants.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘He’s not really a friend, though, sir.’

  Pearce smiled and nodded. The way she was always so quick to down play her connection to Flynn was starting to make him wonder if there was more between them than he was aware of. He hoped not. If Booth was involved with Flynn, in anyway, he would no longer feel confident in trusting her.

  ‘He was a lot more than that once,’ he said.

  Booth looked flustered. Was she embarrassed about their past, or trying to hide something more recent?

  ‘That was years ago, sir, we were still at school,’ she said.

  ‘Just go and find out what he wants,�
�� Pearce said, waving her out of his office.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, leaving as quickly as she entered.

  Pearce rubbed his eyes once more. Perhaps the job was getting too much for him. There was so much to think about these days, so many secrets to keep and problems to deal with, and of course Flynn, hounding him every step of the way.

  He pulled open that special drawer and retrieved his emergency whiskey bottle.

  Karl sat flicking through a country life magazine that held little interest. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jason watching the clock intently.

  ‘He’s keeping us waiting on purpose,’ Jason said.

  ‘He said he’d send someone down,’ Karl said, setting the magazine back on the table.

  ‘He hates me and he’s keeping me sat here to show me who has the power,’ Jason said.

  ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have used your shirt for the flag,’ Karl said thoughtfully.

  ‘Why not?’ Jason replied looking confused.

  ‘It’s covered in blood.’

  ‘I know,’ Jason said looking confused. ‘That’s why we left it there so the police could see what it was marking.’

  ‘Surely we could have just told them it was near that big oak tree?’

  Jason shrugged.

  ‘To be honest I didn’t want to give them any opportunity to miss it. If we just said by the tree, Pearce could have said it was another tree and find nothing.’

  ‘Yes, but isn’t it kind of incriminating?’ Karl asked.

  Karl watched as Jason’s face changed from that of confusion to one of realisation.

  ‘Shit, you’re right,’ Jason said. ‘Pearce would love to find a reason to put me away. Lucky I have you as a witness to what happened.’

  ‘What is it with you two?’ Karl asked. The animosity between the reporter and the Inspector had been clear from the get go, but it was only now that Karl felt that he and Jason had built up enough of a rapport to ask about it.