Witch Hunt

by Syd Moore

  She didn’t respond, too intent on watching the zombie scrape every last penny from my palm.

  ‘Make sure you share it,’ I told him.

  The zombie told me he would and they crossed the road.

  I watched them disappear round the corner.

  Above the pub a waning moon hovered. Not far off full, its bright illumination revealed the stark beauty of the river opposite. Ivory satin waves shone in flickers on the incoming tide.

  Someone once told me the waning moon was good for banishing and cleansing. Perhaps it was.

  Inside the Thorn, Felix was waiting at a table. He stood up when he saw me. Despite a ripple of frown lines breaking out across his forehead he looked good. Dressed all in black – suit and turtleneck jumper – his frame looked leaner than before. He rubbed his right hand on his trouser leg and held it out as he kissed my cheek. The cold sweat of his palm transferred onto mine.

  ‘You’re late,’ he said, releasing me from a micro-hug, then smiled and the lines on his face deepened. ‘I was worried you had had second thoughts.’

  I stepped back. ‘Of course not. Traffic,’ I said, taking a seat beside him. Two half-empty cups were on the table.

  He sat down heavily and picked the paper napkin out of the wine glass on the table. ‘Never mind. This is going to blow your mind. I think we’ve time for a coffee if you’re parched?’

  ‘I’d love one.’

  Felix waved the waitress over, booked in another round of cappuccinos and paid for them.

  ‘You look nice,’ he said when she’d gone.

  You’re joking, I thought. ‘You too,’ I said.

  He smiled but his messy brown eyebrows drooped a bit and he looked down, hands picking at the napkin, endlessly fraying the edges. I thought back over our meeting last week in Colchester. He’d been funny, rakish. Now, he was fidgety and more than a little unfocused. Perhaps something had happened at work so I asked, in what I imagined was a supportive tone, how he’d been.

  He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Oh, you know. Busy. Fine.’

  I started to make small talk, but he wasn’t tuning in. Instead he nodded, picked up his mobile and flicked it

  open.

  ‘They’ll ring,’ he said, as if I’d not said anything at all. Then he replaced it on the table and moved his hands back to the napkin. There were circles of moisture on the phone where his fingers had been.

  ‘Who is this mystery visitor then?’ I asked, trying to lighten up. This is what he wanted to talk about, I could see. ‘Are they here?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘On their way hopefully. I’ll get a call when they’re in the vicinity.’

  ‘You going to give me a clue to how they fit in?’ I asked.

  He tossed his head back and laughed. ‘You’ll find out. It’d be a shame to spoil it for you.’ Then, he tapped the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘Listen, I’ve got something to show you.’

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘You know?’ His eyebrows rose right up under his fringe. ‘You can’t.’

  ‘The interviewee …’

  ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Not that. This.’ He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a transparent plastic bag. Something white glimmered inside it. The pipe.

  ‘That,’ I said and pushed back my chair to get away

  from it. The blood drained from my face. ‘Why have you got it?’

  Felix gave me a quizzical look. He appeared not to have noticed my pallor. ‘What’s the big deal? I know it’s a little ghoulish, but …’ He opened the plastic bag and brought it out. ‘It’s just an old pipe made of bone. Not unusual apparently for the time.’ He put it on the table.

  I stared at it, a rash of goosebumps spreading out across my arms. ‘Which was?’

  ‘Mid-seventeenth century. Or thereabouts.’

  ‘Hopkins’ time,’ I said slowly.

  ‘I know,’ he said, turning it over in his hand. ‘Curious that it all comes back to that.’ He glanced at me.

  I was too fixated on the pipe to pick up on that last comment. I shivered and pushed his hand further from me. ‘Put it away. Please Felix. It makes me feel bad. I think Hopkins had a pipe like that. I think he might have used it to …’ I broke off. I couldn’t say it. I didn’t know for sure that it was the same pipe. But it looked just as spiteful.

  Felix’s face wrinkled into deep lines as he picked it up. An involuntary shudder went through me.

  ‘How does it make you feel?’ I asked him.

  ‘Like I own it,’ he said, replacing it in his breast pocket like a ten-year-old secreting his favoured conker. Then he grinned and his eyes crinkled. For a second it seemed to me that it was the other way round – that the pipe owned Felix and if he wasn’t careful, then something terrible might try to snare him.

  Seized by an impossible desire to try and communicate the dread I was feeling, I laid my hand on his arm. ‘Listen, Felix, you have to get rid of this. It’s …’ But I was never to complete the sentence as his mobile went off.

  Felix jumped up like a cat and scooped it off the table. Darting a smile at me he flicked it open and walked quickly towards the door. ‘Yes, she’s here with me now,’ I heard him say.

  The person on the other end of the phone was talking at length. Felix scowled into the mouthpiece, then rubbed his head and bit his lip. ‘Really?’ He cast a sidelong glance at me.

  A couple came through the front door, allowing Felix to duck out past them into the street.

  I looked around the place. So I was back here again. At HIS headquarters. Where he had tortured Rebecca and so many more. And what if Felix had brought the pipe back to his master? Jeez. Perhaps after the interview I’d venture so far as to tell him what I thought. Maybe I’d tell him everything that I’d learnt. Over dinner. But not here. Somewhere else. Further away. There was no way I was going to spend the night here. I’d drive into Colchester later and find a hotel. I would be more anonymous in a large town. That would help me get under Cutt’s radar. And, I thought, it was right to tell Felix. After all, forewarned was forearmed, and he’d been pretty good to me.

  The fire popped and spluttered in the grate, making me jump. The newcomers were warming their hands against the flickering glow. I took a gulp of coffee and stretched back into my chair and yawned.

  God I was tired.

  My eyes lingered on the bar top. It was decorated in Halloween paraphernalia; two glowing lanterns, carved out with sharp jagged teeth, interspersed with floral arrangements entwining pinecones, candles and skulls. A cut-out of a black cat arching its back was fastened above the large fireplace. The candles on our table were stripes of orange and black.

  For a journalist, I’d been pretty unobservant. But to be fair, I had a lot on my mind: Rebecca, Mum, Cutt, the Witchfinder. It all came back to Hopkins. God, I could blow it all open. It’s what I had to do.

  My knee was jiggling up and down in anticipation when Felix returned. As he beckoned me outside, I noticed how he clenched then unclenched his hand.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked getting to my feet and going to the door.

  ‘Change of plan,’ he said. ‘We’re going to meet them up the road. They want a little bit of privacy.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, frowning for the first time. ‘Why?’

  Felix smiled again. ‘I told you. This is explosive stuff.’

  A thought flashed over the front of my brain. Had he got to the document too? Had the mystery guest? No, couldn’t have. Anne and Harry had told the world that it had perished.

  Could he have got to them since I’d left Ashbolten?

  Not possible. On the way here I’d deleted a text from them stating they’d got an appointment with the Museum the following morning and were already on the train.

  Wow, I thought, could this be something else? Another clue, maybe from the other side of the Atlantic? Some hard evidence to link Hopkins to Salem? Even his grave? It had to be big: this interviewee was flying out tonight but diverting this way for
me. That was commitment.

  ‘Come on, love,’ Felix tone was so patronising I stopped halfway out the door.

  ‘Why won’t you just tell me who it is?’ I said, trying to reassert my professional credentials. ‘I might need some research on hand.’

  ‘Trust me,’ he said and took my arm. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  Felix’s hire car pulled out of Mistley to the east. Despite the fine moon a thin mist was coming up from the fields either side.

  Away from the domesticating illumination of the streetlights the landscape became wilder. Bald hilltops girdled by bony pricking trees cast shadows that lay oddly across each other. As we journeyed into their darkening embrace something cold descended over Felix.

  We drove in silence, watching the road slink furtively towards the shoreline, then reach away into a cluster of pines.

  Felix flicked the headlights onto full beam and slowed his speed.

  ‘There’s a turning somewhere up here,’ he said quietly to himself, as if forgetting I was in the car too. The man was very distracted.

  Scouring the countryside I couldn’t see the twinkle of a house light for miles. Just varying degrees of blackness.

  ‘You sure it’s up here?’ I asked, for the first time noticing discordance to my voice.

  Felix ignored me. ‘Ah, here it is.’ He killed his speed and took a sharp left into an old dirt track. Brambles and bushes scraped the metal of the car as we bounced awkwardly down the lane.

  ‘I can’t see why we should meet here, rather than at the Thorn,’ I was saying. As we reached the end of the lane Felix stopped the engine. In the shadows of the car I could only make out his mouth with any degree of detail. Dour lines descended about his lips, his jaw set into an expression of grim determination.

  ‘I told you to trust me.’ His voice lowered.

  My stomach responded with a small jump. ‘I’m starting to feel uncomfortable about this.’

  He looked out the windscreen and smirked. Had I sounded funny? I didn’t mean to.

  I followed his gaze. Without the lights of the car I could just perceive what looked like the ruin of a cottage, with a footpath veering past its front and off to the left.

  ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s not comfortable. You’re a journalist though. You have to do things that take you out of your comfort zone, right? Come on, Sadie. You’re not some cub reporter who’s still wet behind the ears. You’re seasoned, aren’t you?’ He sounded slightly fraught, anxious for me to get out of the car. It was probably all bluff and nerves brought on by the important mystery visitor.

  Anyway the appeal to my ego worked. It always did. ‘Right,’ I said, grabbing my bag off the floor and rummaging inside. ‘Let me just find my Dictaphone. Ah, there it is.’

  Without taking his eyes from the windscreen he said, ‘You won’t be needing that,’ and in one arching movement leant over and plucked it out of my hand.

  I sat there motionless, then I tutted loudly, rolling my eyes over to him. His pink tongue poked out and moistened his lips.

  I was beginning to see he had a rather daft sense of drama – or perhaps he was flirting? Had he taken me up Love Lane? Or was that what he intended to do?

  Once upon a time I wouldn’t have minded but things had changed and right now I had no patience whatsoever for his games.

  I took a deep breath and steadied myself, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. ‘Don’t you think that that’s my decision to make, Felix? Can I have it back please?’

  He sighed deeply, and then tossed it back to me. ‘Leave it in the car.’

  My eyes narrowed and I was about to ask, quite sarcastically, why, but he cut in. ‘Come on. Let’s get this over and done with.’

  What was he up to? What should I do? To be honest, I didn’t have that many options so I put the Dictaphone on the dashboard.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. A shrill note had crept into my voice.

  Felix fished around on the back seat of the car and pulled something out then he got out of the car and came round to my side. Opening the door, he added, ‘After you, madam.’

  For a second I hesitated; wondered briefly how Felix would hold up if we were ambushed or attacked. He had a good build and there was muscle there but I imagined I might have to defend myself. If necessary, I absolutely would, though I was certain it wouldn’t come to that. A sudden image of myself running up the lane flashed across my brain. I looked up the track. Mist had filled the gap between the hedgerows. I really didn’t fancy going up there on my own and, if I bottled out now, I could end up the laughing stock of the publishing world. If this was as explosive as Felix was suggesting, then of course, precautions might be needed. Other publishers would be on the sniff. I just needed to hold my nerve.

  ‘Please hurry up, Sadie. It’s cold,’ Felix said, a tone of exasperation threading his words now.

  I guess it was the ‘please’ that made me move. I opened the door and swung my legs, quickly feeling in my bag for my mobile. Touching the solidity of its mass was reassuring. While Felix marched on ahead I opened the voice recorder app and pressed play, replacing it in my bag. It wouldn’t be great quality, but it would be a record of sorts.

  Felix looked to be making for the cottage but took a sharp left and ducked out along the path. I slammed the car door shut and scrambled after him.

  The path was narrow, only a couple of feet wide and bordered by prickly blackberry bushes and towering thistles. Further back the wood pitched up masses of tall spiky trees. Their silhouettes crowded over the top of me and for a second I felt like I was in an ancient cave. There was a cryptic quietness in the wood, a feeling of expectation, like the air itself was waiting to see what was going to happen. Something croaked in the thicket about me. I saw instantly that under the darkness the land was seething with life. Shadows were moving amongst the trees.

  The temperature dropped quickly. We had only been trudging down the path a matter of minutes but already my body heat was evaporating and my teeth beginning to chatter. A twig snapped in the undergrowth. My eyes darted to the sound. Flimsy shadows danced in the bracken: willowy, brownish human-sized forms. For a moment I thought there were actually people in the trees, but as I watched they dissolved, only to reform a few feet away. Perhaps they were the shadows of the trees themselves – some trick of the light brought on by the change of perspective as I walked past them.

  I hurried to catch up with Felix. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘It’s not far now,’ he said and marched on. ‘Come on.’

  I followed him round a corner. For a moment his form was obscured by the overhanging branch of a sprawling oak. When I pushed it back I saw the track widened and came out into a secluded clearing. Up on a little hillock stood a mist-drenched wooden bench, overlooking the river.

  Felix was sitting up there. In the dimness of the hazy moon, I could see the bench was empty. Above us, the stars in Orion’s belt shone sagely.

  ‘Sit down, Sadie,’ he said.

  I followed his order. My eyes, adjusting to night vision, perceived a slight sneer on Felix’s face.

  I looked around. ‘They’re not here,’ I said simply.

  He sniffed, though it sounded more of a snort. ‘It’s me.’

  That totally confused me. What was he talking about? I cocked my head to one side, and put my hands on my hips. ‘What do you mean – it’s you?’

  ‘I’m the one you’ve come to meet.’ His quartz eyes glittered. Shrouded in night, his features had darkened. True, there was still a raffish beauty about them, but now I could fathom a hardness within that I hadn’t noticed before.

  A dozen scenarios skipped across my brain. ‘You mean that they can’t make it?’

  He tutted and crossed his legs. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’

  ‘Haven’t got a clue,’ I said lightly, though another feeling was pushing through the confusion, causing the muscles in my neck to tense.

  Felix coughed. ‘There isn’t an interviewee. Not enti
rely my idea.’ He stroked the front of his sweater. ‘Personally I would have preferred somewhere a little more sheltered.’ It was like he was speaking to himself. ‘Just a ruse. To get you out here.’

  A black bolt of adrenalin thrilled through me. Was he flirting? No, the tone wasn’t right. He turned to the west, looking out over the river inlet.

  ‘You said “It’s me,”’ I repeated unsteadily. ‘You mean, you have something to tell me about Hopkins? Is that what you mean?’

  Felix snorted again, keeping his eyes on the distant hills. ‘Oh dear,’ he said at last. The words were dripping with so much undisguised contempt that immediately the idea that he intended to volunteer information fell away.

  That could only mean one other thing: that he must know about the Phelps’s documentation.

  And he could only know about that if he was indeed working for Cutt.

  Bugger.

  He knew.

  And if he knew then it was obvious what this was about. He must suspect I had the passenger list.

  There was no point in maintaining the charade. ‘I know what you’re after,’ I said at last.

  He swivelled his head to me, lips pursed. ‘You do?’ One eyebrow arched.

  I nodded slowly. ‘It wasn’t destroyed.’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ he said flatly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was an attempt to destroy it.’

  He wanted me to say more but I kept it minimal. ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘No.’ He looked away. I got the feeling he didn’t want me to see his expression. This was how he regularly conducted his business, I was sure now: call and response. He called, others scampered up to cater to his every whim. His tone had changed so markedly that I could only conclude that our early meetings with the hint of sexual attraction, the cheery bonhomie, the ‘honest’ enthusiasm – had been an elaborate illusion.

  Shit.

  ‘Do you have it?’ he said, still looking off over the far side of the inlet where the river met the south side of the shore.

  ‘Of course not. I’m not stupid.’ I was struggling with anger and embarrassment. How had I let myself fall for it? I should have known it was all too good to be true – the book offer, the attention, the flirtation …