So, Jen Russell was the woman who’d been attacked. In a twist of fate, her daughter was missing. And now Tamsyn was dead. But was any of this connected to Leah Danning?
It was only as he lay in bed that night, his brain sifting through everything that had happened that day, that a memory flashed into his head, then it was gone. He sat up, no longer tired. The person in the photos – Jen. He’d seen her far more recently than fifteen years ago. He’d seen her right here, walking in the same woods where he walked. He must have seen her half a dozen times over the past year, always at a distance, but after the second or third time, close enough to see her face, her eyes meeting his, briefly, startlingly, before she turned away from him. She always turned away . . . But he couldn’t recall seeing a child.
16
‘I found this yesterday. It may have come from the body,’ Jack said to Abbie the next morning. He placed the pendant on her desk. It was now in a plastic bag ready for Forensics, but not before he’d carefully photographed it. Now he’d thought about it, it seemed small, childish, probably one that Tamsyn had had for years.
‘Right.’ Looking closely at it, Abbie frowned. ‘Have you had time to read the file?’
‘I read it last night. Actually, I’ve seen her a few times, recently,’ Jack told her. ‘Walking. We’ve never spoken. Is she Evie or Jen?’
‘She calls herself Evie.’ Abbie reached across to the shelf behind her. ‘Here.’ She opened a map on her desk. ‘I’ll show you where Jessamine Cottage is.’ She pointed to an area on the edge of Bodmin.
‘I live slightly further north.’ Jack pointed to where his house was.
‘Bit of a trek for you, isn’t it, Jack? Truro? I never realized you lived so far out.’
‘I try not to do it too often.’ It was true. Whenever he could, Jack worked from home. Coming to the station on two consecutive days, like the past two, was almost unheard of.
‘Did you ever talk to her?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No. All I can tell you is she was always alone. There was never a child with her. She had this way of turning away, as if she didn’t want to be seen.’
Abbie frowned. ‘She couldn’t have left a three-year-old alone – to walk that far. Surely?’
‘You’d think not.’ But people did the most unlikely things, Jack was thinking. Even loving mothers. ‘Maybe I just didn’t see the child.’ He shrugged. ‘There were trees. I never got that close.’
Abbie looked thoughtful. ‘Sara told me you saw Tamsyn’s mother?’
‘Yes.’ He could feel himself getting angry just thinking about her. ‘She didn’t say much.’
‘You can’t always tell how people are feeling, Jack,’ Abbie said pointedly.
He knew that. He wondered if Sara had told her what he’d said. But Tamsyn’s mother had been remorseless about the way she neglected her daughter. She hadn’t cared.
‘We had a call yesterday from a Tina Wells, who runs a farm shop not far from Wadebridge. She says Evie used to supply her with vegetables and eggs.’
Jack nodded. ‘I’ll go and talk to her.’
‘Thank you. I can’t – I’m due back at the hospital. Here’s the address.’ Abbie handed him the piece of paper. ‘We’ve posted the photo of Tamsyn on our Facebook page, too. We’ll see what comes of it.’
Back in his office, Jack was deep in thought. If for no other reason than curiosity, he needed to go back over the Danning case.
Having located the file, he made a coffee and then closed the office door before he started reading. First he read about the Danning family – Michael and Sally and their two daughters, Casey and Leah. He remembered where their house was. He wondered if any of them still lived there. He made a note to himself to check it out. He remembered going there as a young detective sergeant.
The senior investigating officer had been Detective Chief Inspector Rhodes, an imposing man, whose procedure had seemed chaotic to Jack at the time, but they’d been dealing with two overwrought teenaged girls; Casey – the missing girl’s sister – and of course Jen, who’d been babysitting. The mother had been the first to come home – she’d been understandably distraught, while the father had been angry – or so it had seemed to Jack.
Rhodes had seen it all, Jack had thought at the time. He’d been working under him on the case. He’d hung on to every pearl of wisdom his boss had uttered. One in particular came to mind. Feral children know where to hide. By feral, he’d meant wild, free, instinctive. It also meant not abiding by parental rules, such as they were. Instantly, he thought of Tamsyn. From everything he’d heard, she was the epitome of feral. Had she known where to hide? And was it there that her killer had found her?
He turned his attention back to the Danning file. There was a whole lot more he’d read later – interviews with the teenagers, references to other cases. They’d launched a huge search and got dogs in, but no trace of Leah was ever found.
The farm shop was easy to find. Like many farms, it had diversified in an attempt to catch more of the tourist trade. Just selling locally produced meat and vegetables wasn’t enough any more. There was a kids’ playground and, beyond, a number of small accessible pens containing animals. Farming was tough. You did what you had to in order to survive.
As he walked inside, Jack couldn’t help but be impressed by what the shop sold. As well as locally grown fruit and vegetables, there was a range of meats and cheeses. Then, round the corner, a display of work by local craftsmen. But he wasn’t here to browse. He walked over to the desk.
‘Is Tina Wells here?’
The girl behind the desk blushed slightly. She looked about seventeen. ‘I’ll just get her.’
Jack hovered around the desk. The shop was deserted, though he’d bet in summer it was a different matter. If Jen had brought her vegetables to sell here, surely someone must have seen her daughter?
‘Hello? Are you looking for me?’
Jack turned round to find an older woman standing there. Her wavy fair hair was loosely pinned back and she was wearing an apron covered in flour. After dusting off a hand, she held it out to him. ‘I’m Tina Wells. Sorry. We’re making Christmas cakes.’
‘DCI Jack Bentley, Truro police.’ Jack regarded her with amusement for a moment. ‘I’m here to talk to you about Evie Sherman.’
‘Yes. Poor Evie.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard what had happened to her. Shall we sit down? Would you like a coffee?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Good coffee was a luxury when Jack was working in the office. At the police station, it was dire.
‘Over here?’ Tina nodded towards a group of tables that Jack hadn’t noticed. ‘How do you like it?’
‘Black.’ He followed her over. ‘I like your shop.’
‘Thank you. We like to support local growers and farmers. It’s quiet just now, but the summer months more than make up for it.’
‘Evie was one of your suppliers?’
Tina nodded. ‘I met her early this year. It was still winter. I remember thinking how small and cold she looked, as though she needed a square meal or two. She told me she had a huge vegetable garden and some hens . . . Was I interested in buying what she didn’t need? At first, I wasn’t sure. We’re quite selective here. People don’t mind paying a premium but they expect good quality. But she was persistent – so I gave her a chance. She didn’t let me down, either. I was wondering why we hadn’t had a delivery from her.’ Tina frowned. ‘I suppose that with the shop quieter, I didn’t give it much thought.’
‘How well did you know her?’
Tina shook her head. ‘I really didn’t. After she delivered her first boxes of vegetables, she always used to come here early and leave them stacked on the shelves outside. You may have seen them when you came in? It’s what a number of our suppliers do. It’s easier that way.’
‘So how did you pay her?’
‘Cash. I have a book of all the payments made. I can show it to you if you like?’
&
nbsp; But Jack shook his head. ‘There’s no need. When did she pick the money up?’
‘The night after she delivered, I’d leave her boxes outside for her, with the money in an envelope. That way she could pick it up when it suited her.’
Jack nodded. It sounded overly trusting but it didn’t surprise him. This was Cornwall after all. People were considered honest, until proven otherwise.
‘So far, there’s never been a problem. The arrangement works both ways.’ Tina paused. ‘How is she?’
‘Her memory is slowly coming back.’ Jack looked at her. ‘Her injuries were serious – she was unconscious when she was found. But at the moment, our greatest concern is for her daughter.’
‘Of course.’ Tina looked anxious. ‘Where is she?’
‘We’ve no idea. I was wondering if you’d seen her any of the times Evie had been here?’
But Tina shook her head. ‘To be honest, until I read the police Facebook post, I didn’t even know she had a daughter.’
It was another wild goose chase, the kind that police investigations were full of. But you always had to try; had to believe that someone, somewhere, knew something. Evie must have shopped for food sometimes, no matter how secluded her life. The trouble was, round here there were so many remote village shops, and such a high turnover of tourists, that an unfamiliar face didn’t stand out. It was the familiar ones that did.
On impulse, Jack took a different way home, wanting to take a look at the house where Jen lived, Jessamine Cottage. It was late, dusk seeming to fall early under the grey, overcast sky. The track to the house was rough and unmade, mostly through woodland, and after half a mile he was starting to think he’d taken a wrong turn, but round the next corner, a roof came into view.
As he pulled over, he noted that no cars were parked beside the overgrown hedge that bordered the garden. As he got out of his car, he was aware of the silence. It had the same quality as his own home. Raw and untouched; pure.
The gate was open and Jack was irritated that whichever officer was here last hadn’t bothered to close it properly. Probably PC Miller. He’d spent a lot of time going over the cottage with the Forensics team. Then Jack saw that the latch was broken. He carried on round the side of the house, where the garden opened out. It was quite something, the stretch of open grass edged by towering oak trees. The path took him across the grass and through a gap in a more neatly maintained beech hedge, on the other side of which was the vegetable garden.
No wonder Jen was selling to the farm shop. It was a vast garden, far too prolific for even several people. He could hear chickens, and as he walked further a large run came into view. About a dozen birds came running over. Unsure who was feeding them, he found a bin of corn in a shed and fed them some, then topped up the empty container in the corner of the run, hoping it would last a while. There were no kids’ toys in any of the outbuildings.
It had started to drizzle. Walking over to the back door of the cottage, he felt on the ledge above the frame, hoping for a key, and was amazed to find there was one. After letting himself in, he took his shoes off then started looking around. The house was sparsely furnished and uncluttered – no photos, either, unless Forensics had taken them. Upstairs, he checked the three bedrooms, but it was exactly as Abbie had said. There was no sign whatsoever that a child had lived here.
It was dark by the time Jack drove back down the track towards the road. The drizzle that had started while he was in the garden had turned into a steady downpour. The house was out of sight behind him and he was still some distance from the main road when something in the woods caught his eye. It was an intermittent beam, possibly from a single flashlight. Slowing down, he switched off his headlights and watched as it was joined by another, then another, then several made their way towards each other.
After everything that had happened round here, he didn’t like it. Pulling over, he switched off the engine and got out.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he started to make his way towards the lights, moving from tree to tree as quietly as he could, lucky that by now the rain was heavy enough to drown out any sound his feet made. As he got closer to where the torches had gathered, trepidation filled him. It was unlikely anything serious was going on, but he had to check, that was all. It was probably just kids, he told himself – only it wouldn’t be kids, would it? Not in this rain, and not when there were any number of deserted barns around.
After Tamsyn’s murder, then the attack on Jen, he wondered, irrationally, if whatever was going on in the woods ahead of him was related. An uneasy feeling filled him, as he felt in his pocket and turned his phone to silent. Something suddenly came to mind. It was something else his old boss, Rhodes, had said – the same man who’d talked about feral children had told him not to underestimate the presence of modern day Satanism. Jack had listened, disbelieving, as Rhodes told him that every year, a number of the so-called missing persons that appeared on their books around Halloween would actually have been kidnapped and held for human sacrifice.
His imagination was getting the better of him. There was probably some perfectly reasonable explanation for a group of people with torches gathering in the woods in the rain. Even so, he stayed hidden. Halloween was only a couple of weeks away.
Through the darkness, he watched the torches cluster together – about a dozen of them by now, too close for him to think about getting away and too many for him to think about a confrontation without backup. His only choice was to stay out of sight – and wait.
Minutes passed while nothing happened. Then in the distance, he heard someone else coming – more than one person. Two more torches were approaching the group, but instead of their steady beam, they moved erratically, as though they were struggling with something.
Through the rain, Jack heard a man’s laugh. Loud, cruel, full of evil; a sound that chilled him to the core. There was another cry, a pure, high-pitched one, filled with fear, followed by more laughter. Then silence.
He had a sick feeling in his stomach. Presumably whoever was out there had done what they’d come here to do. Soon they’d leave, then he’d give them a few minutes and get out of there.
But just seconds later, he knew he was wrong. The high-pitched cry he’d heard was just the prelude to the piercing scream that now filled the air – terrified, filled with pain, going on and on before faltering, then fading into silence.
In reality, it could only have lasted seconds, but Jack was in no doubt he’d just heard a drawn-out and painful death. He reached for his phone. He needed to call for backup, then silently cursed when he saw there was no signal. Fighting the urge to throw up, he knew he had to find out what they’d done. Trying to convince himself that the victim was probably an animal, he knew also that it could be a child.
Edging closer, he tried not to think about it, slowly feeling his way, each footstep as calculated as it could be in the dark, until, despite his best efforts, he stepped on something.
At the familiar cry of a pheasant startled into flight, all the torches swung round in Jack’s direction. Crouched behind a dense patch of brambles, he froze, his heart hammering in his chest.
Danger was all around him. Jack trusted his instincts. Then, from the opposite direction, came a crashing sound which saved him. As he watched, the torches swung all over the place. Straining in the darkness, Jack tried to pick out faces, catching only glimpses of eyes, mouths, hands; not recognizing them but scoring them into his mind, nonetheless.
The crashing continued. He’d no idea if it was human or animal, but the group with the torches disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived, blending into the trees, until silence fell. Holding his breath, Jack waited, slowly filled with relief. Then apprehension. Something had happened and he needed to know what.
He waited five more minutes until he was sure the men weren’t coming back, before reaching into his pocket for his torch and very slowly getting to his feet, edging closer to where he’d last seen them. Directly ahead, a l
oud noise startled him.
As Jack shone his torch in the direction the noise had come from, he picked up first the glint of an eye, then the head of a stag. It was a large animal, standing motionless, watching him distrustfully as he moved the beam of his torch along its body and down its legs, then onto the ground between them. To his horror, Jack saw blood.
Stepping closer, he reached down and felt the warm stickiness. Suddenly, without warning, the stag ran off into the darkness. Then, as he stood up, Jack felt a hand grasp his shoulder.
17
A light was shone in his face, and for a split second, he confronted his own mortality.
‘Jack? What the hell are you doing out here?’
Through his shock, he recognized PC Miller’s voice. ‘Dan?’ Jack was overwhelmed with relief. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I left my coat in the Sherman house earlier. I saw your car, then on the way back, I saw some lights. What was going on?’
‘I’ve no idea. I started walking towards them and heard an animal crashing about.’
‘It’s a bit close to the Sherman house, isn’t it? Did you see anything?’ Suddenly Miller’s voice was more serious.
‘Just the same torches you saw. Probably poachers. But they’ve long gone.’ Jack wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t mention the awful cry or the blood he’d seen. Maybe it was fear that they were being observed, that the group had crept back while he and Miller were talking, blending into the trees and watching them. They’d just killed. Jack was in no doubt about that. That blood he’d seen was fresh. There was nothing to stop them from doing it again.
There was the stag, too. The way it had come crashing in, distracting the group; how it just stood there, watching Jack. He didn’t talk to other people about it, but since Josh had died, from time to time, he’d sensed his presence. The thought had come into his head, out of nowhere. But he knew. Somehow, Josh had sent that stag to save him.
The Death of Her Page 8
