By the time he got home, Jack was chilled through. Letting a disapproving Beamer into the garden, he had a hot shower and poured himself a large Scotch. For the second day running, he’d forgotten to go shopping. He thought gratefully of the remains of Lucy’s casserole from the night before. At least he had that.
As he ate, he couldn’t shake the memory of what his old boss had said, about missing persons around Halloween. Rhodes had believed that some of them were held by Satanists for ritual sacrifice. Personally, he’d never noticed a pattern – not that he’d actually looked. Going back a few years, a local boy was rumoured to be involved with some kind of Satanic group, but Jack was pretty sure that’s all it was – rumours.
Jack lay wide awake in bed that night, unable to wind his mind down enough to sleep. An owl hooted outside. Too much was uncertain right now, as it was for Jen. He couldn’t understand, either, how there was no evidence of a child at Jessamine Cottage.
In Jack’s experience, a complete clean-up of a house was next to impossible. He’d have expected Forensics to find something, however small. But there had been at least three days before the place was identified as Evie’s home. Three days in which to strip the place, if someone had wanted to. Unlikely, he knew, but it was something to think about.
One thing he did know – he wanted to talk to Abbie, and then to Evie. Maybe she’d recognize him from walking in the woods. It might even help. God knows what it was like to be in her situation; to trust yourself so little that you couldn’t even believe your own thoughts.
The need to talk to her came from his gut. If she recognized him, maybe she’d trust him. He also needed to talk to someone about what he’d seen in the woods. Again, probably Abbie. He’d no idea why he hadn’t told Dan Miller about the blood he’d found – or the horrible scream that still haunted him. The way the man had appeared out of nowhere had unnerved Jack. He needed to sleep. It was amazing how sleep could clarify even the most confused thoughts.
Closing his eyes, he tried to blot out the thoughts racing through his head, telling himself that he’d known Miller for years, that he was a decent man. But it was hopeless trying to sleep. It had been the same after Josh had died, when Jack had been unable to stop his mind from overthinking, from going round in circles as he went over every detail, tormenting himself with ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’. In the end, he got up and went downstairs, putting the kettle on, as thoughts of Jen Russell and Leah Danning filled his head. With a hot cup of tea, he sat down and turned his laptop on, typing into the search bar. Occult, Satanism, ritual sacrifice – generalized, benign descriptions, but as he searched deeper, he stumbled upon something much darker.
One of the websites had published an occult calendar, listing dates on which sacrifices were required, whether human or animal, the age of the victim, the nature of sexual depravity to take place. The second half of October was a period of abduction, holding and ceremonial preparation for human sacrifice, according to what was in front of him. Suddenly he felt cold. It was his gut again.
He’d forgotten about sleep. His mind was fully alert as he carried on reading pages that became progressively more graphic. It was common enough knowledge that many missing people were never found, but less commonly acknowledged where some of them may have ended up.
He’d talk to Abbie. She knew him well enough not to think he’d lost the plot. Right now, he was beginning to wonder. Anyway, he trusted her – and she wouldn’t gossip. He was less sure about Dan Miller. Maybe that was why he hadn’t mentioned the awful cry he’d heard – that and the blood.
Deep in thought, he typed into the search bar again. Leah Danning. Scrolling down the pages, he saw links to news items and press releases. He’d forgotten how huge the case had been. As he read, he remembered how it had seemed the whole country had been on tenterhooks, waiting for Leah to be found. That a small child could disappear without a trace had left every mother fearful for her own child’s safety. He couldn’t believe how long ago it was.
Jack carried on reading. So far, there was nothing to link the attack on Jen Russell and her daughter’s disappearance to what happened to Leah. But this was rural Cornwall, known for its solitude and peacefulness. It was his gut again – not the cold, hard evidence the police needed – but it seemed too much of a coincidence.
Sitting back in his chair, Jack must have dozed off, awaking with a start. Beamer was barking; not the muffled kind of noise he made when he was dreaming, but a full-on alert bark, which meant he’d heard something.
‘Hey, what is it?’ But Beamer ignored him, barking agitatedly.
‘Come on, Beamer. Quiet.’
There was no stopping him. Getting up, Jack went to unlock the back door, Beamer following, still barking. As he opened it, the dog barged past before disappearing into the darkness. Out of sight, Jack could hear him whining as he followed the trail of something. Probably a rabbit or a fox. He only hoped there wasn’t a person hanging around out there.
Then the night went completely silent.
‘Beamer? Here! Good boy!’ Jack called, but there was no reply. Cursing the dog, he pulled on his boots, then reached for a jacket from one of the hooks beside the door, feeling for the torch in one of the pockets.
‘Beamer?’ Outside, he switched it on, shining the beam around the garden, but there was no sign of the dog. ‘Beamer!’ Jack raised his voice. There were no neighbours to worry about disturbing. The nearest house was at least a mile away.
Out there in the darkness, there was nothing. No birds, no muffled footsteps of rabbits, not even a breeze. Above him, the moon was obscured by clouds. Everything was black, silent.
He called again, then at last heard Beamer coming through the bushes – at least Jack hoped it was him – and a sense of relief filled him when the bushes moved and the dog’s head came into view. He was wearing that slightly apologetic look he had when he knew he’d done something wrong. Then as Jack shone the torch at him, he saw he was carrying something.
Beamer followed him to the back door, where Jack reached for his collar, but the dog pushed past him, carrying his trophy inside. The last thing Jack wanted in the house was a dead rabbit, which no doubt Beamer would mangle on the floor for him to clean up later. Hurrying after him, he found him lying in the kitchen, the rabbit held between his paws.
Only when he switched the kitchen light on, Jack saw it wasn’t a rabbit. Looking at him, Beamer whimpered and then he got up and walked away. Jack took a closer look. What he’d thought was a rabbit was in fact a bundle of fabric, maybe clothing. Picking it up, under the dirt engrained on it, he could make out a floral pattern. Then he quickly put it down, looking at his fingers, which were coated with blood.
18
Abbie’s door was open. She looked up as Jack walked in. ‘Glad I caught you. Do you have a minute?’ he asked.
‘Of course. What’s up?’
He went in, closing the door behind him, then sat on the chair opposite her desk, placing the bag he was carrying on the floor. It contained the blood-stained fabric Beamer had found. ‘Last night, I stopped by Jessamine Cottage to look at the place. I suppose I wanted to get a sense of where Evie lived. As I was driving away, I noticed some lights in the woods. They seemed to be hanging around. I thought I’d better take a look.’
‘Go on.’ He had her full attention.
‘At first, there were a couple of flashlights. Then they were joined by more. Eventually there were about ten of them. I got as close as I could without letting them know I was there. I wasn’t sure what to make of what happened next.’ He glanced at her, but she was still listening intently. ‘Two more torches appeared. I think they were carrying something between them. The beams were flashing around all over the place, as if someone was struggling with something. I heard this cry – I assumed it came from them.’
‘What kind of cry?’ she said sharply.
‘High-pitched. Like an animal. I think . . . In all honesty, it could have been a child.’ He glance
d at her again. ‘I thought they’d killed whatever it was, but they’d barely started. I heard someone laugh – it sounded evil – then there was another cry, more of a scream this time, which went on and on.’ Jack could still hear its echo in his head. ‘I tried to get close enough to see what was going on. Then I trod on a pheasant.’
He relived the moment the torches had spun round towards him. ‘I honestly thought they were going to come after me. Lucky for me, a stag picked that moment to go crashing through the woods in the other direction. It completely distracted them. They scattered.’
‘Did you see anything else?’
‘After they’d gone, I went over to where I’d seen the torches. There was blood on the ground. Not just drops. Quite a lot of blood.’ He didn’t tell her about the stag, standing there watching him. ‘I bent down, to see if it was fresh. Then as I got up, there was someone behind me.’
Abbie looked startled.
‘Frightened the life out of me. Fortunately, I knew who it was.’
Abbie leaned forward. ‘Who?’
‘Miller. He was on his way back from Evie’s when he saw the torches too.’
‘He hasn’t mentioned it to me.’ Abbie was frowning.
Jack shrugged. ‘He probably knew I would. Anyway, I don’t think he’s in yet.’
‘No. Not if he was on duty at Evie’s last night.’ Abbie was quiet. ‘What do you think was going on?’
Jack shook his head. ‘It was probably poachers.’
‘It doesn’t sound like poachers . . .’ Abbie looked at him.
Jack sighed. ‘If you really want to know, last night I remembered something my old boss told me. Do you remember Rhodes?’ he added. Abbie looked at him blankly for a moment, before recognition dawned on her face. ‘He used to say that in the run-up to Halloween, the number of missing persons always increased. I don’t know where he got his figures, but he said that in the weeks leading up to it, a number of the missing persons on our books were being held by Satanists.’
‘God.’ Abbie sounded horrified. ‘Surely nothing suggests that’s the case here.’ She didn’t scoff; she was acknowledging that this was something very real they were looking at.
‘We’re in October.’ Jack paused. ‘I was looking online last night. According to the calendar I found, right now it’s a time of abduction, holding and preparation for human sacrifice to take place at Halloween.’
He could see Abbie thinking the same as he was. ‘Which means there are people being held who have days to live.’
He nodded. Neither of them spoke. The idea of anyone being held somewhere, for the purpose of ritual sacrifice, was sickening.
‘What was the website you were looking at?’ Her fingers were already typing on the keyboard on her desk.
‘Here.’ He reached into his pocket for his phone, where he’d noted it, and read it out to her.
In seconds, she had it. ‘Is this what you were looking at?’
She turned the screen so that he could see the by now familiar layout of the Satanic calendar.
He nodded.
‘The attack on Evie, Tamsyn’s death and Angel’s disappearance . . . According to this, they all tie in with the Autumn Equinox.’ Abbie looked at him. ‘I’m guessing about Tamsyn and Forensics will confirm when she died, but it can’t be far out.’
‘I know.’ Jack nodded, relieved she’d come to the same conclusion. He frowned. ‘I was thinking about the Leah Danning case. It happened not long after I started here. At the time, no one talked about anything else. Last night, I was thinking that the same thing’s happened again. Historically, there are no other cases. I’ve checked.’ He looked at Abbie.
‘What are you suggesting?’ Abbie frowned.
‘There was something about the way Leah vanished that doesn’t add up. Dogs were brought in straight away. The countryside was searched and searched again. No sign of her was ever found. It’s the same with Angel. The fact that there’s no trace of her is the common denominator in the two cases. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’
Abbie was silent. ‘And?’
‘I don’t know. Either we have someone incredibly methodical who’s completely covered their tracks, or someone’s hiding something.’
‘You’re not suggesting someone on the inside?’ Abbie looked horrified.
Jack shook his head. ‘I was thinking more of someone deliberately concealing evidence to throw us off track.’ Seeing Abbie’s face, he shrugged. ‘Just thoughts.’
Abbie turned to the screen in front of her, deep in thought. ‘Do you by any chance know Xander Pascoe?’
He shook his head. ‘I haven’t met him. He was a suspect for a while when Leah Danning disappeared. But I know his mother. Janna Pascoe.’ She was a formidable woman. A true matriarch, was how Jack thought of her. ‘She was walking through Truro when she was hit by a car. It must have been a good ten years ago. The driver was being chased by the police. He got away, and she was rushed to hospital. She recovered but she lost the use of her legs.’
‘What do you know about her?’
Jack shrugged. ‘She’s a tough lady. Her husband died way back and she’s been running the farm ever since. After she was hit by the car, she sued the police and lost, but she has money. The house is full of antiques. And art.’ He remembered it all well; the mess of the farmyard and what looked like a rundown Cornish farmhouse on the outside. Inside, it was like a museum. ‘That’s all I know – apart from the fact that she hates the police.’
‘Right.’ Abbie was frowning.
‘I think that’s about all I can tell you.’
‘Xander Pascoe was interviewed when Leah Danning went missing. He’s a strange one. Surrounded by a wall of silence is how it seems. No one had a bad word to say about him. The police were never able to prove anything, but somewhere in the notes from the investigation, it mentions that when they searched the Pascoes’ home, they found a kind of shrine in Xander’s room that they thought was linked to the occult. They didn’t take it further because Xander had an alibi.’ She paused, looking thoughtful. ‘Interesting, isn’t it?’
It certainly was. Then Jack remembered. ‘Last night, my dog heard something outside. I let him out and he ran off. When he came back, he was carrying this.’ He picked up the plastic bag containing the bloodstained fabric. ‘The blood was wet when he brought it in. I’ll send it to Forensics.’
Abbie hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. ‘Are you busy? Or do you have time to show me where you saw the torches last night?’
Jack thought about what awaited him. This was far more important. ‘There’s nothing that can’t wait.’
‘Maybe we should go and take a look.’
Jack pulled up close to where he’d parked the previous night, Abbie just behind him. As they walked through the woods by daylight, there was none of the sense of menace he’d felt in the dark. Apart from the occasional cry of a bird, it was completely quiet.
‘We need to go this way.’ He pointed to a narrow path that sloped downhill. It had taken him a while to get his bearings, but now he knew exactly where he was.
‘This is where I hid, watching them.’ They’d reached the patch of brambles he’d crouched behind. ‘The torches seemed to come from over there.’ He pointed to where the trees thinned slightly.
Abbie slowly started walking in the direction he’d pointed, studying the ground as she went. As Jack followed behind, he was trying to work out where he’d seen the last two torches coming from.
‘Where did you see the blood?’ She stopped in the middle of the path.
‘Somewhere here.’ Jack gestured to an area that he thought was reasonably accurate. Slowly, methodically, both of them scrutinized the ground, but there was nothing. Then Abbie stooped down to pick up a handful of leaves, letting them flutter to the ground.
‘There’s nothing here.’
Jack didn’t reply. He was looking at the leaves she’d just picked up, at where they’d settled on other leaves. He frowne
d. ‘If you wanted to cover your tracks, you’d do exactly what you’ve just done.’
‘Excuse me?’
He walked over to where she was standing, then bending down and scooping up more of the leaves, did the same. ‘It would be the easiest way to hide blood on the leaves. Pile on more leaves. Unless they really looked, no one would ever be the wiser.’
After crouching down, he started to carefully remove the top layer of leaves, then the next, until it was clear he’d reached leaves that had been there a long time. Then he moved slightly to one side and repeated the process, again and again. Behind him, Abbie was doing the same.
‘Jack?’ he heard her say. ‘You better come here.’
He walked over to where she stood and looked at the leaves she’d uncovered; the blood from last night was clearly visible, no longer fresh but congealed and dried.
She reached for her phone.
Casey, 2000
My sister was given a pretty name, Leah. With her white-blonde hair and fair skin, there was proof, indisputable, right in front of you, that I was the plain child with the plain name. Dull where Leah sparkled; emotionless while Leah’s default beaming smile lit up rooms and seemed to touch people’s actual hearts. It wasn’t fair, Leah having that hair, that smile and skin that was soft as a peach.
I got used to it. You can get used to anything. Now, as soon as I saw Anthony’s face, a haze would come over me, and his voice would seem to fade into the distance, as though I wasn’t there any more. He could do whatever he liked but he couldn’t hurt me.
The last time, his friend, Barney, had been there. I’d been really scared at the thought of two of them. And the shitface had seen my fear, because as he glanced across at Barney, I’d thought of a snake watching its prey, its eyes lit up, its tongue flickering across his lips.
I didn’t know what had changed that time. I’d wanted to go to that faraway place in my mind, but I couldn’t. Instead, I’d felt the most putrefying, stinking emotions rage through me, like sewage in my veins. I was frightened, revolted, reviled. Then suddenly, as I looked at him, at my hand obediently doing what he wanted it to, anger rose in me. Anger that was like bile, choking me, until I forgot about my fear.
The Death of Her Page 9
