The Girls in the Woods

by Helen Phifer

  She looked down at the baby in her arms and felt a bond of love so strong and warm inside her heart that she knew nothing would break it.

  ‘Anyway, did I ever tell you I always wanted to be a florist when I was a kid?’

  Epilogue

  ‘So, Heath – I don’t quite understand how this all worked. I mean, I managed to figure out there were two of you – but this, it was pretty clever stuff. Not like anything I’ve ever seen before, so who was the mastermind behind it all?

  Heath Tyson’s bruised, pale face stared back at Will, defiantly daring him to try and work it all out for himself.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Was it true that you and your brother once fell out over Jo? How did that work out for you, Heath? How did you end up kissing and making up so you could then go out and murder teenage girls in cold blood?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘So is it true that you were just your brother’s puppet? I think that obviously you were, and did exactly as you were told. You are nothing more than a weak, pathetic man who likes to hit women. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘No fucking comment.’

  Will looked at Heath’s solicitor and shrugged. She was normally strait-laced and very professional, but she looked as if she was way out of her depth.

  ‘Let’s go back to your relationship with your wife. You must have been so angry when you realised Jo had got the better of you. That she had figured you all out?’

  Heath had begun to drum his fingers on the plastic table in front of him; his feet were also tapping and Will knew that he was getting under his skin. The solicitor reached out her hand, placing it on his arm as she silently warned him to keep calm.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter anyway; this is all just a formality because we already have a full and frank confession from your brother, Paul. I bet you didn’t realise that he would take all the credit for it; he couldn’t wait to tell us how this was all his idea and how he’d planned it all. According to his confession it only worked because of him; he said that you were too weak and pathetic to carry it out.’

  Heath launched himself from his chair across the table at Will, who managed to jump back. As he did the chair overturned and he slammed his hand against the red panic button on the wall. The door burst open as several uniformed officers came running in. Will managed to push the solicitor out of the way while they restrained Heath, who was almost foaming at the mouth he was so angry. His beetroot-red face curled up in anger as spittle flew from his lips; he growled at Will. There was a loud, satisfying thud as Heath’s head hit the table. It took three big, burly officers to control Heath and he was carried back to his cell in handcuffs and leg restraints wrapped around his ankles as he fought with them all. Will stood there watching; they would give him some time to calm down and then start all over again. One of the detention officers came in with two steaming mugs of tea for the solicitor and Will.

  ‘Thought you might need a brew.’

  He took it from her and winked. The solicitor took the other one.

  ‘You thought right.’

  ‘Were you deliberately goading my client, Will?’

  ‘Not at all; it’s all very true. He’s just not very good at accepting the truth.’

  ‘Hmm, well, off the record I completely agree with you, but for the record let’s just get it over with. I need a cigarette. If he decides to play ball I’ll be out the back trying to calm my nerves down.’

  Will put the table straight and picked up the chairs, resetting them. With a bit of luck he had wound Heath up just enough for them to get a full confession from him. There was no need to tell him that technically they hadn’t got a word from Paul; he was much brighter than Heath. After twenty minutes there was hammering on the door of the cell which Heath had been thrown into. Will smiled at the solicitor. ‘Someone’s ready to talk. You and me might get to enjoy our evening, after all.’

  ‘I hope so. I’m going out for a meal at eight.’

  The detention officer stuck her head back in. ‘He’s promised to behave himself; said he needs to tell you what happened.’

  ‘Bring him back then.’

  Will sat in his seat, watching as Heath was led back into the small room. This time his handcuffs were kept on. He dropped onto the hard plastic seat.

  ‘I want to tell you everything, what happened. Whatever he’s said about it, he’s lying. None of it was his idea; it was all mine.’

  Will stretched out his arms and crossed his fingers together.

  ‘Tell me how it was then. How did it all begin?’

  ‘We were pretty close as kids, but when we were teenagers for some reason we began to hate each other. We fought all the time and drove our mum mad. But Paul always thought he was better than me, than our parents. He thought he was better than everyone, but he wasn’t. I knew that he wasn’t; he was clever, though. He used to sail through his exams without much revising and I would have to spend hours poring over my text books and still getting crap grades. He got a scholarship to a posh boarding school at St Anne’s and he left without so much as turning around to say goodbye.’

  ‘Did you have different dads? Why did you have different surnames?’

  ‘No, we had the same dad; as soon as he was eighteen, he changed his name by deed poll. Said he didn’t want to be a Tyson; he wanted a whole new identity. He did really well at college and university; then he went off to be a doctor, but as soon as he’d qualified he came back. At first he wouldn’t have anything to do with any of us, but he’d started to come down the pub for the quizzes. That was where he met Jo; they began to go out with each other for a while. He was so smug and up himself, it really pissed me off. So I did what any self-respecting man would do – I got my revenge and stole his girlfriend from him. He didn’t like that; in fact he beat me up in the car park of the pub one night, but he crapped himself in case I went to the police. I wouldn’t have come to you lot, but after that he began to be nice again. We didn’t see a lot of each other, but then he came round to my house one night and we got drunk. We started to reminisce about our childhood and the day our granddad died. I told him about the photograph album I’d found hidden away at the back of his wardrobe that I’d taken. Well, the rest you know, don’t you?’

  ‘We know some of it, not all of it. Can you tell me why you killed those girls, Heath, and buried them in the woods where no one would find them?’

  ‘I never killed them; I just liked to photograph them. It was all Paul. They came to me to have photos taken. The first time it happened was when Sharon Sale had come to have a portfolio done. Paul was in my workshop whilst I was in the studio taking the photos. I almost chickened out but I wanted to take the photographs of them whilst they were dead. I went to change my camera and before I knew it Paul had gone into the studio and killed her. The shock when I came back in and saw that she was dead was terrible, but...’

  Will sat forward, leaning his arms on the table.

  ‘But what?’

  ‘But the excitement of having a dead girl to photograph took over and I didn’t care after that. He wasn’t interested in her when she was a corpse; he enjoyed having the power to take someone’s life and it didn’t matter to him whether they were young or old. He doesn’t have an artistic bone in his body, but I could see the endless possibilities of having a model to pose for me who would never complain or want to take a break.’

  Will saw the look of horror on the solicitor’s face and wondered if she’d ever met anyone quite so sick as the man she was supposed to be defending.

  ‘So Paul Miller killed Sharon Sale?’

  ‘Yes, and Wendy Cook, but I kept their bodies as models and when they started to decompose I had to dispose of them. The only place I could think of was to bury the girls out in the woods; it’s so quiet out there. Well, most of the time it is.’

  ‘What about the other photographs in your book? Did Paul kill those elderly patients?’

  ‘Not really. They were at death’s door �
�� he just gave them a helping hand.’

  ‘And you were there, ready to take the photographs in the background?’

  Heath nodded. ‘Yes, but it wasn’t the same as the girls in my studio. I didn’t really like taking those photographs – I just did it because the opportunity was there.’

  ‘What about Matilda Graham? Why did you decide to drug her?’

  Heath began to get fidgety, and his leg began to twitch slightly under the table.

  ‘She wanted a photoshoot. I didn’t plan it, but it was too good an opportunity to miss. Only I panicked after I’d drugged her, when I realised you lot were all over the woods with sniffer dogs. So I put her in the fridge.’

  ‘Were you going to kill her?’

  The tapping under the table became louder.

  ‘Yes – I mean no. I didn’t know what to do with her. It was too late once I’d drugged her to just let her go. I was hoping she’d die on her own and if she hadn’t then I was going to ask Paul to do it.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘To kill her.’

  Will had put his hands under the table, his knuckles were clenched so hard. He wanted to punch the man in front of him so much, he was having to now sit on his hands. He didn’t want to ask about Annie, but he had to know what would have happened if Jo hadn’t realised and saved them both.

  ‘What about the other woman?’

  ‘Who? The pregnant one who’d decided to become my wife’s new best friend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, she figured it out. If she hadn’t have stuck her nose in she wouldn’t have got into that situation, would she?’

  ‘I don’t know, would she?’

  ‘No. I didn’t particularly want to hurt a pregnant woman, but she didn’t leave me much choice. She was the only person in twenty years to look at those photographs on my studio wall and realise that the two girls were dead. She didn’t leave me much choice, did she?’

  In his mind, Will saw himself launching across the table to batter the shit out of the handcuffed man in front of him, but he had to snap out of it. His fingers hovered over the tape recorder – ‘interview suspended at 16:46’ – then he stopped it and stood up. He needed to speak to the DI; he couldn’t do this any more – it was too much. Too personal. He’d got the most important information out of him he thought was possible. He was going home to his family and he wasn’t coming back for a few days. Someone else could sort this mess out.

  Will left the station exhausted. He’d spent all afternoon interviewing Heath Tyson and his brain was a mess now. All he wanted was to go home to Annie and their baby. He pulled into the drive of their house and rolled his shoulders. Annie would be desperate to know what had happened, how it had happened and what the connection had been between the two men that had bound them to commit murder together. He slammed the car door shut and waved at the camera on the outside of the house in case Annie was watching him from the monitors. He opened the door with his key and heard Alfie cryin. Kicking off his shoes then loosening his tie he hung his suit jacket over the end of the banister and followed the sound of crying into the living room. Annie was pacing up and down, rubbing Alfie’s back.

  ‘Thank God you’re home; I’m starving and I need a wee. He’s been really unsettled the last hour and wouldn’t let me put him down. The more I thought about wanting a wee, the more desperate I got.’

  She passed the tiny bundle wrapped in a blue blanket over to Will and watched in mock horror as their son stopped crying.

  ‘No way, I’m not having that. He can’t be a daddy’s boy already?’

  Tutting, she walked off to the cloakroom, not showing Will the huge grin on her face. It was the most amazing sight to see him standing there holding their baby, and it filled her heart with warmth. After she came back out she went into the kitchen where she took a bottle of her favourite rose wine from the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard. Filling a glass full for Will and half for her, she carried them through into the living room where not only was Alfie now fast asleep and lying in his Moses basket but Will had lit the log burner and a fire was beginning to take hold. She handed him a glass and he took it, placing it on top of the mantelpiece; then taking the other one from her he did the same. Pulling her towards him he held her, then kissed her on the lips with so much passion she almost forgot that she’d only given birth two days ago. He let her go and tugged her down onto the sofa where she curled up, lying against him.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘Because I’ve missed you both and I bloody love you so much. Anyway, since when did I need a reason to kiss you?’

  She laughed. ‘You never need a reason to kiss me. So are you going to tell me how it went or would you rather not talk about it just yet?’

  Will didn’t want to talk about it, ever – but it wasn’t fair on Annie. She’d been involved and she had every right to know… but it just felt wrong speaking about Heath Tyson and Paul Miller in front of their two-day-old baby. At least Alfie was fast asleep, Will didn’t want to taint his tiny ears but he knew he was being daft. All Alfie would hear was their voices; he thankfully wouldn’t have a clue what they were talking about, and he hoped it would always stay that way.

  ‘No, I don’t mind. I mean, I’d rather not talk about it – but you need to know.’

  Annie stood up and picked up the wine glasses; passing Will his, she sipped from hers. Hoping to quell the churning inside her stomach, she wanted to know everything, every last sordid detail because it had been driving her mad. Wondering how they’d managed for all this time to kill and photograph dead people without being caught. Will drank half of his glass without stopping and she winced; he’d had a bad day. After a few minutes he began to relive this afternoon.

  When he’d finished she turned around and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you. I had to know even though I didn’t want to. But no more. I don’t want to talk about it or think about it – at least not until the court case. I want us to concentrate on Alfie and having a normal, relaxed life. I’ll go and get you something to eat. You must be starving.’

  Annie made her way into the kitchen. She heard Alfie begin to cry and the sound of Will pulling himself off the sofa. At least Alfie would keep them busy and they could try and put everything to the back of their minds. As she plated up the beef casserole she’d had on the go all day in the slow cooker, she put it on a tray with a fork and carried it through. Will was fast asleep on the sofa and snuggled in his arms was their tiny baby, who had also gone back to sleep. Annie knew that this was it. Her life had changed and she would do her very best to keep it this way.

  If you loved The Girls in the Woods turn the page for an extract from the first Annie Graham thriller

  The Ghost House

  Chapter 1

  Annie Graham studied the selection of keys on the rusty hook behind the kitchen door, looking for the one to the crumbling Victorian mansion. Recognising the white, plastic key ring she plucked it off the hook and pushed it into the bottom of her pocket. Earlier she had filled her rucksack with a torch, some rope, a bottle of water, a bag of Quavers and a bar of chocolate: all the things a girl couldn’t live without. She felt like Indiana Jones, about to go on an adventure.

  Her training as a police officer made her less inclined to fear the things most of her friends would. Through work she had been in some really sticky situations. She just hoped the inside of the house wasn’t in as much of a state as her brother Ben had warned her about. Tess was whining to come but if she let her run loose and Tess got injured she’d be in big trouble or, in Jake’s words, ‘well and truly busted’.

  She locked up then walked along the tiny overgrown path that skirted the outside of Ben’s farmhouse and led through the woods to the mansion, which was a couple of minutes away. Soon the tall chimneys were visible, peeking above the tops of the oak trees. She pushed through a small gap in the bushes, fighting with the brambles, to find herself standing in front of the mansion.

  It was m
agnificent; the walls were built from the same deep red sandstone as the Abbey ruins just below the entrance to the woods. It was remarkable to think that someone could actually afford to build such a stunning home and then abandon it. It had lain empty with no one to care for it for decades. The current owner was an elderly woman who lived in New York. As far as Annie was aware the woman had never even been to look at the house, which had been left to her by the last owner, a distant relative. Maybe if she had she would have done something with it; the potential was endless. Then again, if it had been developed her brother wouldn’t have been able to afford to buy the farmhouse, which had a clause in the contract that whoever owned the farm had to be the caretaker of the big house. Ben was a builder so it was perfect for him. Annie loved the peace and tranquillity that being up here brought to her bruised mind.

  All the downstairs windows were boarded up to stop the local teenagers from going inside and breaking their necks. The upstairs windows were, surprisingly, all intact. Hundreds of tiny panes of stained glass with the most intricate patterns of lead beading running through them. Annie didn’t envy whoever once had the job of keeping those clean; they were grimy now with over sixty years of dirt. The front door was an amazing work of art. Set into a Gothic arch the huge oak door had the biggest brass knocker she had seen. It was a scary goblin face with a mouth full of pointed teeth. Annie knew that if she had been a visitor to the house she would never have used that thing, it would probably clamp its teeth shut and swallow your hand whole.

  Taking the key she pushed it into the lock and was relieved when it turned – at least Ben had sorted out one thing. Pushing the heavy door it let out a loud groan. Annie was apprehensive of going in alone. She heard Ben’s warning in the back of her mind but he was out of the country and she was housesitting so technically she was in charge. Her stomach was churning with nervous excitement at finally being able to explore the house. Stepping inside she shuddered; a mix of emotions overwhelmed her but the feeling that shocked her most was the warm surge of familiarity, which rushed through her veins. It was so strong that she wanted to shout, ‘I’m back, I’ve finally come home.’ But why? Why do I feel like this and who am I telling it to? The feeling of déjà vu confused her but she brushed it off as wishful thinking.