Bloodstains

by Andrew Puckett

  ‘Not particularly, let’s carry on.’ I’d seen that before as well, from the inside while interrogating a convicted fraud.

  She drove on for a few more miles until we were looking down into a shallow valley with a mercuric gleam at the bottom.

  She stopped the car. That’s the River Dart. We’ll follow it up to its source.’

  ‘Why don’t we go down and start from the bridge?’

  ‘Too boggy, even at this time of the year. We’ll follow that ridge—’ she pointed — ‘and meet the river about three miles up.’

  ‘Three miles! Just how long is this walk?’

  ‘About ten miles,’ she said innocently, ‘or is that too much for you?’

  ‘No. I was worried about you.’

  ‘Oh yeah? We’ll see about that, Tom Jones.’

  She jumped out, went round to the back and opened the hatch.

  ‘Try these on,’ she said as I joined her, and handed me a battered pair of walking boots. ‘They’re my brother’s.’ They fitted reasonably well.

  Holly meanwhile had taken out a binocular case and knapsack.

  ‘Lunch,’ she said.

  ‘I’d forgotten about food.’

  ‘Typical man — you can carry it, then.’ She shouldered the binoculars and locked the car.

  The ground was springy and crisp, and the occasional clump of heather tinkled drily as it was brushed by a boot. As we left the road, I became aware of other noises, fairy birdsong that seemed to hang from the sky, the humming of insects and the faraway bleat of sheep.

  ‘What are those birds?’ I pointed to a fluttering smudge high above.

  ‘Larks.’

  As I looked, I saw more of them, their notes multiplying until they seemed like streamers dropping softly through the air.

  Holly walked on. She was wearing jeans and a cotton blouse, the first time I had seen her in anything other than a dress, and the contours of her body seemed to belong with the bare contours around her.

  As I drew level with her, a pimple-like summit grew out of the skyline ahead.

  ‘Is that where you’re heading?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  The distance was deceptive, perhaps because of the heat-haze, and the slope began pulling at my thigh-muscles.

  Then the pimple resolved into a jumble of rocks, which as we drew nearer I could see was not a jumble at all, but like smooth-cornered dice placed on top of each other.

  ‘They’re so perfect,’ I said breathlessly, as we approached them. ‘It’s hard to believe they weren’t put here by men.’

  ‘Or the Gods, perhaps,’ she mocked. ‘No, the wind and rain first uncovered them, and then the frosts cracked them.’ She caressed one of the fissures with her fingers. ‘And then the wind and the rain continued their work, until you see them as they are now. All quite natural, which is the same thing as saying God’s work.’

  I said, ‘Are you religious?’

  ‘Big R or little R?’

  ‘Either.’

  ‘Big R no, little R yes. Come on, we’ve miles to go.’

  We walked on. The ground dipped gradually into a shallow depression where the wind faded, and the sun homed in, and after a while, I could make out a steeper valley in front of us.

  ‘There’s the river.’ As she pointed her uplifted arm drew her blouse tight and I could picture her body shaped smooth by the same wind as the rocks behind us. ‘It’s come round in a circle from where we saw it in the car.’

  We dropped into the valley and the sound of dashing water took over from the other noises. It was well-named ‘Dart’ as it burst and gurgled through the litter of boulders blackened by repeated drenching, and the reflections were so dazzling you couldn’t look into them. We followed the river up and I couldn’t remember when I was last so happy.

  ‘Look!’ she pointed as a large tawny bird lifted from the bank about fifty yards ahead, uttering a strange cat-like cry as it struggled for height on long ungainly wings. ‘A buzzard. Isn’t he magnificent?’

  As if by magic a pair of crows appeared over the horizon and with black oaths set about the unfortunate bird, harrying it until it rocked sideways in its efforts to escape. Then with a last pathetic mewl from the buzzard, the trio vanished over the hilltop.

  ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘Crows don’t like buzzards.’

  ‘That much was evident.’

  ‘They always attack them, I don’t know why.’

  ‘Bullies.’

  Not really, the buzzard always escapes, and he’s the master when he reaches the upper air.’

  We walked on and soon found where the buzzard had been. A sheep lay on the ground, de-personified by death. We hurried past.

  ‘What happened to it?’ I asked.

  She shrugged. ‘Could be anything, their mortality rate’s pretty high up here. It might explain the crows, though,’ she continued, ‘if the buzzard was raiding their personal larder.’

  ‘Charming.’

  She looked up and pointed. High above, the buzzard soared effortlessly in circles on outstretched wings.

  As the valley grew narrow, we criss-crossed the rushing water by clambering over the rocks. At last it levelled away into a plain of peat through which the stream wound, quiet now.

  Peaks and tors vanished away into the distance, melting in the blue sky so that you couldn’t tell which was which.

  The stream oozed round a huge boulder which acted as a dam for the pool which circled slowly behind it, the water so peaty dark that you couldn’t see the bottom.

  ‘Let’s stop here for lunch,’ she said.

  I don’t remember eating much. Sitting beside her, watching as her warm scents overpowered me, I began to ache for her in tiny shivers that spread from the centre of my body. Was she really unaware of what she was doing to me?

  I picked up a white stone and threw it into the pool. It disappeared.

  ‘How deep is it?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m going to find out.’ I jumped up and began stripping off my clothes.

  ‘You shouldn’t swim so soon after a meal,’ she said lazily.

  ‘That didn’t count,’ I said. ‘No offence meant.’

  ‘None taken.’

  I turned my back on her, pulled off my jeans and sat with my feet in the water. It was icy cold. Too late to back down now, though. With a push, I fell clumsily forward and went under. The cold gripped me. With a cry I surfaced and began swimming in circles.

  ‘What’s it like?’ she called.

  ‘Lovely,’ I lied. ‘Come and join me.’

  She regarded me calmly as I trod water.

  ‘All right.’ She rose in a single movement and deftly removed her clothes, save bra and pants.

  I gazed in awe at her body as she stood poised on the bank for a moment, then with a shallow dive she was beside me.

  ‘Ooh!’ she gasped. ‘You liar, it’s freezing.’

  We splashed round in circles for a few minutes, then she disappeared. An instant later, strong hands pulled me under.

  She was laughing as I came up. I struck out, cornered her, and she squealed as I grabbed her shoulder.

  Then her arms went around me, and we were kissing fiercely as we slid beneath the water.

  ‘God, I want you, Holly,’ I croaked as we surfaced.

  We reached out again and slipped under again.

  ‘We’ll drown if we go on like this,’ she gasped, and struck out for the bank.

  I overtook her and pulled myself out, then turned to help her.

  We stood in each other’s arms for a moment, then I held her back to look at her. Beads of water slid down her skin like oil. A shoulder of her bra had slipped, revealing a rose-pink edge.

  I kissed her gently, urgently, running my fingers down her wet skin. She groaned, moved closer and our thighs touched.

  I fell to my knees, pulling her with me, kissed her neck, her breasts.

  ‘Oh God! I want you.’
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  I know, Tom, but please not here.’ She kissed me open-mouthed. ‘Soon, but not here, please.’

  I looked in her eyes and realized that it hadn’t been a dream, but that she was her own mistress as much as mine, that there was everything to wait for.

  We walked for perhaps another two hours, completely at ease with each other now. As we started the final leg, a pair of curlew (so Holly said) floated over, their throbbing notes dropping slowly through the air. It was the saddest sound I’ve ever heard and will always bring back Holly and that afternoon for me.

  ‘Forestry Commission,’ she said in disgust. ‘Between them and the Army, they’ll swallow this moor soon.’

  We had stopped by a pile of rocks and were looking down on a tract of conifers covering the land like a suburban carpet.

  I said, ‘People want cheap furniture.’

  ‘Huh!’

  ‘They must be of some use, cover for birds and animals.’

  ‘Not really, nothing grows under them. They’re sterile, like deserts.’

  A bird rose from the canopy, and I asked her for the binoculars. It was only a crow, which flew off in that deliberate way which probably gave rise to the saying as the crow flies.’

  A movement caught my eye and I re-focused. It was a man at the edge of the forest. He looked furtively over his shoulder and sidled up to a tree. What was he doing?

  Then I laughed as he began to relieve himself.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ said Holly. ‘Can I share it?’

  I handed her the glasses and pointed. ‘Life in the desert.’

  A moment later she gave a cry. ‘My God, it’s John Hill!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  I froze for a moment.

  ‘D’you mean the night orderly who disappeared?’

  She lowered the glasses. ‘How d’you know about that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Never mind. Is it?’

  She nodded, and I almost snatched them from her. He had finished and was slowly walking along the edge of the trees.

  ‘How do you know about John?’ Holly persisted.

  ‘I’m just going to see which way he’s going and then I’m going to follow him,’ I said as Hill continued his leisurely walk.

  ‘Tom, why?’

  I handed the glasses back. ‘I want you to stay here, Holly, and if I’m not back in half an hour I want you to ring Sergeant Bennett of the Tamar Police. Can you remember that?’

  ‘Sergeant Bennett, yes, but I don’t—’

  ‘Please, Holly, I’ll explain later.’ I was poised on my feet, watching the retreating figure.

  ‘Tom—’

  ‘Later.’ I kissed her and started down the slope, catching a faint ‘Be careful’ before the scratch of the dry grass on my boots and the wind in my ears were the only noises. He was about three hundred yards ahead.

  I walked quickly rather than ran; that way, if he saw me, he might not realize I was following him.

  Two hundred yards — my boot caught a stone and I stumbled noisily. He didn’t look back, but now I had to watch both him and the ground just ahead of me.

  One hundred yards, ninety — and then for no apparent reason he turned, saw me, and de-materalized into the fringe of tress.

  I force myself to slow down, stop for a moment and look around as though I were lost. Reached the edge of the forest and casually glanced at my watch. Not quite three. Glanced up, trying to penetrate the rows of tree-trunks in gloomy black and grey on an uneven bed of green moss that covered everything like a fungus. Nothing.

  Wait — a flash of colour — gone, and not a sound.

  To run or not run, no choice now. I leapt over the grassy margin and ran. The hard-dark foliage closed around me.

  A mistake, but what was the alternative? The moss hid layers of slippery twigs that crackled soggily under my boots, and scores of rotted stumps about six inches high. I snagged one, staggered and tried to watch where I put my feet. A wiry twig slashed at my face, another, I glanced up to avoid them and almost immediately pitched forward, tripped by a stump. Outstretched hands saved my face from smashing into another, but the soft pad at the base of my thumb was torn open by a sharp stone.

  I’ve lost him, I thought, my cheek buried in the rank moss.

  But not quite, there was faint crash from ahead. I looked up. Nothing — but the noise had been there, and I knew its direction.

  I struggled up, pulled out a handkerchief to wrap round my thumb and started running again.

  Fifty yards into the muffled gloom, or it might have been a hundred, I stopped and listened.

  Nothing, not a sound, not a sign, just the grey trunks pressing around me.

  A few more paces, I’ve lost him, lost him…

  I looked hopelessly round the uniform green carpet, undisturbed save for those few scars…

  Footprints!

  I followed where his feet had torn the moss away to reveal the black mud underneath, followed through the trees. It became lighter, then I burst out on to a gravelled forestry track. No more footprints.

  Chest heaving, I looked left and right, nothing. Crossed to the other side, searched the forest bed for more tracks. None.

  So, he had kept to the track, but which way? And for how long? He could have faded back into the trees again at any point.

  But I thought not, no, his route had been too deliberate, he’d known about the track.

  To the left, I knew it must lead back out of the forest, and he wouldn’t have gone that way. No, he was headed further in, to the right.

  I cautiously began walking, on the edge of the track at first, but then in the middle as I realized he might be waiting for me behind some tree.

  My eyes flickered, to the left, to the right, looking for signs, a leg, shoes, a chink of colour.

  Nothing.

  I walked faster, eyes still searching. Nothing, he’d gone straight ahead — unless I’d already passed him! Spun round — nothing.

  I kept on.

  A flash of white — I ducked into the trees, no sound.

  Stealthily I crept forward. Ahead was a cottage in a tiny clearing.

  I slipped back into the wood and advanced, trying to avoid giveaway twigs. Now I could see it clearly, a dirty white cottage stained with years of neglect and light starvation; it was a miracle it had survived at all, in the middle of this grim place.

  But survive it had, and was inhabited too, if the curtains were anything to go by. The trees grew to within twenty yards of its walls; I stole round the perimeter, watching the windows.

  A movement on the lower floor, a face, a woman’s surely, but now the advantage was with me, it was I whom the trees hid from the watcher.

  I looked at my watch. Ten past three. Only ten minutes since I had followed him into the forest.

  I watched as another five crept by. Nothing. No movement, no sound. I shifted uneasily. If I didn’t go back to Holly soon, she would go for Bennett. That might take hours, even if he did anything at all. But if I left, Hill could escape.

  My heart bumped as I made my decision. I walked up to the door and knocked.

  Not a sound. The paint hung in stiff flakes from the wood, but the iron latch was rubbed shiny with use.

  I grasped it, pressed the thumb plate and pushed. Almost immediately, the door was blocked, and a face appeared in the six-inch gap.

  ‘What do `ee want? This be private property.’ A woman’s face, a gruff voice.

  No use pretending I was an enterprising salesman. ‘I want to speak to John Hill. It’s very important, for him that is. Can I come in, please?’

  A second’s hesitation. ‘Bain’t no such person yurr. This be private property, leave me be.’ The accent became more pronounced as the voice grew furious and she tried to push the door shut. She couldn’t, because I had my boot in it.

  ‘I beg you, please let me in, for his sake.’

  ‘Geddaway from yurr!’ She kicked furiously at my foot and pushed the harder.

  I put a sh
oulder to the door and heaved, she fell back, and I stepped inside.

  He was standing, straddling the narrow staircase, and as my eyes adjusted to the dim light I could see he had a gun pointed at my belly, a shotgun.

  We stared for a second in silence.

  ‘Git out,’ he rasped, ‘or I’ll blow yur ’ead off.’

  I took a step forward and he raised the gun threateningly.

  ‘I only want to talk to you, John, please listen to me, just for a moment.’

  ‘Git back.’ He waved the gun.

  ‘Your life’s in danger.’ In a flash of inspiration, I knew this was true. ‘Put it down and let me talk to you, for your own sake.’

  ‘There be danger all right — fer you. Git back!'

  ‘It’s about that night, John, you remember, the night you ran away.’ Uncertainty crossed his eyes. ‘You’re in trouble, John, but I can help you.’ Another pace forward.

  The single barrel of the gun opened as he raised it again. ‘Git back or I’ll shoot.’

  It was a very old gun. I knew because I know about guns. This one had been made before cartridges were invented, it used black powder and percussion caps.

  ‘Back, or I’ll shoot.’ A croak, almost a plea. You couldn’t get black powder now, so it was a bluff, a pathetic bluff.

  I lunged and seized the barrel, pushing it aside and up.

  The roar filled the whole cottage and its hot breath licked my face. Reflex tore my hand from the hot metal and nothing could have prevented him from bringing it down on my head, then his clenched mouth fell open as he stared over my shoulder.

  ‘Miss Holly.’ I could barely hear him. ‘God forgive me, I didn’t mean…’

  I turned to see her figure framed in the doorway. Her hands covered her face and she slowly slumped to the floor.

  I was beside her in a flash, gently turned her over and pulled her fingers away. The face was unmarked, and her lips moved slightly.

  I looked up at Hill. ‘You stupid bastard, you’re bloody lucky, you know that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t hurt her for anything,’ he said. My ears were still buzzing.

  She groaned, and we leaned forward. Then I became aware of the old woman standing behind us.

  ‘Could you get her some water?’ I said curtly, and she hurried off.

  Holly was stirring now, and between us we lifted and carried her to a filthy old sofa that lay under the window.