Tim handed him the evidence.
“Interesting. So, what should I tell the team, sir? What are your orders?”
“Tell them—tell them to scour the field. I want every blade of grass turned and any clue—the slightest hint of any evidence—I want brought to my attention. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“And should you find anything, anything at all—call me right away.”
“Sir.”
The man walked away.
Returning his focus to the map, Tim continued along the path that the soldier had drawn earlier. The wind howled, and the rain grew heavy. The odd tree dotted the landscape, at each of which he paused to carry out a thorough examination before moving on.
What’s that? Tim approached a tree with caution, eyes focused on a branch at about shoulder height of any average-sized man. A scrap of fabric dangled, flapping about frantically in the breeze, clinging on for dear life. He snapped a photo before retrieving the cloth. It was fragile to say the least, the wind and rain had torn it to shreds so that it almost fell to pieces in his hand.
Handling the fabric like some ancient relic, Tim inserted the evidence into a plastic bag, labeled it, and continued.
The flattened grass in front guided him along the mapped-out route with laser-like precision. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that when the phone vibrated and rang, he almost jumped out of his skin.
“Clarke speaking.”
“Flight Lieutenant Clarke, It’s forensics.”
“Go on.”
“We scoured the scene, just as you told us to, and we came across an abandoned piece of footwear not far from where the cow is thought to have been attacked and killed.”
“Footwear. Elaborate would you?”
“Yes, it was a trainer. A left, white Adidas trainer.”
“Size?”
“Eight. It’s a size eight.”
“So, we’re on the lookout for an average size man. Doesn’t give us much to go on, does it?”
“No sir, but—this is an expensive piece of kit. The owner of this clearly takes his running very seriously.”
“Interesting. I’ll meet you back at base to take a good look later.”
“Very good, sir. You come across anything more?”
“Well, yes and no. I’ll fill you in during the briefing later on.”
“Understood sir.” And with that, the call ended. In the distance—far, far off in the distance—a clutch of trees came into view. His imagination ran wild. The creature must have run in this direction, dogs snarling behind him and when he saw the trees, maybe it paused for a breather.
With the trees getting closer by the second, Tim stopped to look around, and got his bearings. If his version of the events was in any way close to the truth, the thing must have run in the very same course that he was heading in. The grass below his feet must have been trodden down the night before in a wild chase.
The undergrowth grew hard and slippery as the trees drew closer. Stepping behind the trees, he crouched and peered through a gap in the branches. The moon would have provided enough light to get a clear view from this position. Moving towards the denser branches, he saw a patch of grass, coated in red. There was so much blood that some of the grass had flattened itself to the tree’s roots. After placing a handful of grass in a fresh plastic bag, he stepped out of the trees and retraced the downtrodden grass back the way he’d come.
Fatigue had reached the parts of him which the mud had not by the time he left the crime scene to deliver his briefing. All of the men stood around drinking coffee, but as soon as they laid eyes on Clarke, they bent to place their mugs on the floor, guilty looks abounding.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account. Good afternoon everyone. So, what have we got?”
A few of the men reclaimed their coffee while another stepped back to retrieve something that lay on the floor behind.
“What have you got there? Come on, don’t be bashful. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.”
They laughed out of politeness, but their expressions conceded the fact that they were freezing, wet, and in no mood for jokes.
The shoe left behind at the scene was in a bad state. Tim examined every last detail, including the Adidas sign, which looked like it had been covered in mud and scrubbed clean to make it visible. And that was the very least of it.
The leather was cut to shreds on either side. The top had been reduced to two torn flaps that drooped down like wings. Examining the underside, he found a series of punctures in the sole, as if something had protruded through only to be retracted back into the shoe.
One of the forensics stepped forward. “Any ideas, sir?”
“Possibly.” The forensics team was from a base over a hundred miles away, so they were not familiar with the goings on in Bicester. Recalling how one of the soldiers he’d interviewed had said he was afraid of looking foolish, he had no real choice in the matter.
“I’ll keep hold of it for now, though, take it back to HQ, see if we can do some tests to ascertain the owner’s identity.” Gregory was going to be most interested in this and, ultimately, it was his call.
Chapter Five
Coroner’s Office, RAF Bicester, Launton
The hedge separating the footpath from the farmers’ fields rushed by. A constant gust of wind blew in through the open window, freezing the side of Tim’s face, doing everything in its power to shift his train of thought from the investigation to the environment outside.
It wasn’t until he turned down the road leading to the RAF Bicester that the trance lifted. Striding from the car, heading into the building, he knew exactly what he had to say to the coroner.
“Good afternoon, sir.” A soldier with a bandaged hand passed him in the corridor. Tim nodded in acknowledgement and continued towards the ray of light coming from the partially open doorway. As his foot became illuminated by the light peeking out from within, all the clinical sounds and smells drifted his way.
Antiseptic, the cleaner’s disinfectant, specialty cleaning ointments that only medical practitioners knew the names of, intermingled with the sound of clanging, stirring, and voices. Thankfully though, no screams, not this time anyway.
Tim had last been down this way a few months previously when he had cut his hand and Gregory had insisted he get it looked at. Turned out to be nothing, not worth the bother really, but as a consequence, he knew exactly what to expect. All clouds have a silver lining, as they say.
Stepping through the hospital, Tim nodded at the doctor and approached the staircase leading to the basement.
After descending the steel staircase, it was only a couple more steps to the coroner’s office. Just like the hospital, the door was open and there were noises. The smell was entirely different though, as was the atmosphere. The stench of death hit him as he approached the doorway, growing stronger with each step until he stood staring at the back of the coroner who was examining the remains of an eviscerated cow.
Tim coughed to get his attention. “Good afternoon.” Tim flexed his arm upwards, but lowered it again the second he saw the coroner’s bloodied gloves.
“Good afternoon, officer.” The coroner stood aside to present Tim with a full-on view of Mauve the cow.
Tim shielded his eyes and turned away.
“Sorry. I know it can be disturbing to see a body laid out in such a manner, especially if you’re not used to it.”
Tim stepped forward, trying desperately to give the impression that the sight of Mauve the cow, hanging over the human-sized metallic table in pieces, was something he came across every day.
The coroner beckoned Tim closer, then leaned over the cow to continue with his examination. As Tim obliged, he was struck again by the vile smell and took another deep breath to stop the retch that was manifesting itself in his gut from rocketing upwards.
The coroner looked up and smiled at Tim. “You okay there? You’ve gone a bit pale.”
“Oh yes, abs
olutely. Had coffee on an empty stomach this morning, must be it.”
The coroner nodded and refocused on the cow.
Talking to the coroner’s back, Tim began from the start. “I expect you know all this already, but I’m going to tell you again, just to make sure nothing’s been missed.”
“By all means, fire away.”
“Last night, a group of my men were called out to investigate reports of something on the prowl in a local farmer’s field. By the time they got there a cow, the cow that you’re working on now, had been completely eviscerated, bits of bone and half-eaten flesh everywhere.
“I went to investigate myself this morning and found red patches smeared all over the grass. Forensic tests confirmed it to be blood.
“I carried out some interviews too and one of the soldiers gave me a vague description that sounds consistent with a werewolf attack.”
The coroner remained focused on the cow. “Sounds perfectly plausible.”
“I was hoping that you could lend some weight to the theory.”
“Well, if my preliminaries are anything to go by, I’d say that is a definite possibility.”
“So, you haven’t reached any firm conclusions yet?”
“Well…” The coroner covered up the bloodied limb that he was working on, and stepped away from the table.
Tim tapped anxiously on the shelf behind him.
“Well, it definitely was an animal attack, that we can be sure of. And a big animal too, by the looks of it.”
“How big?”
The coroner held up one of the cow’s legs for Tim to see. “You see these indentations here? No domestic animal could have done them, that’s for sure. If it’s not a were, it would have had to be the work of a lion or tiger. And a bloody big one too. Certainly, bigger than any wild animal you’ll find in this neck of the woods.”
“Could it have been a large domestic dog? A pit bull or rottweiler on the loose perhaps?”
“No, not even they could have penetrated this deep into the bone.”
“You mentioned the possibility of a big cat. Could something have escaped from the local zoo perhaps?”
“Well, it’s a possibility, I suppose, but—”
“But the zoo would have notified the authorities right away for fear of being sued. So,” Tim took a deep breath, “it’s looking like it is a were?”
“Ridiculous as it sounds, the bite marks do point towards that conclusion. Either a were, or a sabre-toothed tiger.” He chuckled.
Tim looked at him with a blank expression. “Anything more specific?”
“Well, the bite mark tells me that it’s an adult. And according to the DNA tests I’ve done on the blood, it’s almost certainly a male you’re looking for.”
“Interesting. Anything else?”
“I can give you the shoe size, if that’s any help.”
“Not really. I’ve got that already.”
The coroner looked animated. “Oh, left a track, did it?”
“A shoe. Forensics found it lying around on the field where it was pursued. Torn to shreds, it was, completely lost its shape.”
“Oh, well there you are then. That’s pretty conclusive wouldn’t you say?”
“Unfortunately, no. There’s no reason at all why it couldn’t be the result of some drunken night out. Someone getting in a scuffle perhaps. People get up to all sorts when they’re intoxicated, don’t they? So, I still need more. Do you have anything else? Anything at all?”
“Oh yes, I almost forgot, the tests showed that the animal, in its human form, probably has blond or red hair.”
Tim furrowed his brow as if searching for a solution.
“Give me a few days and I might be able to find something.”
“Good luck on it all, sir.”
“Thank you for your help. I will be in touch.”
After ascending the metal staircase to the main hospital and stepping out into the long corridor, Tim’s mind got to work. The coroner had done his best given the time constraints, but had he really told him anything new? Probably not, he’d confirmed his existing theories at best. That was something at least. Enough to keep the investigation going until more evidence was found.
On his way up to his office, Tim found himself continuously stopping to stare at anyone with blond or red hair. Even a nurse came under suspicion, but on closer inspection, her feet were far too small.
With one foot through his office doorway, he stopped, turned around, and headed outside to his car. Surely someone in town would match his mind’s image. If he had a good look around, he might be able to produce a few more leads. Enough to form an identity parade, anyway.
+++
Jones’s Estate Agents, Bicester, England
“Well, unless there’s anything else you need to know about the property, I’d say it was time to call it a night, wouldn’t you?” Ronnie smiled politely across his desk at the couple that were hoping to buy a property in the more affluent part of town.
“Just one more thing, I’m a bit concerned about the council tax. I need to know if we can afford to live there.”
Ronnie gave him the polite but friendly smile that he reserved for his most annoying customers. “Well, we have the details somewhere, but—”
“Would you mind, please?”
“No problem, sir.” Ronnie scraped back his chair and marched towards the row of filing cabinets behind him. When he’d finally located the local council tax rates, the light in the road outside had much deteriorated. Reaching across to the light switch, he was struck by a sudden shock of queasiness.
The couple were muttering away at his desk, waiting patiently. Everyone else had left the office at 5.30 pm, meaning Ronnie, once the customers had left, had to lock up and close the shop. His clammy hands extracted the documents from the filing cabinet and he handed them to the clients.
“Here, found them.” He mopped his brow.
“Thank you. Something else, sorry.”
Ronnie took a deep breath. He needed to get home and rest right away, but more importantly than that, he had to get to Tarquin’s bookshop. “What?” He took another deep breath. “Now?”
“I beg your pardon?”
The woman nudged her husband, gestured towards the twilight sky and smiled at Ronnie.
The man got to his feet. “Oh well, it’s getting late. I’ll be back in the morning. I have a lot of experience in this area and I’m not used to—” The woman tugged on his sleeve. “Oh, very well, you go home, get some rest, you’re not looking well.”
“Thank you, sir. Yes, I’ve been kicking a cold for a few weeks, sorry to rush you. Yes, let’s pick this up in the morning.”
The couple hastily took leave.
As soon as the door banged shut, Ronnie dashed around the back. He hadn’t often been the last person in the shop, so wasn’t entirely sure where the keys were kept. By the time he’d located them, the office looked like it had been ransacked and Ronnie was drenched in sweat. It came as a great relief to be standing on the pavement, the cool air washing over his face.
One or two steps later and he was feeling much better, but he knew this wouldn’t last long. Thankfully, he managed to stagger along the road to the bookshop without attracting too much attention. With one hand on the door handle, he feared his legs were about to give way.
Tarquin was behind the counter, his head buried in some books that looked like they could have been accounts. “Ronnie,” he said, looking up. “Come in. I’ll err, lock up.”
He brushed past Ronnie and locked the door. “Come on, step this way.” Tarquin led Ronnie to a room around the back that was obviously used as a staff room. There, sitting on the sofa, was Karl.
“Karl,” Ronnie said, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa.
Ronnie looked at Tarquin, who was busying himself putting a pile of books into order. “Where’s Cliff?”
Karl finally spoke up. “He’s running an errand out of town, but he should be back later tonig
ht. No need for concern.”
“Thank God. We’re going to need him if we have any chance of success here.” Ronnie looked defeated.
Tarquin turned around and stood up straight. “Let’s do the business shall we, before you get any further along. Come on, the cage is this way.”
Ronnie followed them both down an old and creaky staircase, the smell of old moth-eaten books getting stronger with each step.
“Just over here,” Tarquin said, pointing to a storeroom.
Ronnie paused to recover his breath and run the back of his hand across his forehead. Flicking the excess sweat across the basement floor, he staggered into the storeroom. Tarquin opened the cage door and gestured for him to step inside.
The cold, metallic cage floor almost came as a relief as he sat in the corner. In an hour or so’s time, though, all that would be different. An image of his warm bed at home flashed across his mind.
Like Ronnie wasn’t there, Karl turned to Tarquin and informed him that he had some chains in the back of his car. “We must keep them with us at all times,” Karl added, before disappearing down the stairs.
Tarquin found something to do in the corner of the room, leaving Ronnie alone to contemplate what was about to happen to him. He’d never been chained up before, but felt sure it wouldn’t turn out to be as bad as he was imagining.
“Help me with these, Tarquin,” Karl called out as he re-entered the room.
Tarquin stopped what he was doing, stood up and took hold of part of the heavy chains. “Let’s get this over with.”
First Tarquin, then Karl, entered the cage, their body heat making Ronnie glisten with perspiration.
As the first chains wrapped around him like steel pythons, Ronnie felt a modicum of reassurance. Once they’d left the cage, though, and the door clanged shut, his anxieties took hold. It was the clicking lock that did it. This must be how people felt when they’d been banged up in prison, and here he was, suffering the same fate, voluntarily.
Sweat dripped down from his forehead, but this time he couldn’t do a thing about it aside from keeping still and waiting for the cold to set in.
A Very British Witch Boxed Set Page 46
