High Moor (15 page)

The paramedic appeared at the rear of the ambulance. “OK guys, that’s your lot. I need to get John here to the hospital. If you need to talk to him again, you can do it after the doctors check him out.”

Steven tore the top off his pack of cigarettes and wrote a number on it. “This is my telephone number, John. If you need to talk to me, about anything at all, then call me. Day or night. OK?”

John nodded as the paramedic ushered Steven and Carl from the back of the ambulance. The doors closed and the vehicle pulled away, back down the gravel driveway to the main road.

“Do you think we did the right thing, Carl?”

“We did all we could, Steve. All we can do now is wait and hope.”

***

24th May 1986. Bishop Auckland General Hospital. 07:30.

“John? Are you awake, pet?” said a woman’s voice. A soft, cool hand took his and pressed two fingers against his wrist.

John groaned and tried to turn over in the bed. “It’s early, Mam. Let me sleep a bit longer.”

The voice chuckled. “Come on, sweetie. I need to do some checks, and the doctor wants to see you, but you’ll be able to go home later on.”

As he rolled onto his side, he felt a painful tug on the back of his left hand. He smelled antiseptic and stale urine in the air, heard the old man in the next bed moan and break into a series of wet, painful coughs. Memories broke through the fog in his mind. Bright lights shining into his eyes. Something constricting his arm in the night, so tight that he felt it would burst like a water balloon, then relief as the pressure subsided. Trying not to cry as a man punctured his skin with a needle in the back of an ambulance and praised him for being a brave boy. Michael screaming as the monster ate him. He opened his eyes, and saw an old woman in a nurse's uniform standing over him.

“There we go, sleepy head. We didn’t get chance to ask you last night, what would you like for breakfast?”

“Where’s me mam and dad? Where’s Michael?”

“Your friend is still in surgery. Your mam and dad will be along to pick you up later, after you’ve seen the Doctor.”

John heard raised voices from behind the plastic curtain that enclosed his bed.

“I couldn't care less what time visiting hours are. Where the bloody hell is my son?”

“Sir, I’ve told you, visiting hours are from ten to two. If you don’t leave now, I’ll call security and have them escort you from the premises.”

“Dad! I’m in here.”

There was the sound of a brief scuffle from behind the curtain, then it swept open to reveal John’s parents. His dad hadn’t shaved that morning. Grey stubble covered his chin, and dark rings circled his eyes. His mam wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her eyes were red rimmed behind her glasses.

John’s father fixed the nurse with a glare. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see my son now.”

The nurse looked around Mr Simpson to the matron, then nodded her ascent and left the cubicle, pulling the curtain closed behind her. John’s mother threw herself against him, wrapping him in a tight hug that pulled on the IV in his hand.

“Mam, you’re pulling the needle out.”

His mother released him and sat in the seat beside the bed, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. His father stood next to her, his face a mixture of relief, concern, and anger.

“How are you doing, champ?”

“My arm itches, and the needle in my hand hurts. Other than that, I’m alright. Can we go home now?”

“Soon, mate. I think the Doctor wants to see you first, then we can go.”

“Is Michael alright? The nurse wouldn’t tell me.”

“I don’t know, son. I saw his mam in the waiting room with Marie. Do you remember what happened? The police say you were attacked by a bear.”

“It wasn’t a bear. It was a werewolf.”

John’s mother shot his father a murderous glance. “I told you not to let him watch those bloody horror movies, George.”

“Caroline, give it a rest will you. John, there are no such thing as werewolves. They're just make believe for films. It was dark, and I can see how you might think it was one, but it was just a bear.”

“It was a werewolf, Dad. When the policeman shot it, I saw it turn back into an old woman, then the other werewolves came and took her away. He told me that’s what it was.”

“The copper told you it was a werewolf? Do you know who it was? Did he tell you his name?”

“He gave me his phone number. Told me to call him if I wanted to talk.”

Mr Simpson opened the cupboard beside the bed and checked the pockets of John’s jeans. After a moment, he took out a small piece of cardboard.

“Is this the one? The policeman that told you that you were attacked by a werewolf?”

John nodded. “I might turn into one, next full moon. I don’t want to hurt anybody, Dad. I don’t want to hurt you and Mam. What should I do?”

“You just need to get a bit of sleep, see the Doctor, and then come home with us. We’ll be back in a bit.”

John grabbed his father’s hand. “Where are you going?”

Mr Simpson’s face was like thunder, but when he spoke, his voice was low and even. “Your mam and me are going to go and have a word with the police.”

26th May 1986. Aykley Heads Police Headquarters. 09:30.

Steven's head pounded in time to the click of his shoes on the wooden floor. His mind cycled through the events of Friday night on a perpetual loop. It was worse when he closed his eyes. When there were no external distractions, he got it all played back, in glorious Technicolor. Sleep had become impossible, so he'd made do with an alcohol-induced coma for the past two nights. This brought its own problems, which were making themselves very evident this morning as he headed to Inspector Franks office.

He arrived at the heavy wooden door and knocked twice, wincing as the sound reverberated through his skull and triggered a brief twinge of nausea. For a moment, there was no answer. Steven prayed that his boss had been called away on some urgent matter, so that he could lock himself in his office with a mug of coffee and some painkillers. It was not to be.

“Come in,” said Inspector Franks' disembodied voice from behind the door.

Steven sighed and entered the room. If it were at all possible, Inspector Franks looked worse than Steven. Dark rings circled his eyes, and he didn't appear to have shaved for at least two days. The room smelled of body odour, expensive aftershave, and stale tobacco smoke.

“Sergeant Wilkinson, please have a seat. I've been going over your report, but there are a few gaps and I was hoping that you could enlighten me.”

“Could you be more specific, sir?”

The Inspector got to his feet and walked around the desk, until he was standing over Steven.

“Well, we can start with you explaining why you ignored my orders with regards to this case and carried on investigating it. Then we can get to the part where you used unencrypted, public communications to discuss an ongoing investigation.”

“Sir, with respect, if I had not ignored your orders, then it's likely that every single one of those boys would have died on Friday night. The evidence had shown that the cat killed by the farmer was not responsible for the death of the Williams boy, but you chose to ignore that for the sake of positive headlines in the local paper. As for using the CBs, well, we didn't have a lot of choice. It's not like we could have used our police radios, given your objection to the case.”

“So, instead you decided to broadcast the details to every amateur radio enthusiast in a five mile radius? Worse than that, you broadcast that you are following up on the sighting of a werewolf?”

Steven grimaced. “That was the description given by the truck driver who sighted the bear, sir. He was a little worse for wear at the time, as I understand it.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. So, you are saying that you weren't looking for a werewolf? Then would you care to explain why Constable Phillips was found holding an unregistered firearm, that he was neither trained nor authorised to use, that contained silver bullets?”

“The weapon belonged to Mr Schneider, sir. He must have given it to the Constable. I can't comment on the nature of the ammunition. Mr Schneider is a little eccentric, but the weapon and ammunition were all covered by the firearms permit that you signed.”

“I see. Mr Schneider gave the Constable a sidearm, but you had no knowledge of this. And when you arrived on the scene, Mr Schneider fired on the alleged bear, seriously wounding it and causing it to flee into the woods. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“The statement from the Simpson boy stated, among other things, that two men saved him by shooting the 'bear'. Who do you suppose the other man was, Sergeant Wilkinson?”

“It was dark, and the boy was under severe duress, sir. It's easy to see how he may have gotten events confused.”

“And was he confused when you and Mr Schneider told him that he'd been attacked by a werewolf, after the incident? When you gave him your personal contact details? Oh yes, I know all about that, Sergeant Wilkinson. I had the boy's parents in this very office on Saturday morning, demanding to know why a police officer would say things like that to a traumatised ten-year-old boy. I have to say, I'd love to know the answer to that one myself.”

Steven shifted in the chair. His hangover was getting worse. Waves of gooseflesh and nausea washed over him.

“What exactly would you like me to tell you, sir?”

“What I would like you to tell me is the fucking truth, Sergeant. Do you recognise this report?” he said, holding up a brown cardboard folder. “You should, it's the one you submitted on Saturday, and as far as I'm concerned, the whole thing is a complete pack of lies. From my perspective, you disobeyed a direct order and as a result, caused the death of a fellow officer. You then falsified your report, which is in itself, a criminal offence.”

Steven got to his feet and stared straight into the Inspector's eyes. “As I have previously stated, sir. I ignored your orders because they were idiotic. If I'd listened to you, then we would be explaining why there were twenty-five dead boys found at that campsite, instead of three. You tell me, sir. How exactly would the press have portrayed you then? As an incompetent fuckwit that only sees the world in terms of his own career? Those children are alive despite your best efforts, and I would do the exact same thing again if I had to.”

The Inspector retreated behind his mahogany desk, his face flushed with a combination of fear and anger. “Sergeant Wilkinson, I am left with no choice but to suspend you from duty without pay, pending a full investigation. That will be all.”

“You jumped-up, pompous little shit. Do you think I'm going to put up with this? I'll have the union tear you a new arsehole.”

“That will be all, Mr Wilkinson. Now get out of my office before I have you dragged out.”

***

26th May 1986. Neville’s Cross, Durham. 16:45.

Steven barely registered the front door opening. He sat in the front room of his two bedroom, terraced house, with the curtains drawn and the air hazy with cigarette smoke and the stink of stale alcohol. A children’s program was on the television, some cartoon that he'd not been paying attention to, background noise to stop him going crazy in the silence. The click of heels on linoleum. The swirl of smoke in the beams of light that pierced the curtains as the living room door opened.

"You’re home early, hon. Did they give you the day off?”

He placed his empty glass on the table with exaggerated care and turned to face his wife. He could sense the storm brewing. Any second now the thunderheads behind her eyes would break and the storm would unleash its full fury.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Well, it’s about bloody time. No one should have to go through what you did and then go straight back to work. Did they sort out an appointment with the counsellor?”

“Not exactly. The Inspector was none too pleased that I disobeyed him, even if it did mean I saved the lives of all those children. He suspended me, pending an investigation.”

“He did what? That little tosspot can’t do that. Have you spoken to the union?”

Steven reached for the bottle of whiskey beside the sofa and poured himself another large glass. “The union aren’t interested. There's a chance that charges could be brought against me, and that fat, useless union rep scurried back to his hole. Until the investigation completes, they don’t want to know.”

“Well, I hope you aren’t just going to sit here on your arse, stinking the place up with smoke and drinking yourself to death until they sort this out. You haven’t even done the washing up, and there’s that shelf that needs putting up in the kitchen. If you’re going to be around the house, you can bloody well make yourself useful.”

“Franks suspended me without pay, Laura. I can’t even go and sign on because I still technically have a job. After all I did, all I went through, and they just fucked me over.”

Laura’s eyes darkened. She strode across the room and yanked the curtains open. Steven winced as bright sunshine shone into his eyes.

“How long? How long are you not going to be bringing any money in?”