Ravens Gathering (37 page)

DI Collins was at his desk.  In front of him was the
report he’d compiled for the MoD.  They’d taken the investigation
over.  Apparently it was no longer a police matter.  He’d assumed the
Army would be taking over, so was surprised when he was confronted with
uniforms from the Air Force.  They were sitting across the desk from him
now.  Air Marshal Buxton and Group Captain Rowland.

The Air Marshal was in his late forties.  Slate grey
hair, clean shaven, and pale-faced.  He looked as if he spent far too much
time indoors.  Rowland looked younger, but that may simply have been because
he led a more active life.  His hair was slightly longer than you would
normally expect of a military man, a feature that Collins didn’t
overlook.  He was broad, but in good shape.

Buxton’s rank alone told you he was in charge, but he sat
back and let the Group Captain do all the talking.  Collins was aware of
being observed as Rowland gently interrogated him.  The door was closed.

“I understand you have no recollection of Saturday night?”

“It’s a bit hazy.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I remember working here late, but I don’t remember
leaving or getting home.”

“But you did go home?”

“That’s where I woke up Sunday morning.”

“Has your wife been able to throw any light on this
haziness
?”

Collins knew what he was implying, and he didn’t like
it.  But he also knew he was severely outranked and that these guys could
pull strings he didn’t even know existed.  So he had to put up with it.

“She doesn’t know what time I got in.  But she’s used
to that.  It goes with the territory.”

“And what time did she go to bed?”

“She’s not sure, but not earlier than eleven.”

“So you got in
some time
between
eleven and...?”

“Around eight the next morning.  That’s when she woke
up.”

“Any idea what time you left here?”

“No.  The last person to see me was the Desk Sergeant,
and he reckons that was between seven and eight Saturday night.”

“Potentially thirteen hours unaccounted for then?”

Glances were exchanged.  Collins wondered if they were
debating whether to have him committed or not.  Buxton nodded for Rowland
to continue.

“What do you know about events at Forest Farm?”

“I take it you mean on Saturday night?”

“Of course.”

“Nothing more than you do.”  He tapped the
report.  “Everything I know is in here.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy reading that later.  For now,
though, give me your take on what happened?”

“Well, to be fair, we were only called in after the Army
found their men dead.”

“But you went up to the farm.  What did
you
make
of it?”

“It was a massacre.  Whatever hit those boys, they
didn’t have a chance.”

Rowland frowned.  “
What
ever?”

Collins looked at him blankly.  “I’m sorry?”

“You said ‘whatever’.  Not whoever.”

He shrugged at the pair of them.  “Well, frankly, it
did look as if they’d been attacked by machines, not people.”

More exchanged glances.

“Any indications as to who might be responsible?”

“Not really.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

“All right.  No obvious suspects.”

“What about the
McLeans
?”

“Can’t see it myself.”

“With respect, Inspector, that’s hardly concrete
evidence.  Were they at the farmhouse?”

“No.  They said they’d found the events of the previous
night too disturbing, so they stayed with friends.”

“Have the friends confirmed that?”

“Yes.”

“And who are they?”

Collins glanced down at his notes.  “An Adam and
Jennifer Hawthorn.”

“Locals?”

“They live at another farm nearby.”  He lifted a page
to check the details.  The name struck him as odd, and yet strangely
familiar.

Rowland was moving on.  Collins got the impression that
he was going through the motions anyway.  The
McLeans
weren’t likely suspects.

“Didn’t they have a lodger with them?”

“That’s right.  A bloke called Gates.”

“Where was he?”

“Under the circumstances, he moved out as well.  His
family live in the village, and he stopped with them.  Apparently their
sofa was a more attractive option than staying at the farm.”

“And presumably his family have corroborated that.”

“Yes.”

The Group Captain sat back in his chair and looked up at the
ceiling thoughtfully.  Collins took the opportunity to look at Buxton, but
he seemed more intent on his wing man than anything else.

Dropping his gaze, Rowland asked: “And what about Scene of
Crime?  Did they find anything?”

It was tempting to be flippant and ask: “What, besides all
the blood and gore?”  But Collins thought better of it.  He still had
to provide for his wife and boys.

“Nothing that jumped out at us.  No traces of any
weapons other than the ones the soldiers were carrying.  There were
fragments of clothing all over the place, but if you’d seen the state of the
master bedroom, it could take months or even years for us to work out what
fabrics came from where.”  He paused and shook his head as if in
disbelief.  “There was one strange thing though.  There were bloody
hundreds of fingerprints, which is hardly surprising given the number of bodies
we had going in and out of that place last weekend.  But we did find a
match.”

“Well why didn’t you say so before?”  This from Buxton,
who suddenly leaned forward.  Collins half expected him to produce a
swagger stick and start waving it at him while he demanded an explanation. 
“This could get us our man.”

“I doubt it, sir.  The fingerprints were on record from
two separate murders, but the killer was never identified.”

“Still, it might help us.”

“I doubt it.  The murders took place in nineteen
thirty-nine.”

They took his report with them.  He’d typed it
himself.  No carbons.  Just as instructed.  Any other records
about the events in Ravens Gathering were now in Rowland’s briefcase.  The
case was closed as far as Westfield Police were concerned.  Still, the
Superintendent would be pleased.  One less thing for him to worry
about.  For a small town, they had enough crime on their hands.

It wasn’t in his nature to let things lie, so Collins was
surprised at how relaxed he felt about it all.  His reaction puzzled him,
but not enough to make him feel any more concerned.  Frankly, the MoD were
welcome to it.  There was something strange about the whole
situation.  Especially the fact that they hadn’t seemed interested in why
Simon Cantor’s body had been found on the farm, or why his wife had been raped
and her mutilated body left to rot at the vicarage.  At least, not during
their interview.  But they’d taken the paperwork for that as well.

As he watched them walk away from the building, he was struck
again by the fact that the RAF were involved.  It was Friday now, and the
Army had been buzzing around the farm incessantly since last weekend.  So
why the sudden change?

Sometimes the answers come when you least expect them. 
No matter how hard you rack your brains, you can’t make the connection. 
Even for a copper like him, who was used to lateral thinking.

The boys were watching
Raiders of the Lost Ark
when
he arrived home that evening.  Collins was vaguely aware of the video
playing in the background as he wandered back and forth around the house. 
After swapping his suit for something more comfortable, he set the table while
his wife finished making dinner.  The TV was at the far end of the
lounge-diner.  Indiana Jones was telling the pretty girl in the white
dress to close her eyes.  Collins wasn’t much into fantasy and adventure
films, but he’d sat through the film a few times with the boys.  It had
been good to share the experience with them.  They were getting older now,
though, and weren’t really interested in sharing things with their parents.

When he came back with the condiments a short while later,
the scene had changed.  He stopped a moment and watched it as the missing
connections began to form.  It was the warehouse filled with crates. 
He wondered if that was where his report would end up.  Or somewhere like
it.  Locked up with the other records he’d handed over to Rowland. 
And then he made the lateral leap. 
Raiders
was a Stephen Spielberg
film.  But a few years earlier he’d made another film:
Close Encounters
of the Third Kind
.

As the end credits started to roll, he
startled
his boys by laughing out loud.

Autumn felt as if it was beginning to settle in.  A
week or so earlier, it had been sunny and he’d been making favourable
comparisons with the Canaries.  Now it was cooling, and he wondered
whether he’d be able to handle it.  He’d spent a long time in warmer
climes.  Even so, he wasn’t going to stay cooped up indoors.  It
might be cold, but at least it wasn’t raining.

He’d walked a lot over the last few days.  Around and
about the woods and farmland were still giving him enough variety to stop him
from getting bored.  Not that he was focused on the scenery.  He
needed the exercise to counteract the tension.  Things were better with
his family, but it was going to take time.  After years of them fearing he
might remember what he’d seen in nineteen sixty-four, in some respects it had
been a relief that it was now out in the open.  But that didn’t mean it
was going to be easy for any of them.  They were talking to him now. 
Only short bursts, though, and it was upsetting for them and for him.  So
he walked, and they coped with their feelings in whatever way felt right for
them.

Counselling would probably have been helpful, but that
wasn’t going to happen.  So his mother cleaned, and his father drank, and
Matthew worked on his car, and Janet sat in her room and read.  Perhaps
predictably, Colin didn’t seem too perturbed by the experience.  For now,
though, they kept him at home, filling his head with other things: Disney
videos, picture books, jigsaws, Lego, toy cars.  All designed to overlay
the images from the previous Saturday.  When he went out into the village,
they wanted other memories to come spilling from his mouth.

The previous Saturday.  A week ago today.  In some
senses, it felt like a lifetime away.  In others, it was as if it had
happened only moments ago.

Without realising it, he’d strayed on to Kindness
Farm.  He recognised the track that he’d used to leave the farmyard the
week before.  A part of him wanted to walk past it.  Another part of
him – the part that suspected his subconscious had really brought him here –
urged him to step off the footpath he was on and visit the Hawthorns.  The
track was only visible for twenty yards or so, then it turned and disappeared
from view between two mounds that rose perhaps fifteen feet above it. 
From here, he knew he was safe.  He could hesitate all he liked, and they
couldn’t see him from the farm yard.

It was a small comfort to him as he wrestled with his
feelings.  He hadn’t seen the others since just after dawn last
Sunday.  They’d remained hidden from the rest of Martin’s family and the
other villagers in the clearing.  The shame and distress they were all
feeling would only have been exacerbated by the appearance of the
Sentinels.  He’d spotted Adam and Claire briefly as he led his family from
the clearing.  Their presence reassured him, and he felt sure they’d only
revealed themselves to him.  After that, his focus was on getting everyone
home.

Clothes were retrieved.  Probably not all, but enough
to allow people to dress with sufficient decency to be seen on Main
Street.  Not that the street was teeming with witnesses in the early hours
of the morning.  But it gave them all some comfort.

As his own family settled in, kettle on and something
stronger available for those who wanted it, Martin had excused himself and
stepped outside.  He didn’t understand how he knew they would be waiting
for him, but he did.  They were in the front garden of the vicarage. 
A hedge concealed them effectively from the road.  There was no sign of
the Land Rover.

Both of them looked grim.  Adam nodded towards the
vicarage.

“He was here.  There’s nothing anyone can do, but we’ll
make sure the police are alerted.”

“Without exposing yourselves?”

Adam smiled, though there was little humour in it. 
“He’s learning,” he told his sister.

Martin was very conscious of Claire watching him.  She
nodded her agreement.  “He’s definitely learning.  You did well up
there.”  He had a sense that she was holding back.

“Yes you did,” Adam said.  “We can’t thank you enough.”

From the street, he heard a diesel engine drawing near.

“That’ll be Croft,” Adam said.  “He took Ian and Tanya
back to our place.”

“How are they?”

“Ian’s conscious again and Tanya’s still in shock. 
They’re both going to need looking after.  But we can do that.”

“What about Collins?”

In spite of the circumstances, Adam grinned.  “He’ll be
okay.  Mason’s taking him home.”

“Is
he
conscious then?”

“No.”

“How does Mason know where he...?”

“Let’s just say we have our ways.”

 “What do you think will happen when he wakes up?”

“Collins?  Don’t worry about him.  He won’t
remember a thing.”

Martin raised questioning eyebrows.

“Again, let’s just say we have our ways.”

On the street, they heard the Land Rover pull up, then the
back of it appeared in the gateway as Croft reversed into the drive.

“We’ve got to go,” Adam said.  He gestured across the
road.  “You’ve got a lot to do over there.  And it’s probably a good
idea if we’re not seen together just yet.  So we’ll keep our distance for
a while.  We’ll be in touch when the time is right.”

He nodded in what Martin took to be an attempt at
reassurance.  Beside him, Claire did the same, but she seemed more distant
than Martin had hoped.  A few seconds later, they were gone, the Land
Rover heading back to
Kindness Farm
.

Back in the present, his hesitation made the decision for
him.  Adam strolled into view from the direction of the farm yard. 
He was dressed for work, but there was no sign of tools.  When he saw
Martin, he smiled.

“I thought it might be you,” he said cheerfully.  He
offered no further explanation and Martin was learning that there was little
point in asking.

Reaching him, Adam patted him on the back.  “It’s good
to see you.  Out for a walk?”

“Yeah,” Martin said mechanically.  He felt awkward at
being caught like this.  He was also unsure how the Sentinels would be
towards him anyway.  After all, they’d achieved what they wanted to, and
he’d begun to suspect that he had simply played a useful part in their game.

Adam must have seen something in his demeanour.  He
gestured towards the path that led away from the farm yard.  “Let me join
you.  We’ve got a lot to talk about.”