The Eighth Witch (32 page)

“So what happened?” Annie said.

“Well just as the dog was about to pounce, Florence Tibbs emerged from the house. She shouted something at the dog—something foreign, Mr. Blake said—and the dog backed off.”

“So nothing really happened?” Carter said. They didn’t have time for this.

“Well it did, and it didn’t. This is why I thought of you, Rob. Do you remember the story you told us? The Phantom Cat of Wrexham Green?”

“Welham,” Carter said. “It was Welham Green and yes, I do remember.”

“Well, old Mr. Blake claims a similar thing happened to him. When he got back into his van Florence Tibbs was standing at the front gate, the dog at her side. She was stroking its head. Blake pulled away and glanced in his rear-view mirror. Mrs. Tibbs was still there, but the dog had vanished.”

“It probably wandered off,” Annie said. “They do that, dogs.”

“Ah, but it didn’t,” Penny said. “Blake turned and looked out through the back window and the dog was still there, still being petted by Mrs. Tibbs. He checked the mirror again—no dog. The dog cast no reflection. Now what do you make of that?”

“How old is Mr. Blake?” Lacey said.

“Eighty if he’s a day,” Annie said.

“But as sharp as a tack,” Penny said. “I’m sure he wasn’t imagining it or making it up. He said it was as if Mrs. Tibbs didn’t want him in the house, as if she had something to hide. The dog made sure he kept his distance.”

“It could be her familiar,” Harry Bailey said.

“You’re giving some credence to this?” Carter said.

“In light of the fact that we have very little else to go on I’m thinking it might be worth investigating. Diana, if she has abducted Laura Sallis and Holly, must be holding them somewhere. It makes sense that she’d want to deter visitors. How well do you know this Mrs. Tibbs?”

“Not at all,” Annie said.

Penny shook her head. “I don’t know her, but I’ve heard some odd tales about her over the years. As I said earlier, eccentric.”

“Then we’ll make it our first port of call. Are you up for it, Detective Inspector?”

“Ian, please. Yes, I’m up for it. Jane?”

Jane Talbot nodded, even though the look on Robert Carter’s face told her it would probably be a complete waste of time.

“Right,” Penny Chapman said, finishing her coffee and getting to her feet. “Duty done. Now I must dash or poor Adam will think I’ve deserted him. Keep me in the loop, Annie.”

“I always do, Pen. I always do.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Holly stood at the sink in the cramped kitchen of the house, staring out through the grimy window at the surrounding countryside. Beyond the back garden was a field left to grow wild, mainly rye grass and poppies with a few small clusters of wheat, remnants of more prosperous times, times before the constraints of the EU Common Agricultural Policy closed down farms and put farmers on the dole queue.
 

The field converged with woodland, with no hedge to define the boundary. The woodland was their main hope. There they could lose themselves amongst the trees and gradually make their way towards the road.

“I’ve checked the front,” Laura said as she came into the kitchen and joined Holly at the window. “No sign of the dog.”

“Same here,” Holly said. She had a heavy, nauseous feeling in her stomach, a sense of foreboding. If they were going to do this then they had to do it now, before what little courage she had deserted her completely.

“Well, we know it’s out there,” Laura said. “The question is, where?” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’ll take the front, you take the back. When you hit the trees bear left. If I make it to the trees at the front I’ll head right. We should meet up and we can make for the road together.”

Holly nodded. “Okay,” she said, though the thought of leaving the house made her quake.
 

“Give me a moment to get to the front door. Count to five and then go. Oh, and leave the door open, in case you have to dash back.”

Laura left the kitchen and Holly began to count.
 

By the count of three she had her hand wrapped around the handle of the back door. By four she had turned it, opening the door a fraction. On five she took a deep breath, yanked the door open wide and ran from the house. Negotiating the wooden gate in the picket fence, within thirty seconds she found herself in the field.

The coarse grass scratched at her ankles and the earth beneath her feet was rutted and uneven, making it difficult to run with any confidence. There was the fear that with every step one of her feet might land awkwardly and turn underneath her. A twisted or sprained ankle now would effectively end her escape attempt.

She strained her ears, trying to tell if she was being followed, but the only sounds were those of her feet crunching down the rye grass and her ragged, panting breaths as she sucked air into her lungs. Not daring to look around to see if anything was behind her, she ran on, ducking low, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible and concentrating on her footfalls, watching each foot as it hit the ground and looking out for potholes or anything else that might trip her.

By the time she reached the trees her chest was burning, as were the muscles in her legs, but she kept running. There were different hazards here. While the ground was more even, the layer of leaf mold on the woodland floor concealed tree roots designed to trip her. Finally she stopped running and glanced back the way she’d come.
 

Nothing had followed her.

She leant against the trunk of a large pine. Through the gaps in the trees she could see the house, back door still hanging open. Holly felt as if she’d run miles but the house seemed only a stone’s throw away. She was far from safe.
 

Pushing herself away from the tree trunk, she was about to start running again when she saw a dark shape moving behind the palings of the picket fence of the house. She gave a small moan in her throat as the dog burst out through the gate and stood at the edge of the field, its misshapen head raised, nose sniffing the air, trying to get her scent.

Very slowly she edged around the tree, putting the trunk between herself and the dog. She stood for a moment, taking long, slow breaths, and then peered around the tree trunk, back to the house. To her dismay the dog was halfway across the field, running in loping strides towards her. Taking one more massive breath, she pushed herself away from the tree and started to run again.

The woodland was getting thicker, the trees more tightly packed, the undergrowth dense and lush—gorse, bracken and brambles that scratched her legs through the denim of her jeans, hampering her progress, slowing her down to almost walking pace. Behind her she could hear the dog gaining on her. At least if it was chasing her there was hope that Laura had escaped.

The undergrowth suddenly thinned and she could run again. Past one stand of trees, and then another. Glancing back, she saw a dark shape parting the bracken and gorse like a ship plowing through waves. Holly turned back, ran a few more steps and found herself in a wide clearing. No more trees, no more cover. Instead she found herself confronted by a huge, white-painted brick wall.

It was so high the top of the wall disappeared into the leafy crown of the woodland, just as the sides of the wall disappeared into the surrounding trees. It stood there in front of her, a stark, white edifice, an impenetrable barrier.

“Impossible.” Holly said the word aloud. What she was seeing made no sense. There shouldn’t have been a wall here, in the middle of a wood.

Laura’s words came back to her.
“If you get past the dog I’m sure Diana will have cast a few spells to ensure you won’t get very far.”

So was the wall one of Diana’s spells? What other explanation could there be?

Behind her she could hear the dog crashing through the undergrowth. She looked back. It wasn’t visible but it was getting closer.

Turning to face the wall, Holly noticed the door. It was partially hidden behind a tree to the left of her but that did nothing to explain why she hadn’t seen it before. She approached it cautiously.

The door was larger than average, painted a matte black with a round glass window set near the top. She peered through the window but the glass was obscured, revealing nothing. There was a small, round doorknob but no lock. Gripping the knob, she turned it and then pushed.
 

The door was heavy but opened easily. She took one last look behind her. The dog had reached the clearing and stopped. It sat on its haunches at the edge of the trees, staring at her, its long, pink tongue lolling out over its bottom jaw as it panted for breath.
 

Holly didn’t hesitate. She pushed the door open a few inches more and slipped through, slamming it behind her, hearing the satisfying click of the latch. But as the door closed all light was extinguished, plunging her into total darkness.
 

“Oh shit!” she said softly.

“How much further?” Carter asked.

Annie checked the map laid out across her lap. “About another mile.”

It had started to rain again in a thin and steady drizzle. Carter switched on the wipers.
 

“What did you really think about Penny’s story?” Annie asked.

“Not a lot really. I think Diana’s far too clever to have decided to live as the local, archetypal crone. It’s too obvious. I’m quite willing to believe that she’s living amongst you all as part of the local community, but I doubt she would want to draw attention to herself.”

Annie nodded in agreement and stared out through the side window, lost in thought. “I’m wondering if I actually know her and don’t realize it.”

“It’s a possibility. With your work at the school you come into contact with a lot of people.”

Annie shuddered. “It’s a horrible thought,” she said. “Diana could be someone I see on a regular, day-to-day basis.”

“What did you mean when you said you could knock our heads together?” Carter said.

“Sorry?” Annie said, thrown by the sudden change of subject.

“Jane and me. You said you wanted to knock our heads together.”

Annie turned in her seat to look at him. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Carter said nothing.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes then. You love her and it’s pretty obvious she adores you. It’s written in every look she gives you, every gesture she makes.”

“So you’re an expert in body language now.”

“Actually I am. I studied it for five years. Body language was just one of the behavioral sciences I was studying. It was a field I wanted to get into.”
 

“Why didn’t you?”

“Unfortunately circumstances got in the way.”

“Circumstances?”

“They’re unimportant now, and anyway you’re deflecting. We’re talking about you and Jane, not me.”

“No, you’re talking about it. I just asked why you wanted to bang our heads together.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

Carter stared stonily out through the windscreen. “It’s never going to happen,” he said.

“She still loves her husband?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But she won’t do anything to hurt her kids. And I can’t really blame her.”

“That’s a shame,” Annie said. “I’d like to see you settled down.”

Carter smiled. “I’ve never seen myself as the settling down kind. Pipe and slippers, reading the newspaper in bed on a Sunday morning…” He gave a mock shudder. “No, not for me.”

It was Annie’s turn to change the subject. “Just up here on the left. Do you see the gate?”

“I see it,” Carter said and flicked the turn signal.

The gate stood about four yards back from the road and was broken in at least three places. Repairs had been tried over the years but they were half-hearted attempts, odd planks of wood hammered over broken slats, with nails long rusted. There was a sign attached to a half-rotted post, the letters faded to mere outlines.

“So this is Pett’s farm,” Carter said.

“That’s what it says on the sign.”

“You can read that?”

“Just about,” Annie said.

“We’ll have to walk from here. Look.” Carter pointed at a heavily rusted chain wrapped around the gate and the gate post and secured by an equally rusted padlock.

The gate groaned and wobbled as they climbed over it and jumped down to a muddy track. The track ran for a quarter of a mile through a scrubby field cluttered with the detritus of farm life. To their right there was a huge contraption that stood on deflated rubber tires. Measuring about fifteen feet across, the bulk of it comprised of circular steel blades, each about a yard in circumference, attached to a rusting steel frame. Carter could only guess at its purpose. There was an old tin bath half-filled with filthy, brown water, next to it a Belfast sink, the white porcelain chipped and streaked with green trails of moss. Also to their right there was the incongruous sight of a large, overstuffed settee, its floral upholstery faded to a dirty gray. It sat in the middle of the field as if inviting them to sit for a while and enjoy the decaying remains of Pett’s farm.