The Wilds (11 page)

He walked slowly over to his car, he placed the folders on the roof as he searched his pockets for the keys. As he found him there was a familiar voice behind him.

‘Inspector Pearce!’ Holly Booth’s voice called from the station door.

Pearce sighed, he had got so close to getting away, and turned to see her jogging across the car park toward shim.

‘What is it Booth?’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry.’

She arrived at his car.

‘Sorry, sir,’ she said, only slightly out of breath. ‘It’s just I thought I should let you know about this?’

She held up an evidence bag, inside was a clump of grass, covered in a rusty brown substance that Pearce had seen far too many times in his life.

‘Bloodstained grass?’ he said, a little confused. ‘Where from?’

‘This is what Flynn wanted to see you about. Apparently he and Karl Morgan, found a large pool of drying blood in the field opposite where Mr Morgan’s car was found.’

Pearce rolled his eyes in annoyance. He had warned Morgan to stay clear of Flynn, but as usual no one seemed to listen.

‘Trust Flynn to drag Morgan into his crazy ideas,’ he said.

Booth nodded, although she looked to the ground, the way she always did when he mentioned Flynn.

‘We can’t just ignore it, though, can we, sir?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Pearce said, wishing in all honesty that he could, but knowing there was only so much he could keep hidden, especially with Flynn sniffing around the case. The reporter was a hack, but he was a tenacious one, and one he had the scent of a story he would not give up until he’d tracked it down.

‘Shall I send some uniformed officers to check the scene?’ Booth asked.

‘No,’ Pearce said. ‘I’m heading out that way myself, so I’ll check it out.’

‘What should I do about this?’ she asked, waving the evidence bag once more.

‘Just put it on my desk,’ Pearce said. ‘I’ll process it when I get back.’

Booth nodded and turned to walk back to the station. Suddenly she stopped and looked back at him.

‘Be careful, sir,’ she said with a look of genuine concern.

Pearce smiled and tapped his hip, under his hand he felt the reassuring bulge of his Glock 9mm.

‘Always,’ he said. ‘Oh, and I’d like you to take a trip over to the Sampson farm and have a look around.’

‘Mr Sampson has only been missing for a few hours,’ Booth said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that warranted an official investigation yet?’

‘That’s why it’s unofficial,’ he said. ‘Just see if there’s any evidence to suggest anything other than him just going to the pub without telling his wife.’

Booth nodded and headed back inside. Pearce opened his car door and picked the folders up from the roof. He saw P.C. Lindley walking across the car park. He remembered that he had seen him laughing and joking with Flynn and Morgan earlier from the window in his office. It was time that the young constable was given a dressing down. Pearce threw the folders onto the passenger seat and then slammed the car door shut with such force that the thud echoed around the car park. Lindley turned as Pearce stormed over to him..

‘P.C. Lindley,’ Pearce said stopping a few meters short of him. ‘A word please.’

The constable looked nervous, and Pearce also sensed he looked guilty.

‘Yes, sir,’ Lindley said walking over to him.

‘I saw you chatting with our local journalist and Mr Morgan earlier. What about?’ Pearce said forcefully.

‘Erm, nothing much,’ Lindley said. ‘I was just catching up with Jason. We went to school together and I hadn’t seen him in a while.’

Pearce could smell the lies coming out of his mouth. Lindley was hiding something.

‘Really?’ he said. ‘You know of course that Mr Morgan is the brother of the missing man whose car you found yesterday?’

‘I had no idea, sir,’ Lindley said.

Another lie. This young man needed to be taught who was in charge around here, and where his loyalties should lie as a police officer. Pearce grabbed Lindley by his shirt collar and pushed him back against the nearest car.

‘Listen to me Lindley,’ he growled in his face. ‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, if I hear of you breathing a word to Flynn about any police matter, I swear to God your career will be over in a heartbeat. Flynn is scum, he will do anything to sell more copies of his rag. You are a police officer aren’t you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Lindley said.

‘Then I hope you know where your loyalties lie.’

Pearce let the young constable go. He straightened up the collar of his uniform for him. He looked at Lindley, who was visibly shaken by what had just happened.

‘So we’re on the same page then, constable?’ Pearce asked with a smile.

Lindley was too shook up to even speak, all he could manage was the weakest of nods.

‘Good lad,’ Pearce said before walking off back to his car.

‘Then I heard a scream from over there,’ Tim said, pointing down the bank. ‘I ran up there, but there wasn’t anything around. It was dark, though. I tried using the light off my phone, but I couldn’t see anything.’

Tim had recounted for Karl and Jason all of the events of the previous evening. Karl knew that despite the fact that the young man had not seen much, it didn’t sound good for his girlfriend.

‘Didn’t the police find anything?’ he asked Tim.

‘They didn’t even check,’ Tim said.

‘That sounds familiar,’ Jason said, his contempt obvious in his voice. ‘I’m guessing another one of Pearce’s orders.’

Karl nodded. The fact that Pearce had not ordered a search of the field near Phil’s car could be seen as an oversight. This, though, the disappearance of young woman, was another matter. Karl was beginning to think that maybe Jason was right, and Pearce was covering something up.

‘Let’s check it out now,’ he said. ‘We might find something in the daylight that you missed last night.’

Jason and Tim agreed that it was a good idea and the three of them set off down the bank.

‘So you came face to face with a cow?’ Jason asked.

‘Yeah,’ Tim replied.

‘And it scared you so much that you fell down the bank and knocked yourself out?’ Jason continued.

‘Yeah, well, you don’t expect to see a fucking great cow stood right in front of you when you’ve just had a piss, do you?’ Tim said defensively.

‘I guess not,’ Jason said laughing.

Karl, who was slightly ahead of them stopped abruptly. He looked down the slope of the bank on the opposite side to the marsh. There was a hedgerow that led into an area of scrub land that then led into the woods. He rushed down the slope towards the hedgerow and crouched down in front of it.

Tim and Jason followed him down.

‘What is it?’ Jason asked.

‘I spotted this,’ Karl said, he was holding up a scrap of pink fabric, frayed and torn at the edges as though it had been ripped.

Tim’s face drained of its little remaining colour.

‘That looks like Julie’s top she was wearing last night.’

‘There might be more deeper in there,’ Jason said. ‘She might have hid in the hedgerow.’

Tim suddenly dropped to his hands and knees and began to scramble into the hedgerow. Jason and Karl instinctively grabbed him and dragged him back out. Jason pulled the young man to his feet. He tried to wriggle his way free of Jason’s grip, but the reporter held him tight.

‘I’ve got to find her,’ Tim yelled.

Jason released him and spun him around so that they were face to face.

‘There’s no need for you to see what we might find in there.’ Jason said, and the meaning of the words cut Tim deeply. Tears welled in his eyes once more.

‘It might be nothing,’ Karl said softly.

‘Just in case, though,’ Jason said. ‘I’ll go.’

Jason got down on his hand and knees and began to crawl into the undergrowth. Karl and Tim stood silently watching as the reporter disappeared from view. Karl listened intently to the sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves.

‘Fucking thorns!’ Came Jason voice from within the hedgerow. ‘There’s a bit more fabric in here.’

‘Keep hold of it,’ Karl said. he looked towards Tim. the young man was shaking with fear. ‘Anything else in there?’

‘No,’ Jason answered. ‘The bush leads into the next field. I’m going through.’

Tim looked to Karl pleadingly. Karl nodded and Tim dropped to his knees and scampered into the hedgerow, Karl followed. Jason had been right about the thorns, Karl felt them scratching him as he clambered his way through the bush. He followed closely behind Tim, hoping that he was following the path made by Jason. They came out in the field behind the hedgerow and saw Jason waiting for them. The reporter shook his head as the other two men brushed themselves off.

‘I guess the trail’s gone cold,’ Karl said. ‘It’d take fifty people all day to search this field.’

‘We have to find her,’ Tim said. dropping to his knees and sobbing. Karl moved to comfort him, but felt Jason’s hand on his arm pulling him the other way. He let the reporter lead him a short distance away from the crying young man.

‘It’s not so bad,’ Jason said quietly, so that Tim would not hear him. ‘An animal wouldn’t want to be out in the open like this with its food. It would have headed into the woodland there. It’s a relatively small copse. We might pick up the trail again.’

Karl agreed that it was there best plan. He walked over to Tim who was slowly starting to compose himself.

‘We think we should check the woods,’ Karl said. ‘Do you want to come with us, or wait here?’

Tim stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve.

‘I’m not going to find her sitting here am I?’ he said. ‘I’ll come with you.’

The three men headed across the field, toward the looming trees of the wood.

Leon Hayes lifted the bonnet of the car and steam rushed up in a hot cloud to his face. This was just perfect, stuck in the arse end of nowhere with hotel reservations waiting in Nottingham. He heard the passenger door open and his wire Maria walking towards the front of the car.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ she asked, in that tone that always grated on him, the one designed to make him feel foolish.

‘I don’t know,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m not a mechanic am I?’

‘Did you check the oil?’ she asked.

‘Does it look like it’s a problem with oil?’ he said. ‘Of course I checked the oil. It’s over heated for some reason, even though I put water in it this morning. The radiator must be fucked.’

There was a knocking on the glass of the rear window of the car. Their five-year-old daughter, Annie, was waving. Leon walked over to her door and opened it. He gave the little girl a kiss on the top of her head and then undid the straps on her car seat. He pulled her out and set her down on the ground.

‘Is the car poorly, Daddy?’ she asked.

‘Yes, sweetheart,’ Leon said. ‘We’re going to have to wait here for a while.’

The girl stuck her bottom lip out.

‘Are we going to miss the show?’ she asked. They were on their way to take Annie to see the ‘Disney On Ice’ show at Nottingham Ice arena and then stay the night in the Park Plaza Hotel.

‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘We’ve got ages yet.’

‘Yay!’ Annie beamed with joy and danced on the spot.

‘What are we going to do then?’ Maria said.

Leon turned back to her. He was having trouble keeping his emotions in check. They had agreed to give things another go for the sake of Annie, but the constant arguments were becoming tiring.

‘Like I said to Annie, we have to wait here a little while until the car cools down, then I can top up the water tank. Hopefully we can make it to a garage and get it sorted.’

‘Can I play over there?’ Annie said pointing to the overgrown meadow next to the road.

‘Yes, baby,’ Maria said.

‘Just stay where we can see you okay?’ Leon added.

‘Okay, Daddy,’ the little girl yelled, already running off towards the meadow. Leon watched her. She was such a happy little girl. He hated to think what it would do to her if he and Maria were to divorce.

‘We should have got breakdown cover,’ Maria said. Her tone had changed; there was no accusation in the statement.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘but with everything that’s been going on, I just forgot.’

‘Never mind,’ Maria said. ‘We all make mistakes.’

He smiled at her and she smiled back. He loved her so much, he always had. It would take time, and it would be hard work to solve all of their problems, but Annie and what they had once had was worth fighting for.

‘Do you want some coffee?’ she said walking round to the back of the car.

‘Sure, why not?’ he said following her. She had opened the boot and was pouring two steaming cups of coffee from a stainless steel thermos. Leon took one and took a large gulp of it, not caring that it was still a little too warm.

Holly Booth pulled the car up outside the Sampson farmhouse. There were no other cars around, obviously Mrs Sampson had not made it back yet. Perhaps she had found her husband, though the fact that Pearce had sent her out here suggested to Holly that this was not likely. Pearce would not have bothered if he didn’t think that Mr Sampson was already dead.

Holly wished that her boss would share more with her. It was clear that he had some idea what was going on, but he kept it to himself. Holly knew that there should not have been so many disappearances in such a small area. The nature of them, too, was indicative of some kind of foul play.

Jason was certain it was a big cat, like Altman was saying, but was that possible? She had to admit that the times she had allowed Jason to voice his opinion on the matter he had been very convincing. His arguments were sound, if not a little farfetched. Knowing how Pearce felt about Jason, though, she usually tried to change the subject whenever it arose.

To his credit, Jason would always accept this. He understood the position she was in, and had never tried to get information from her that could be used against Pearce. Perhaps she had been too hard on him this morning, but things couldn’t go on the way they had been. It had all become too complicated.

She got out of the car in the afternoon sun, and wandered across the courtyard. As she passed the house, she saw the large metal shed that Mrs Sampson had described. The doors were open.

As she stood at the doorway she saw how dark the shed was. It was conceivable that without a torch Mrs Sampson could have missed her husband completely. Perhaps this was as simple as the man having a heart attack and the wife not finding him in the dimly lit and crowded shed.

Looking at the precarious way things had been stacked up in there it was also plausible that something had fallen on him, crushing him to death, or knocking him unconscious and making him unable to answer his wife

Switching on her small torch, Holly stepped into the shed. It was a crisp, bright, Autumnal day outside, but inside the air was still and close, not warm exactly, but the kind of mugginess that only stale air can manage.

Shining her torch into the shed she saw the narrow passageways created within the mountains of junk. She wondered how many years it took to accumulate so much rubbish? How many generations of the Sampson family had been piling up their crap in this battered old shed.

There were four paths she could take; she decided on the one on the far left was as good a place to start as any. Slowly she wandered down the makeshift corridor, not wanting to brush against any of the trash walls, partly for fear of them collapsing down upon her at the slightest touch, but also for fear of what she might catch if she did.

A rush of movement behind made her spin around on her heels. Her hand instinctively reached for her hip. Though she didn’t draw the gun, she gripped the butt tightly. The movement seemed all around her for a few moment, and then it was above her.

A bird, a blackbird by the look of it, had roosted within the shed. She must have disturbed it.

Booth shook her head at her own over reaction. These disappearances, and the mysteries surrounding them, had her more on edge than she had realised.

She carried on, following the path around to the right. This seemed to, from what she could gather, have brought her parallel with the back wall of the shed. Up ahead, she could see light on the ground. Mrs Sampson had mentioned a hole in the back wall, it was near there that she had found her husband’s gun. Booth guessed that if there was anything to be found it would be over there.

When she reached the hole in the wall, she saw that it was more than big enough for a person to fit through. She looked at the hole, skimming her fingers across the edges. It was rough, covered in sharp, jagged edges. To Holly it seemed that the hole had been ripped into the metal sheet as opposed to cut.

She moved away from the hole, and headed into the darkness. Sweeping the beam across the floor she saw the blood smeared on the floor. The dark red fluid could have been missed without a torch, mistaken for oil maybe, but illuminated by the harsh light of the LED’s it was unmistakable.

‘Oh my God! That’s blood isn’t it?’ A voice from behind her.

Holly looked around to see Mrs Sampson stood in the darkness.

Pearce had gone to the Tesco in town and bought himself a chicken and bacon sandwich that he had eaten in the car, before setting off to investigate Flynn’s ‘bloodstained’ field. What was the rush? More than likely it was nothing, another one of the reporter’s wild goose chases.

Had he always been this jaded? He remembered when he was young, fresh out of training. Young P.C. Pearce had been full of the idealism and integrity that seemed to be the sole property of youth. Years in the job, seeing the awful things that people could do to each other, seeing the way that the system didn’t always work, and seeing how sticking to the rules wasn’t always the way things got done, had left him cynical and bitter. He still believed in the principals he had in the beginning, but now he knew that they were difficult to live by.

He drove the long way round to Martham Lane, out the north side of town and down the bypass. He found himself driving around the Glenley housing development. There were a lot of houses for sale here again. It hardly surprised him; that whole mess on Blackfriars Crescent earlier that year had left a lot of people scared, and a lot of wild rumours flying around about ghosts and monsters. Pearce always wondered why Flynn hadn’t latched onto that story; after all, he seemed to have a penchant for these wild tales. Yet the reporter had stuck to the facts in that case, even if he had seemed to show some sympathy for that monster Dan Martin, the one who had murdered his neighbours, his wife and even his own children.

The Blackfriars Crescent case had taken its toll on Pearce’s friend and colleague Tom Parker, though. Prior to that case Parker had been one of the strongest, and most determined coppers he had ever had worked with. Since that whole mess, though, Parker had been off work a lot with depression, and when he was there his mind seemed to always be elsewhere. He looked like shit, too. He was a good few years younger than Pearce, but since the bloodbath at Glenley, Parker looked older and grayer, and not just his hair, it was as if the colour had been drained out of not only his hair, but his skin, even his personality.