âDon't need no key. Back door will be open.'
Meredith's gaze searched the row of cottages, seeking some access to the rear. She spied a narrow alley, little more than a wide crack, between the next cottage down and the one after that.
âDown there, Mr Twelvetrees?'
He nodded. âGimme a minute or two and I'll be able to get myself round the back.'
She couldn't abandon him, not in this state. âYou stay here. I'll go round and if I can get inside, I'll go through the house and open the front door for you.'
âNo â Dilysâ' he began and grasped at her arm but let it drop to put a hand to his chest. âIt's coming on again.'
Meredith didn't wait. She ran to the alley and squeezed down it, her shoulders rubbing the rough stone walls of the
cottages to either side. It led between the two gardens and then, sure enough, at the end debouched into a muddy lane which ran past the rear of all the cottages in the High Street. Meredith turned right and found the rear of the Twelvetrees' home. It was secluded from the lane by a ramshackle fence of corrugated iron sheeting and a wooden door. To it was nailed, as if some ghastly talisman, an old, dried and dirty hairy object which she realised was a fox's brush. She shuddered. To what purpose had it been fixed here? To keep away what unwished visitation? Avoiding it, she pushed the door. It creaked open and she hurried across the garden which appeared entirely given over to cabbages and smelled pungently of rotting greens. She fumbled at the back door.
It swung open beneath her touch and she found herself in the kitchen. The air there smelled of fried bacon. She called, âDilys?'
There was no reply. She was half-way across the kitchen and almost at the door into the hallway, when her eye caught a jumble of objects on the kitchen table. Despite the urgency of her errand, curiosity made her turn aside to see them better.
All appeared to have been taken from a battered cardboard shoebox which lay to one side. The objects had been laid out in a kind of pattern as if some human version of a bower-bird had been setting out its hoard of bright-coloured garnerings to lure a mate. There was a string of beads. It had broken and the ends roughly reknotted. Beside it lay a very nice male signet ring, another ring with a large fake stone, a pearl earring, a woman's wristwatch, a copper bangle and a blue plastic hairslide shaped like a butterfly.
The kitchen seemed unnaturally quiet. Meredith picked up the signet ring. It was heavy, expensive. On the shield was engraved, in Gothic lettering,
SH.
She put it back gently, as if it might break. As if in a trance, she walked down the hallway and pulled open the front door. Old Billy still stood where she'd left him, propped against the doorjamb.
âYou'd best come in, Mr Twelvetrees.' Her voice sounded distant, not her own.
She took his arm and led him into the hall and after a momentary hesitation, into the tiny parlour to the right, which gave on to the street.
Old Billy subsided into his armchair and leaned back with a sigh.
âI'll be all right now. You don't need to stay. Dilys will be here in no time. She won't have gone far.'
âYou're sure?'
âI'm sure!' He raised the stick and gestured towards the door. âYou go on! Our Dilys, she won't be far away, just nipped out to see a neighbour most like. I've got me pills. I'm all right now, sitting here quiet.'
She left him, going out of the front door and pulling it shut behind her. A glance up and down the street showed no one but an elderly woman, unknown to her. She didn't think that could be the absent Dilys who, Alan had told her, was Old Billy's daughter. That old dame was at least seventy. The woman went into another cottage and shut her door. So that was that. Dilys cleaned for Ruth Aston. Could she have gone there?
Meredith wrestled with conflicting responsibilities, her mind reeling. In Old Billy's interest, she ought to go back to the pub
to tell Evie that she'd left Mr Twelvetrees alone and check that the woman had called the doctor. But time was of the essence. She knew that the person she wanted to see was Alan and that it was imperative she see him as soon as possible. She had to get him back here before anyone else came, Dilys, Evie, Dr Stewart, anyone. Any of them might tidy away the objects on the kitchen table. Alan had to see them there, just as they were.
He'd driven to that farm, Greenjack. Meredith fumbled in her bag for her mobile phone and rang his. For some reason she was unable to make contact. She pushed the phone back in her bag and thought furiously. If she walked in that direction, towards Stovey Woods, she'd probably meet him driving back. Meredith set off down the street.
Soon she'd left the houses behind and the track led on between the drystone walls towards the woods, dark and hostile on the near horizon. The wind ruffled her hair. It carried a few spots of rain on it. Meredith stepped out briskly.
The distant woods had seemed nearer to the naked eye than they were in reality. As Meredith trudged along the uneven single track road, they began to take on the characteristics of a mirage, always just ahead. There was no sign of Alan's car coming towards her as she'd hoped. The further she got from Lower Stovey, the lonelier it became. The wind whipped across the open fields and buffeted her face and clothes. Even the sheep huddled under the shelter of the drystone walls. The rainspots were getting more frequent and stronger. She hadn't so much as a scarf and was going to get soaked. A curious and unpleasant sensation was assailing the spot between her shoulderblades, as it can do when one senses one is being followed. She began to glance behind her but the road was as empty behind as before. A couple of times her attention was taken by the sheep, suddenly uttering loud bleats and scattering across the field in a panic. Perhaps the sight of her had alarmed them, though she couldn't think why. She had the feeling, and couldn't get rid of it, that she was being watched. By whom? Only the sheep. The few cows were all lying down, chewing
placidly as they awaited the rain. They had no interest in a solitary human hurrying along the road. âGet a hold of your nerves!' she told herself sternly.
There was no avoiding the rain now. It had begun to fall steadily. She had to put up with it as the animals were doing. It trickled down her face, her shirt became wet and her jeans clung unpleasantly to her thighs. Meredith strode out determinedly, making the best time she could, but discomfort was adding to the frustration of not seeing the familiar car approaching. Where was Alan? How long was he taking at that farm?
There was a turning ahead and a wooden sign. At last! She scanned the words âGreenjack Farm' and turned down a muddy track. The farm-gate appeared barring her way forward and holding for her all the significance of a frontier post for a refugee. But her heart sank when she found no one in the yard and most significantly, still no sign of Alan's car. Meredith frowned, puzzled. She hadn't encountered him on the only road back into the village. He appeared to have dematerialised. She picked her way cautiously across the yard avoiding the more obvious cowpats but certain her shoes were fouled up with odiferous slime, the memory of which would linger long after the footwear itself was scrubbed.
Her ring at the farmhouse door was answered by a woman about forty. She stared at Meredith in some surprise as well she might.
Meredith, knowing that her drenched appearance out of nowhere probably begged explanation but unable to give it, simply asked, âIs Superintendent Markby here?'
The woman, still staring bemusedly at Meredith, shook her head. âNo, he left about, oh, ten minutes ago.'
â
Left?
' Meredith could help but sound incredulous. âBut I didn't see him on the way here from the village.'
The woman blinked. âDo you want to come indoors?' she asked. âYou're getting fair drowned there.' She peered past her. âWhere's your car?'
âI â I walked. I won't come in, thanks. I came with Alan, with the superintendent, and I've really got to find him.'
Another surprised blink. âWell, perhaps he'll come back. Or I can run you back to the village, if he doesn't. You'll be a policewoman?'
âNo.' Meredith pushed back wet hair from her eyes. âLook, you're sure he left? He's not around the farm somewhere?'
âOnly if his car's still there.'
âIt's not.'
âThen he's left.'
This conversation was going round in circles, getting nowhere, and Meredith felt herself growing desperate.
âThen where could he have gone?' she insisted, still believing Alan must be somewhere here.
The woman gave her an odd look. âIf you didn't see him on the road, then he must have turned right and gone down to the woods.'
The woods. Of course, he'd been drawn back to the woods by his obsession with the Potato Man.
Meredith muttered, âThank you! Sorry to have disturbed you â¦' and turned away.
The woman exclaimed, âYou're never going down there! It's not a place to go â it's not a place for a woman on her own.'
âI have to find him, it's urgent.'
The woman was looking at her in distress. Seeing Meredith was adamant, she said, âHang on, then, I'll give you a brolly if you must go!' She pulled a battered umbrella from a stand in the hall and handed it to Meredith. âI still think you'd do best to wait for him here. If he is in the woods, then he's still got to drive back past the turning to the farm. If you were to wait down there, you'd see him and he'd see you. There's no need for you to go down to the woods.'
Her obstinate insistence that Meredith shouldn't go alone to Stovey Woods seemed disproportionate to the circumstances. Meredith would hardly get wetter waiting at the side of the road, by the sign to the farm, than walking to the woods. Come to that, she could hardly get any wetter, anyway. She was drenched to the skin already. Even the offer of the umbrella seemed superfluous but it was kindly meant and it would be churlish to refuse.
âThanks for the umbrella,' Meredith gasped. âI can't wait.'
She hastened back across the yard, aware the woman stood in her doorway, watching her retreat with the same distressed expression.
The umbrella, which was a large old-fashioned model, made progress a little drier but no easier. The wind caught at it and threatened to turn it inside-out if she kept it upright. If she lowered it in front of her, the force of the wind pushed her back. At the end of the track to the farm, Meredith abandoned her attempt to make use of the brolly, refurled it and propped it against the farm sign where it could be seen, turned right and began to jog towards the mass of the trees ahead. She was so wet now, it no longer mattered.
Eventually she reached the end of the road and the edge of the woods. There at long last she saw, parked to one side, the
welcome sight of Alan's car. But he wasn't in it and when she tried the door, it was locked. She took out her mobile again and tried his number, still without luck. He was in the woods and communication with him impossible. It must be a dead spot in there. She could wait here like a drowned rat or go into the woods after him. In among the trees it would at least be sheltered. However, if she did that, there was just a chance they'd miss each other and she'd return to find he'd driven off. Meredith tore a scrap of paper from the notebook in her bag and printed on it,
I'm in the woods. Wait for me.
She stuck it under the windscreen wiper. That should do it. Meredith scrambled over the stile and plunged into the trees.
Once among the tall trunks she was protected from the worst of the weather, though she could hear the rain rustling in the branches above her. Every minute or so it found its way through and splashed down on her head. At least the wind didn't permeate the mass of trunks. She cupped her hands round her mouth and shouted, âAlan!'
Her voice was swallowed up by the trees. She went a little further on, following a narrow deer track, and tried again but with as little luck. He couldn't be far, surely? Where could he be making for? Perhaps for the place where Dr Morgan had found the bones. But Meredith didn't know where that was.
She had left the comforting glimpse of the open fields at her back and was now deep in Stovey Woods. Far from a sense of loneliness now, she had the feeling she was surrounded by watching eyes. The impression that she'd had on the road was redoubled. She spun round. Nothing. Still the eerie sensation was growing until the moment came when, with absolute certainty, she knew she wasn't alone. Something â someone? â
was there, every instinct, every nerve in her body told her so. She couldn't see it, couldn't hear or smell it, but her skin tingled and she had a heightened awareness of her own progress. Evolution was sloughing away and she had begun to move differently, placing her feet carefully on the pine-needle strewn ground, head high and casting about for movement in her immediate surrounds, ears straining for the slightest indication as primitive instincts long dormant were awakened by the need of this oldest of survival techniques, that of hunter and hunted. She was both, hunting Alan and in turn herself being hunted â by what? She regretted having abandoned the umbrella. It would have given her some kind of weapon, some means of keeping whatever it was at bay.
She shouted Alan's name again, trying to keep the panic from sounding in her voice. Very, very faintly she thought she heard an answering call and her heart leapt as a feeling of relief swept over her. He was ahead of her. He wasn't far away. She wasn't alone but it was Alan who was there.
And then she heard it to the right. A crack of twig as if something had stepped on it. Meredith froze, her heart beating wildly. She called, âHello?'
No reply. There were animals in these woods. It was a deer perhaps. Yes, almost certainly. She hurried on.
Alan was ahead.
She repeated the three words like a mantra. He'd heard her call. He'd be coming towards her.
Yet behind her, somewhere over to her right, it was still there, keeping pace with her. Look intently among the trees though she might, she couldn't catch sight of it. But more twigs snapped. She began to fancy she heard laboured breathing. It had to be fancy. She told herself it
must
be fancy.
Suddenly she found herself in a small clearing. It came upon her with disconcerting suddeness. Before there had been trees sheltering her but now she was out in the open and standing on the rim of a depression. If there was any living thing behind her, it could see her clearly. Staked out, she thought grimly, like a goat awaiting the tiger. Around the rim of the hollow, deer tracks ran off it in all directions into the surrounding trees. She had no way of knowing if Alan had come this way, or if he had, which one path he had taken. She called desperately for the last time, â
Alan
!'
Then it was upon her, leaping from the dark mass of trunks, crashing across the intervening space, breathing stertorously. She spun round, throwing up her arm in an automatic gesture to protect her head. Her opponent was there, no longer a tracker, but face-to-face, in appearance both confusing and terrifying. âIt' was revealed as female, a woman not young, a woman wearing slacks and a waterproof jacket. A woman with oddly-coloured pinkish hair and staring eyes, gaping mouth. A woman brandishing a carving knife.
The knife slashed through the air, just missing Meredith's shoulder. The arm was raised again. Meredith grabbed it and tried to twist it and force her assailant to drop the weapon. But the woman was strong, unbelievably strong. With all her own strength Meredith pushed her away and eluding the flailing knife, began to run back the way she'd come. She was younger and lighter. She had to be able to out-run whoever this was. But the sheltering trees she sought betrayed her. She tripped on a protruding root, flung out her arms in vain to save herself, and sprawled full length with her face in the
carpet of pine needles. Rolling over on to her back, scrabbling for a handhold, she looked up and saw the woman looming over her. The knife was raised again. The round face with its staring eyes shone with a wild triumph.
Then, from one of the other tracks into the trees, something else came bounding out and across the clearing towards them. To Meredith's terrified gaze it was an apparition as fearsome as the one standing over her. It was a beast and one which for a split second seemed out of time, leapt from some medieval past. Then she saw it was a huge shaggy hound, dark in colour and the size of a Shetland pony. Ears and red tongue flapping, it covered the clearing in a split second and launched itself at Meredith's assailant.
Under its weight, the woman went down as if poleaxed. The knife flew out of her hand and landed inches from Meredith who grabbed it and scrambled on to her knees. The hound had placed its great paws firmly on the fallen assailant's chest, pinning her down, and was enthusiastically licking her face. Helpless beneath its weight and the assault of the rough tongue on her features, the assailant was cursing the animal and struggling vainly to push it away.
From out of the trees in the wake of the hound came a familiar figure in long skirts, rainbow-hued pullover under a grubby body-warmer, and a plastic rain-hat. She lumbered across the clearing towards them, shouting: â
Roger! Roger! Leave it! Bad dog
!'
âNo!' shouted Meredith. âTell him to stay right where he is!'
Muriel Scott panted to a halt beside her. âWhy?' she asked in a practical voice.
Meredith held up the knife. âShe tried to kill me. She killed Hester.'
Mrs Scott peered at the figure on the ground. âDilys did? Why?'
Meredith gasped, âI saw the things in the kitchen, I saw the Potato Man's collection.'
âDid you?' said a new, male voice.
They all looked towards the sound. Alan Markby had arrived and was standing a few feet away.
He stepped forward and grasped Meredith's shoulders. âYou're all right? Not hurt?'
âYes, yes!' She pointed a shaky finger at the glowering prostrate Dilys. âShe â she â She frightened me out of my skin!'