Authors: James Raven
T
he journey south from the airport was an experience in itself. I’d been warned about the notorious M25 motorway and I quickly discovered that its reputation as ‘the road to hell’ is well deserved. We hit it during the morning rush hour and the sheer volume of traffic led to a three-mile tailback.
Having never driven on the left I found it a struggle at first to hold my nerve. But before panic set in we turned onto the M3. This motorway, which veers down to the south coast, was, thankfully, much less busy.
The kids gave into fatigue and fell asleep in the back seat. Nicole, fearing I might do the same, produced her guidebook on the New Forest and began to read aloud facts and figures that I was already familiar with.
‘The New Forest was created in 1079 by William the Conqueror as a hunting area for deer,’ she said. Then she paused before adding, ‘Do you know what’s funny? When I lived there I never paid any attention to this historical stuff. But it’s quite fascinating when you think about it.’
She was right about that. From what I’d been told, or gleaned from the internet, the New Forest was a unique area of historical, ecological and agricultural significance. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that the English regarded it as something of a national treasure.
As Nicole continued to read passages from the guidebook I detected in her voice a rising sense of excitement. She was looking forward to returning to the place of her childhood and her enthusiasm was
infectious
. This pleased me no end and gave me enormous satisfaction. For once I had been spot on with her birthday gift. This trip had been the perfect choice.
The idea had come to me a couple of months ago and I started doing some research. Nicole had lived in the New Forest with her parents before they were both killed in a road accident. She was twenty-six at the time and a stewardess with one of the major long-haul airlines. Nine months after the tragedy she met an oil company executive during a flight from London to Houston where he was based. Love blossomed and after selling the family home just outside Burley she crossed the Atlantic to marry him.
But it proved not to be the fairy tale she’d hoped for. Infidelity on his part ended the marriage and she found herself alone in the States with a young son and no intention of taking him away from his father by moving back to the UK.
But she still missed the place and had told me countless times that she’d like to go back for a holiday. So my search for accommodation began in the area around Burley. I soon discovered there was no shortage of places. Given that the forest attracts about a million
visitors
a year this was only to be expected. The house I finally settled on came up in a Google search. The owner had created his own
promotional
page and it was not part of a letting agency property portfolio.
The description immediately appealed to me:
‘King’s Manor is a charming Victorian house in a sought-after location within the New Forest National Park, two miles from the village of Burley. The renovated property is available for a holiday let and would be ideal for a family. It is utterly secluded with beautiful views of the surrounding heathland. It offers spacious accommodation with five bedrooms, large living room, dining room, fitted kitchen and separate garage block. The house is set in its own half-acre garden and enjoys the benefits of gas central heating, double glazing and a large gravel driveway
…’
There were several photographs of the exterior and interior and I knew it would be just the job. I sent an email to the owner inquiring about availability. His name was Nathan Slade and he responded almost immediately, asking me how many would be in the party and if we were a family. He also wanted to know the ages of our children. I then received an email explaining that the house was available only during September and because of the restriction on dates he offered a generous discount.
Once the house was booked I set about making arrangements.
Nicole worked part time as a kindergarten teacher at a school within walking distance of our home. I contacted her boss to make sure she could get the time off before I told her. She was absolutely delighted and had been talking about it ever since. She liked the look of the house from the photographs and thought the location was perfect. In fact, I could not have been happier with her reaction. I only hoped the house lived up to our expectations.
‘W
ow, it’s gorgeous.’
That was Nicole’s reaction when she saw King’s Manor. It stood in the distance as we turned off the road onto a narrow, unmade track, a red-brick building nestling in a wide valley, backing on to a dense wood of conifers.
‘It’s in the middle of friggin’ nowhere,’ Tina said.
‘That’s why it’s so cool,’ Michael enthused. ‘We can make as much noise as we like and nobody will hear us.’
‘Well I think it’s just perfect,’ Nicole said. Then she turned to me and flashed her ivory white teeth in a warm, grateful grin.
The track leading to the house was strewn with small rocks and potholes, but despite that it was fairly easy to negotiate. After about five minutes we crunched onto the gravel driveway and came to a stop in front of the house. It was big and square, with rustic brickwork and a high sloping roof of grey slate. There were six large bay windows at the front and a charming arched porch above the door. Over to the right was a double garage with a small skylight in the roof. A picket gate gave access to the rear garden and I could see a neatly cut lawn with a few mature trees and a substantial patio.
‘The photographs don’t do it justice,’ Nicole said as she got swiftly out of the car. ‘This is beautiful.’
The view from the front, facing north, was of the valley which
gradually
sloped down into a huge area of flat heathland. To the south, a wall of tall conifers rose majestically and formed a dramatic backdrop.
The setting was as remote as it was fabulous and there were no other properties in sight to share it with us. As I stared up at the house my spirits soared and finally blew away the irrational concerns I’d been having since that mystery phone call a few days ago. The woman
caller – who had failed to identify herself – had told me that we should not come to the house, that it would not be safe. I might have taken her seriously if she’d bothered to phone back to explain herself. But she hadn’t and so I’d assumed it was a prank, perhaps instigated by one of my colleagues. I’d been boring them for weeks about the trip and I could name at least two guys who would jump at the chance to have fun at my expense.
I hadn’t mentioned the call to Nicole because I hadn’t wanted to worry her, and although I’d more or less dismissed it as a stupid, callous prank, I’d still found it impossible to push it from my thoughts completely. But now I could because this was not the sort of place where bad things happened.
‘Let’s unpack the car after we’ve checked out the inside,’ Nicole said. ‘I can’t wait to see what it’s like.’
As she hurried towards the house, I said, ‘Mr Slade told me he’d leave the key under the doormat.’
As Tina and Michael fell in behind Nicole I held back and just stood there, feeling pleased with myself and heaving a huge sigh of relief. I was confident now that this vacation was going to be special,
particularly
for Nicole. It was a while since we had spent quality time together as a family. I worked a lot of unsocial hours and at weekends the kids preferred to be with their friends.
The stress of the past five months had also put a strain on our marriage; we’d been arguing a lot lately and our sex life had become almost non-existent. This trip was hopefully going to help put the spring back into our relationship.
A
n hour and a half before Jack Keaton and his family arrived at King’s Manor a gruesome discovery was made less than two miles away.
A man walking his dog on Cranes Moor stumbled across a girl’s body. It lay in a shallow grave that had been disturbed by the creatures of the forest.
By the time Detective Chief Inspector Jeff Temple got to the scene, blue-suited technicians from the Scientific Services Department were already combing the area for clues.
It was 9.30 a.m. and the morning mist had lifted, allowing the sun to impart its warmth on a new day.
But the spectacular beauty of the moor was lost on Temple. As he stared down at the girl’s crumpled body he felt an overwhelming sense of sadness. What a tragic waste of life, he thought. She could only have been in her twenties and she should have had a long and prosperous future to look forward to. Instead her life had been
extinguished
in a brutal fashion.
‘Based on lividity patterns it’s clear she was moved here within hours of being murdered,’ Matherson said. ‘Looks like she was wrapped in three plastic bin bags that got ripped apart, probably by animals.’
Dr Frank Matherson, one of the longest serving pathologists in Hampshire, was crouching next to the body. He was a big man with grey hair and bushy eyebrows. Temple had worked with him for years and rated him highly.
‘She has two stab wounds to the back from a broad-bladed knife,’ he said. ‘Very deep. The blade must have been at least six inches long. Maybe a carving knife of some kind. It was thrust into her with
considerable
force.’
‘So how long do you reckon she’s been here?’ Temple asked.
Matherson pursed his lips, and said, ‘The blowfly infestation and decomposition would suggest three to four days. But that’s only a guess at this stage.’
‘It’s not much of a grave,’ Temple observed.
Matherson nodded. ‘Quite so. She was covered with a few inches of soil, then a bunch of twigs and some leaf mould. It wouldn’t have taken long for an animal, perhaps a fox, to home in on the smell and dig her up. After that it was a wildlife free-for-all. You’re lucky she was found today. At least she’s still intact.’
Temple dragged his eyes away from the body and took in the wider scene – a vast expanse of moors and hills and patches of dense
woodland
. A road close by ran between Cranes Moor and Vales Moor and right now it was blocked off and packed with police vehicles. Temple couldn’t see any properties so the chances of finding a witness to whatever had happened here were slim.
This girl’s killer – or killers – had probably chosen this spot because it was near to a road. At night the area would be deserted and there were no lights. It would have been easy for someone to park a car at the side of the road and drag or carry the body a hundred yards or so onto the moor without being seen.
‘Here’s something that should help you identify her,’ Matherson said.
The pathologist was holding the girl’s right foot in his gloved hand and carefully scrutinizing it through his horn-rimmed glasses. Temple dropped to a squat beside him, saw the word
Genna
tattooed on the skin just above the girl’s ankle. It wasn’t a common name and if indeed it was this poor girl’s name then it would be a crucial lead.
‘I’ll get this out to the media straight away,’ he said. ‘Anything on the other ankle?’
‘No, I’ve checked. And there’s no ID or money in her pockets.’
‘Jewellery?’
‘None.’
Temple stood up and tried to call the Major Crime Department office in Southampton to get things moving on the name, but there was no mobile signal.
‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Any signal on your phone?’
Matherson took out his phone and tried it. ‘No joy, I’m afraid.’
Temple walked over to the road through the gorse and bracken. He finally managed to get a signal on his phone and called the office, asking to be put through to Detective Inspector Angelica Metcalfe, who was going to be his number two on the case.
‘So what have we got, Guv?’ she said, getting straight to the point as always.
He filled her in on the crime scene and told her to focus on the name tattooed on the dead girl’s ankle. He said he wanted her to check missing persons and to arrange for more uniforms to be sent out to help search the area.
‘I want the story carried in the lunchtime and evening news bulletins on both radio and television,’ he said. ‘Call in favours if you have to. Let’s get as much publicity as we can before the day’s out.’
‘I’ll sort it right away.’
‘And get a team together. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and we’ll have a full briefing.’
‘Will do, Guv. Anything else?’
‘No, that’s enough to be getting on with.’
Temple spoke to the sergeant in charge of the uniform contingent, told him to send some officers up to the village to find out if Genna was a local girl.
He then decided he needed a cigarette. He walked over to his car and retrieved a pack from the front seat, thankful that two weeks ago he’d abandoned his latest attempt at giving up. The grisly scene out on the moor had set off an emotional whirlwind inside him. He used to be less sensitive to the harsh realities of the job, but after his wife died, he’d found it increasingly difficult to remain detached. His own
experience
with death, the paralyzing effects of loss and grief, had made him more aware of how precious life is.
N
icole was the first through the door, followed by Tina and Michael. At least the kids had perked up a little and were
demonstrating
some enthusiasm. How long it would last remained to be seen.
I walked in after them. I didn’t want anyone to be disappointed. If the place was a dump I would never be allowed to forget it. But
thankfully
it was OK. In fact, my first impression was a very favourable one based on the décor in the entrance hall. The bare floorboards were highly polished and the walls and ceiling were a subtle cream that extended up the stairs and made the place feel light and airy.
‘I like it,’ Nicole said. ‘It’s much cleaner than I thought it would be. I reckon it’s just had a makeover.’
I thought so too and wondered if Mr Slade had spruced it up in advance of our visit. The kitchen had parquet flooring and all the mod cons including an electric cooker, a microwave and a smart breakfast bar with stools facing French windows that overlooked the back garden. There was a large American-style refrigerator with a note pinned to the door by a magnet in the shape of a New Forest pony.
Nicole came up behind me and we both read it.
Welcome to King’s Manor. I’ve stocked up the fridge, freezer and cupboards with all the things you asked for. I’ve also added some wine, chocolates and other goodies with my compliments. On the table is a guest information folder with facts about the house and the area and various brochures. I’m afraid the telephone landline has still not been fixed, but I’m told it will be in the next day or two. One other thing – the garage is not available to guests as it’s where my personal belongings are stored during lets. If you have any
problems
please don’t hesitate to call me. I do hope you have a great time
. It was signed Nathan Slade.
‘He sounds like a nice man,’ Nicole said.
I opened the refrigerator and was taken aback by the amount of stuff in there.
There were the things we had ordered and would be paying for, including bread, butter, cold meats, milk and various soft drinks. But there were also six bottles of white wine, a bottle of champagne and several boxes of chocolates. The freezer compartment was packed with pizzas, bacon, fries and fish, none of which we had asked for. When we checked the cupboards we found tins of soup, beans and a jar of coffee.
‘I can’t believe he’s been so generous,’ I said. ‘This lot must have cost him a small fortune.’
There was a ring folder on the table. I picked it up and opened it. It contained a selection of brochures featuring various locations in the forest and one promotional leaflet on King’s Manor dated 2010. It was described on the front as a ‘stunning six-bedroom guest house with bed and breakfast accommodation and fantastic views over the moors.’
Nicole looked over my shoulder and said, ‘So it used to be a B&B. How marvellous that we’ve got it all to ourselves.’
‘Seems to have lost a bedroom in recent years,’ I said. ‘According to the website description there are only five.’
‘Well thankfully we don’t need more than four,’ smiled Nicole.
The folder also contained laminated sheets of type-written notes on the history of the area and the house itself. It was built in 1895 by a man called Colin Maddox. There were two sepia photos of the house dated 1910. In the first, a man in a cloth cap was pouring coal into the cellar through a chute set in the ground up against the back wall. In another, a large plump woman in a black dress was standing in front of the house posing awkwardly for the camera. The caption beneath it read:
Elizabeth Maddox, widow of the original owner
.
‘She looks like a tough old gal,’ Nicole said. ‘Life must have been hard in those days. Not like now.’
‘It’s amazing,’ I said. ‘The outside of the house seems hardly to have changed in all this time.’
‘They sure knew how to build them to last in Victorian times,’ Nicole said. Then she put her arms around me, pulled me close and gave me a gentle kiss on the mouth.
‘That’s for being so thoughtful,’ she said. ‘I know this is going to be the best birthday present ever.’
The kids chose that moment to come into the kitchen, having explored the other rooms on the ground floor.
‘Jesus, guys,’ Tina said, pulling a face. ‘Can’t you do that stuff in the privacy of your own bedroom?’
I laughed. ‘Talking of bedrooms, this house has no less than five, so why don’t you two go upstairs and stake your claims.’
‘But steer clear of the master bedroom,’ Nicole put in. ‘That’s ours.’
Nicole led me by the hand through the other rooms on the ground floor, beginning with the huge, cosy living room with French windows leading to the garden. There was a black leather sofa, coffee table and two comfy armchairs positioned in front of a flat-screen TV. The
furniture
was plain and simple and fairly modern, but despite that the house retained a rustic charm, thanks in part to the oak beams that festooned the ceilings.
Nicole could barely contain her excitement. I was reminded of the day we first explored our own house back in Texas. It was a new release in a suburban community. She’d just accepted my proposal of marriage and we’d set a date for the wedding. This was fourteen months after we’d met on a local dating website. Friends and family had convinced me to join, telling me that it was time I got my life back. Nicole was the second woman I went out with on the site and I was her fourth guy.
I knew on our first date that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. She was different in many ways to Clare, but they shared qualities that I felt were important like empathy, loyalty, a good nature and a self-deprecating humour.
So what made her choose me? A dentist’s son with a boring job as a corporate lawyer and a shameful lack of ambition. It was a question I’d put to her on several occasions and she’d always given me the same answer.
‘Because you’re you, Jack. I’d have thought that was obvious.’
Back in the kitchen Nicole made straight for the refrigerator and pulled open the door.
‘I think we should celebrate my birthday with the champers,’ she said.
‘But it’s still officially morning.’
She took out the champagne bottle and placed it on the worktop. ‘I
don’t care. Besides, I’m sure I read somewhere that champagne is a good antidote for jet lag.’
It was a moment to savour. The woman I loved was as she’d been before the miscarriage – bubbly, funny, sexy and extremely desirable. As she started searching the cupboards for glasses I felt my heart skip a beat. I decided that after we’d toasted the occasion I would take her up to bed and make mad, passionate love to her – in the privacy of our own master bedroom, of course.
But I never got the chance, because at that moment a loud, piercing scream came from upstairs. It sent a cold prickle of fear sweeping through my entire body.
My daughter was not one to overreact so I knew instinctively that something very bad had happened.