It should have been a relatively peaceful night. There was a good-sized police presence in Lakehurst and the surrounding area and several plain-clothes officers watching the pubs and being unobtrusive. But for all the reassurance, Nick simply could not get off to sleep. William had been in an agitated mood until eventually the vicar had shouted, ‘Shut up, William, or I’ll exorcize you.’ This had brought peace at last but despite the quiet Nick had still been unable to rest. Was it the beautiful Queen Guinevere – or Patsy Quinn in everyday life – that was unnerving him? But he had spoken to her on the phone that evening and she had promised to come to Lakehurst next weekend so he had been in touch with her, though she had sounded a bit flippant at the other end, he had to admit. Yet the fact was that, despite everything, Nick could not sleep.
He got up, put on his dressing gown and went downstairs to make himself a cup of herbal tea. Then he switched on the television and stared at the screen. It was a horror film, with a frightened girl fleeing through the deserted streets of pre-war Berlin, pursued by something unseen, which threw an enormous shadow before it. Nick watched for a few minutes before saying ‘Rubbish’ over-loudly and switching the film off. He sat, sipping his tea, listening to the silence but not before he had been to the front door and, unlocking it, looked out.
Lakehurst High Street was deserted. Nothing moved, and yet somehow Nick could have sworn that he was not alone, that some other creature was out and about, doing mischief. It was an uncomfortable feeling and eventually, tea drunk and mug washed, Nick took a sleeping pill before returning to his lonely bed, on which, obviously having crept in during his absence, Radetsky now slept.
The first shards of daylight came at about five and every bird in Christendom gave throat, a great hymn to greet the dawn. The policeman who had taken over the shift guarding the site where the fair had been held, drew in a breath at the rosiness of it all, loving the sound that the feathered flock were making and thinking wryly over the number of times he had cursed them when they had woken him up at dawning. He started his slow perambulation round the area, looking carefully for something, anything in fact, to relieve the slight feeling of tension that had suddenly gripped him. And then he saw it. In the field beyond this one, supported by a garden spade, stood a very small scarecrow, a hat pulled down over its eyes, a pair of wellington-booted feet sticking out, and a trickle of blood drying on the front of its nightdress. PC Coppice shouted, ‘Oh shit,’ and started to run towards it.
It was even worse than it looked from a distance. When he pulled the hat off he could see that the child’s head had been staved in by a blunt instrument and that she had peed herself with fright. PC Coppice took a few steps away and threw up before collecting himself and using his radio to call help.
They were there within minutes and Sergeant Mark Potter, who had spent the night at the Great House and had risen at dawn and was showing a night’s growth of ebony beard on his chin, was the first near the corpse.
‘Did you touch anything?’ he asked Scott Coppice.
‘Yes, sir, I pulled off the hat. The face was completely hidden and I had to have a look.’
Mark nodded. ‘No, that’s fine. We can identify your prints. Poor little bugger. What tortured mind could do this to a child? There must be some sadistic madman on the loose.’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘How old would you say the child was?’
‘About ten. And who could persuade her to come out into the field at night?’
‘If we knew that we’d be halfway to solving the crime.’
In due course and as quickly as they could manage, the rest of the team appeared. Inspector Tennant looked very slightly ruffled. He had shaved, but his tie was a little askew and his suit had obviously been put on in some haste. Potter, glancing at him surreptitiously, gave a hidden smile. He sincerely wished that this Olivia affair would resolve into something more permanent. It was high time his boss settled down again – this time with a happier outcome, let it be hoped.
The doctor looked horror-struck for a moment before putting her professional face on.
‘Is this the work of the other killer?’ Tennant asked.
‘I should think so. This poor child was beaten to death with that spade which is holding her up. I’d say this was the work of a juvenile hater.’
‘Agreed. And there’s something horribly ritualistic about the two deaths. That wretched little boy being struck by an arrow and now this poor tot made to resemble a scarecrow. Frankly, it’s sick.’
Potter met his eye. ‘Do you think this could be connected with Mr Grimm, sir?’
‘Do you mean the morris dancers or the Devil himself?’
‘Possibly both.’
‘Let’s get Mr O’Hare in for questioning. Oh, and while we’re at it, that other archer, Reg Marney.’
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘Very possibly, yes.’
The doctor, with assistance, lifted the corpse down and the spade was bagged up immediately. Looking at the little girl lying on the ground, Tennant was struck by the pathos of the scene. The doctor had lifted the child’s nightdress, displaying that she was naked beneath and that her bare feet had been shoved into the wellies.
‘Looks as if she was got out of bed by someone or other,’ he remarked.
‘It must have been somebody she knew.’
‘Or someone she was afraid of.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’
‘This is a deep case, Mark, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that we’ve got to solve it quickly.’
‘You think the killer might strike again?’
‘I feel pretty certain that they will.’
And with those words of warning the inspector left the doctor to continue her work.
Olivia was up and drinking a coffee when there came a loud and persistent knocking on her door. Now what? she thought, and rather reluctantly went to open it.
Mrs Richards was standing there looking like a phantom, her mascara – left over from the night before – streaking her powder white face, her lips pale and bloodless.
Olivia gaped and said, ‘Whatever’s the matter?’
‘It’s Debbie,’ the woman panted. ‘Is she with you?’
‘No,’ Olivia exclaimed in some surprise. ‘I haven’t seen her since last night. Why, what’s happened?’
‘She’s not in her bed, she’s not in the house, she’s not anywhere around. She’s run away and I just thought she might have come to you.’ She looked piteous. ‘May I come in for a moment?’
‘But of course,’ said Olivia, standing aside. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Yes, please. I feel wrung out with worry.’
And she leant on the kitchen table and cried as if she would never stop. Olivia poured out a cup and sat down opposite her, wondering what she could do. She had Dominic’s mobile number but he had asked please not to ring him unless it were a dire emergency. Looking at the shuddering wreck sitting opposite her, she decided that this was.
He answered crisply, in a professional voice. ‘Tennant.’
‘I know that you told me not to ring you on this number but something has come up.
It’s about that child that called on me last night, Debbie Richards. Her mother’s here and the girl has gone missing. I just thought I ought to let you know.’
‘Can you describe her, please?’
‘She’s about ten. Fair hair, blue eyes.’
‘Height?’ Dominic’s voice cut across.
‘About three feet, I should imagine. You know, the usual size for kids that age.’
There was a pause at the other end and then Tennant said, ‘Olivia, see if you can persuade Mrs Richards to go with you to Lewes.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s a body going to the mortuary there now.’
‘Oh, God!’ Olivia exclaimed and Mrs Richards looked up.
‘Do it if you can, darling. I’ll send a police car in the next thirty minutes.’ He rang off.
Olivia slipped the mobile into her dressing gown pocket, thinking that this must be exactly what being a policeman’s partner would be like. Could she stand it? Would it fit in with her highly disciplined life as a leading solo violinist? The answer was a slightly edgy yes, provided that the policeman was Dominic Tennant.
Mrs Richard looked at her blearily over the rim of her coffee mug.
‘Was that anything important?’
‘Yes, I think it was. They want you to go to Lewes.’
‘What for?’
‘I don’t know and that’s the honest truth. Maybe Debbie has been taken there.’
Mrs Richards shot to her feet. ‘Oh my God, I must go to her now. Is she all right? Did they say?’
‘No, not a word. They said they would send a police car and that I was to accompany you.’
The poor woman went completely white, like ivory. ‘Why? What for? Do you think it is bad news?’
‘I don’t know,’ Olivia answered desperately. ‘But whatever it is, we’ll face it together.’
Mrs Richards wept afresh and Olivia took the opportunity of rushing upstairs and hastily getting dressed. By the time she returned the police car was pulling up outside and she helped the trembling woman get in.
To describe the rest of the drive as hellish would not be an exaggeration. Susan Richards collapsed and lay in Olivia’s lap, weeping dismally. But when she saw the word ‘Mortuary’ discreetly hidden in the doorway, she went berserk and a doctor had to be called to give her a calming injection. Dominic finally turned up, and took over the entire situation.
‘Mrs Richards, try to be calm. I do realize it is a horrible thing we are asking you to do but be a brave girl.’
‘But what is it you want?’ she asked, bewildered but calmer as the injection began to take effect.
‘I want you to come and identify a body. It is that of a small girl who at the moment is without a name.’
She clutched him by the lapels. ‘Is it Debbie?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said.
‘Come with me,’ she said to Olivia, clutching her hand.
Looking down at the little person, cleaned up, the top of her head hidden, wearing a small white robe that was clearly mortuary property, Olivia felt no sense of shock, for the child merely looked as if she were sleeping. In fact, an enormous sense of peace emanated from her.
Susan Richards said in a very quiet voice, ‘Yes, that’s my Debbie.’
‘I’m going to ask a policewoman to come home with you and stay,’ Tennant said quietly. ‘It will be company for you in the house and she can help you with all the little chores.’ Then he added, ‘Did Debbie remain at home last night or did she go on a sleepover?’
‘I should say she didn’t! I was punishing her for running away. She went straight to bed when we returned home.’ Her face became glacial. ‘Does that mean that she left the house when it was dark?’
‘That, or somebody came and took her.’
‘But how could that have happened? I would have heard an intruder.’
Dominic was being ultra gentle. ‘Nothing is very clear at the moment. But later today my boys will come and look over your premises and see if anything is revealed. But in the meanwhile, Mrs Richards, I would suggest that you go home with WPC Monica Jones and go straight to bed with a nice hot drink. Nothing can ever express how terrible you must be feeling at the moment but I assure you that in time the pain will ease.’
Olivia looked at him rather helplessly. ‘I got a lift in a police car here so I’ll need one back. My own car is at home.’
‘I’ll get one of the PCs to drive you back. Mrs Richards, we’ll want to have a good look at your car.’
Oh God, thought Olivia, it could play an important part in the story. Suppose somebody drove poor Debbie to the field last night. She sat down rather suddenly.
‘Come back to the station and I’ll fix everything up,’ he said, and Olivia wished that they were somewhere other than the grimmest place in the world, the city mortuary.
Quarter of an hour later they went off in a little procession, Olivia arriving first because it was the least far to go. But once in her house she paced restlessly, not even able to play her violin, her mind too full of terrible thoughts. In the end she rang the vicar and asked if she could meet him at the Great House.
‘I’d be delighted. Olivia, what’s wrong? Your voice sounds odd.’
‘Then you haven’t heard the news. That poor child Debbie Richards was murdered last night, not far from that little boy. Oh God, Nick, I went with her mother this morning and saw her in the mortuary. It was really ghastly.’
‘Come out now. I was supposed to meet the churchwarden, but I’ll cancel it. I’ll see you in half an hour.’
She was leaving the house as Giles came into her line of vision, carrying a lamb under his arm. He looked every inch the countryman, with his leather boots and tweed waistcoat and his sporty cap pulled down over one eye. But he caught her mood with a look and hurried towards her, the lamb wailing like a lost child.
‘What’s the matter, little angel? What’s troubling you?’
It was too much. Olivia collapsed weeping against his comforting chest, the lamb running round his feet. ‘There’s been another murder,’ she gasped.
Giles eased her away and looked aghast. ‘Who?’
‘Debbie Richards, that little tot who was a friend of Billy’s. I saw her last night. She was picnicking in the woods and got lost. She came to my house because the lights were on.’
‘My God,’ said Giles softly. ‘I think it’s time for a few vigilantes.’
‘Oh, Giles, you wouldn’t. I mean it’s against the law. And the police are keeping an eye on that area, I can assure you.’
‘I’m sure they are. And no disrespect to your boyfriend, but maybe they could do with a little local backup.’ He picked the lamb up again. ‘Got something stuck in its foot. Limping like a good ’un.’
‘Poor thing. Well, I’m off to the Great House to see Nick. He’s a good listener when it comes to pouring out your troubles.’
‘He is that. I might come down for a lunchtime pint. It all depends on the sheep. Incidentally, don’t say a word about my vigilante idea. I’ve got to consult a few of the lads first.’
‘I won’t say anything. Thanks for being such a good neighbour.’
‘Promised your mum I’d look after you and I never go back on my word.’
By the time Olivia reached the village, the word was out. People were standing in small clusters in the High Street discussing the terrible facts and looking very pale about the gills. Others – the majority – had packed the Great House, despite the fact that it was barely lunchtime, and fortifying themselves. Jack Boggis sat in his usual chair, fulminating.
‘I think it’s time that they reintroduced capital punishment. That’s what I’d do to bastards like child killers. I’d hang, draw and quarter ’em in full public spectacle.’ He drew deeply on his tankard and looked round to see who was agreeing with him. Nobody was, in fact no one was even speaking to him. Nonetheless he continued at full spate. ‘I ask you, what normal man would go round molesting little children and then killing ’em, that’s what I want to know. And it’s no good looking at me like that, young man. I was out in the desert, let me tell you, and I know a thing or two – and I’ve seen a thing or two as well.’ He drained his tankard and set off in a rather wobbly direction for the bar.
Olivia, following him with her eyes, said, ‘He’s truly pathetic, that man.’
Nick answered, ‘I know. But don’t let him hear you say that. He thinks he’s cock-of-the-walk.’
‘Why does that always sound vaguely obscene?’
Nick grinned and said, ‘It’s good that you can still smile.’
‘I don’t know how I’ve got the face to do it after what I’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours.’
‘That’s what makes us human, God be thanked. If every shock and every blow and every disappointment we had ever had removed our ability to smile, then we would turn into a race of ghastly, gloomy gnomes that would plod round the earth in misery.’
Despite everything, Olivia grinned. ‘You vicars have a way with words,’ she said.
‘Happen,’ said Jack Boggis to no one at all as absolutely nobody was listening.
Much later that evening after Tennant had spent hours at the incident room briefing the house-to-house brigade, doubling the strength of the patrol round the fields and calling in Mr O’Hare, who said he couldn’t make it till seven o’clock, Dominic went to see Susan Richards. He had first telephoned the WPC and asked the situation. He had been told that Mrs Richards had been forced to calm herself as her younger child, Jonathan, needed attention. She was currently making him boiled egg and soldiers for his supper. Tennant had nodded, satisfied, phoned Olivia to warn her that he was going to be late and had gone for a quick hike round the fields in order to see for himself the amount of cover they had.
It struck him forcibly, walking round the perimeter, what a fickle creature nature was. Now, standing in the blessed light of a May sunset, with birds calling from the trees, pink and white blossom smothering the branches like a bride’s veils, the air so clear that one could see a leaf drop a mile away, Dominic thought back to the field’s recent history. On Saturday it had been the scene of an historic event, with people dressing up and taking part enthusiastically. Arrows had shot through the air, morris dancers had leapt as one, beautiful maidens had been pursued by the grinning wicked hobby horse. And then douse the candles, put out the lights, and wickedness had crept out of the darkness and killed an innocent little boy. The next night, the same thing. A small girl had been dressed as a scarecrow and her poor wispy head had been bludgeoned in with a spade. And now the hours of darkness were coming once more.
He spoke to Potter on his mobile. ‘Mark, go and see the leader of that longbow team. Get his view on the entry point of the arrow. Take some photographs with you. He will probably be in by now. His address is on the file.’
‘You mean the man from The Closed Loop?’
‘I think they all belong to that but the one that seemed to be in charge, yes.’
‘I’m on my way, as they say in Star Trek.’
‘Thunderbirds Are Go.’
‘Blimey, that dates you, sir.’
‘Oh, God,’ the inspector answered, and rang off.
It was time to end his evening sojourn and go to see the stricken Mrs Richards. WPC Monica Jones – one of the most caring and finest at dealing with this sort of situation – had obviously worked her own particular magic because the house was quiet when he rang the bell. Eventually the policewoman answered it after the brief sound of someone going upstairs.
‘She’s taking Johnnie up to bed and I’ve promised to read him a story so that she can speak to you.’
‘How is she?’
‘Stricken to the heart. She blames herself for some reason.’
‘What about the husband?’
‘Traded her in for a younger model.’
‘I suppose he’s in the Algarve.’
‘Got it in one. He’s been telephoned and he’s flying back overnight. Should be around tomorrow.’
The inspector sighed heavily and at that moment Susan came down the stairs.
‘Hello, Inspector. Go into the sitting room, will you.’
He did so and she followed him in, saying, ‘Do take a seat. Would you like anything? A cup of coffee?’
‘No, thanks. I just hope that you can bear to tell me the story of exactly what happened yesterday evening and night.’
‘I’ll try to. I’m not lying if I say the wrong thing. It’s just that I’m trying to get it straight in my mind.’ Tennant nodded. ‘Well, it’s school holidays as you know and that means that Debbie spends a lot of time playing with her friends. Johnnie joins them sometimes. But not all the time. Anyway, on this occasion he stayed with me and had a friend over to tea. Debbie had gone to Belle’s house for a picnic, to be followed by a sleepover. It seems they went off to Speckled Wood, which is quite pleasant I believe. I don’t know if Belle’s grandmother – she calls her Mummy because it is the only one she has known – went to sleep or what but the two girls wandered off and, according to Debbie, Belle began to tell her the grimmest kind of ghost story, saying the woods were haunted and that there was something like a Blair Witch figure living in them and if she saw them she would kill Debbie. Anyway the poor child was so scared that she ran away and knocked on the door of the only house she could see. It was owned by quite a famous woman, Olivia Beauchamp, some kind of violinist. Do you know her?’
‘Oh yes, we’ve met,’ Tennant answered, straight-faced.
‘Well, she phoned me and I went to get Debbie straight away.’
‘Go on.’
‘I told her that she mustn’t listen to silly stories that Belle told her and that if she went on like that I wouldn’t let Debbie play with her any more.’
She paused, her face flushed and mottled. ‘Would you mind if I had a drink?’ she asked. ‘Can I tempt you to one?’
‘Unfortunately not. I’m still on duty, I’m afraid.’
She went to the sideboard and poured herself a treble gin and tonic, then took a seat. She had started to cry again.
‘It’s just the pity of it all,’ she said. ‘Her little dead face looked as if she were only asleep, not finished.’
‘Can’t you try and think of her like that?’ Tennant said quietly.
‘No,’ she screamed at him, ‘no, no, no. That was my child, the creature that started in my womb and which I brought silently into the world. It was such a quiet moment, you see. “One last push” said the midwife and I gave one and I felt her slither out. There was total silence for a moment and then someone said “Give her to me” and I heard them smack her – yes, they smacked her bottom – to make her take that first, vital breath. And now what is it for? She has been snuffed out and there is nothing anyone can do or say ever that will take away the hurt.’
Tennant sat very still, not knowing how to deal with her, wishing that he had a child so that he could know something of the pain she was feeling. Instead he just put out his hand and covered hers, trying to take some of the suffering away from her. She looked at him, her face barely recognizable, so twisted was it with hurt.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You are very kind.’
At that moment WPC Jones came through the door and took in the situation with a glance. ‘There, there,’ she said, going to Susan and kneeling by her. ‘Don’t cry, my love. The inspector has to ask you a few questions just so that we can find this monster and put him away forever.’
Susan blew her nose with vigour. ‘Yes, you’re right.’ She gulped down the gin in one go and said, ‘Can you give me a refill, please.’ Then she turned her poor face to Dominic and said, ‘Sorry, Inspector.’
‘So, Debbie slept at home last night.’
‘Yes.’
‘And she didn’t go out at all that you knew of?’
‘No. I went to bed early and read for quite a long while. I heard somebody go to the lavatory – either Debbie or Johnnie – but I didn’t call out. After that, I slept like a log till this morning.’
‘When you presumably put your head round the door and discovered her gone?’
‘I looked all over the house and found the back door closed but unlocked.’
‘You won’t mind if the forensic team move in for a day or two?’
‘Must they? Why?’
‘There may be vital clues as to where she went.’
‘Or even if somebody came and snatched her,’ put in Monica Jones.
‘But I would have heard them, surely.’
‘Not necessarily,’ the policewoman answered, and her eyes flicked briefly over the gin bottle.
Tennant’s mind was racing ahead. By this late stage, particularly with an active small boy and a frantic mother in the house, most of the evidence would be badly corrupted. But it would be worth a try. Yet who could have crept in so silently and summoned Debbie from her bed? Probably nobody. He imagined that someone threw a pebble at her window until she woke up and looked out. So she must have known her attacker. But that threw the field wide open, from great friend to casual acquaintance. Yet whoever it was must have offered some attraction for the child to go out, her feet thrust into wellingtons, nothing on beneath her nightdress. He stood up.
‘Mrs Richards, you have been most kind and tolerant to allow me in at such a difficult time. I would suggest that you and Johnnie go away for a couple of days while forensics look at your house. That is, if you would like that.’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘I want to be around when they turn my house upside down.’
‘As you wish, of course. Goodnight, Mrs Richards. Try and get to bed early.’
‘There’ll be no rest for me tonight. If I go to sleep I might have bad dreams.’
In the hallway he muttered to WPC Jones, ‘For God’s sake keep an eye on her. She looks fit to do anything.’
‘I will, sir, don’t you worry. I’ll sleep at the foot of her bed, if necessary.’
‘As if she were Queen Elizabeth I?’
‘Just as if.’
‘Chamber pot and all?’
‘Well, one must draw the line somewhere,’ answered Monica Jones and smiled quietly.