41

Beth didn’t even know if her words were registering with the man. He stared down at her intently as she continued to blurt out an explanation. ‘Please, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to be here … I’ll go.’ And she managed to partially sit up, rolling over on to one elbow. His stance immediately altered and his arms went out wider, the knife in his hand. He was blocking her, preventing Beth from leaving.

‘Let me go,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ll get away from here.’ Without taking her eyes from the knife for a second, she pushed the palm of her hand against the mud and levered herself into a standing position. If he wanted to strike, he would do it now, while she was off balance, at her most vulnerable. She anticipated the blow, but he did not lunge for her.

Instead, she could see the doubt and suspicion in his eyes as Beth got to her feet and tried to adopt the least threatening posture she could manage, bending low to look smaller and holding her hands out where he could see them so he would know she didn’t have a weapon.

Their eyes locked then, and she wondered what madness lay behind his and whether it was strong enough for him to kill her out here in the woods without considering the consequences.

Beth took one tentative sideways step and, when he didn’t try to stab her, she took another, then a third. He mimicked her movements, but only with small turns so he could continue to face her. She couldn’t run back up the hill and she needed clear ground ahead if she was going to get away from this madman.

Two more steps, and they were still facing each other but there was a way out behind Beth now. She knew, if she turned and ran away, he might give chase. She was injured and would not be as fast as normal, but fear and adrenaline would propel her. It was risky, but Beth made her decision then.

She turned on her heel and ran.

Heart pounding, legs pumping, Beth raced through the glade as fast as her battered body would allow. The ground was bumpy and uneven and at any second she expected to trip and fall, or that the man with the knife would catch up with her and stab her in the back. Fear drove her and she ran hard for a minute without looking back, dodging round trees, stumbling but righting herself once more then continuing forward until she risked a turn and a fleeting look behind her. Beth was convinced she would see him then, inches from her, with the knife raised, ready to strike, but all she saw was the outline of trees that were little more than shadows now.

He was gone.

Beth ran at an even pace, regularly glancing behind and to each side in case he’d stalked her by some other route, but there was no further sign of him. Each sound from the woods rattled her, every broken twig caused her to start.

She tried not to panic at the thought of him pursuing her and concentrated on working out exactly where she was. How far astray had she gone, and how could she get back to the road? Where the hell was bloody Lucas?

Keep going Beth, she told herself. Ignore the pain and keep running.

It seemed to take Beth an age, but at last she managed to circle back across rough ground until she could see the lane they had walked along up ahead of her. This gave her a burst of hope and she ran more quickly now, eager to get on to it because the going would be easier and the gap above it, between the canopy of trees, would allow more light to guide her way.

Beth half ran, half stumbled as she burst out of the trees and on to the path. She immediately collided hard with a big, dark shape that was coming along the lane at speed and she hit the ground once more, rolling on to her back and putting her arms up to her face in an act of self-preservation as the figure loomed over her. It was Harry, and this time he was going to stab her to death!

Then, the shape spoke.

It wasn’t Harry. It was Lucas. She was not going to die.

‘Bloody hell.’ He sounded shocked at the sight of her dishevelled appearance. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

‘Christ, Lucas, you scared the crap out of me,’ she told him as he took her hand and hauled her to her feet.

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t expect you to leap out of the trees at me like that.’

He clearly wanted an explanation, so she provided one, which included the fall, the knife and the shelter and ended with the words, ‘I’m sorry, I lost him,’ even though they both knew that wasn’t strictly true. Beth assumed he would be disappointed with her for not tackling Harry when she had the chance.

She was surprised when he said, ‘Not a good idea to try and disarm a man like that on your own. The main thing is you’re safe. Now, do you think you can show me where this shelter is?’

Beth managed to lead Black back to the spot where she had been pushed into the bushes and down the hill. He shone his torch into the glade below and they could just make out the shelter, but there was no sign of life.

‘Looks like he’s taken off,’ said Black, ‘but at least we’ve found his home.’ It seemed a strange word to describe the structure. ‘Once it gets light, we shouldn’t have too much difficulty tracking him down.’

‘What happens now?’

He surveyed Beth, then asked, ‘Are you sure you are okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ Beth assured him, though she was covered in cuts and bruises and in some pain.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Then let’s take a look.’

Black spotted a less treacherous route down the hill than the one Beth had been forced to take when she rolled heavily down it at speed, and they made their way slowly and carefully to the bottom, both keeping an eye out for any trace of the knife-wielding Harry as they went.

They did not expect to see Happy Harry sitting outside his shelter, but it was worth checking out his camp. He was, at the very least, a potential witness in the disappearance of Alice Teale and, judging by his violent reaction to Beth’s presence in his camp, possibly even the cause of it.

Harry’s shelter was as rudimentary as you’d expect of any structure made from scrounged materials. There was plastic sheeting, secured over a section of tarpaulin, to provide some protection from the rain. The tarpaulin hung down to make a rear wall. Sections of wood and corrugated iron made it into a three-sided structure with an open front. The remnants of an extinguished fire were visible between a pile of stones, and there were empty cans of beans and soup outside, along with bottles of beer and vodka, discarded once they had been drained of their contents.

Black peered in and saw a sleeping bag. It was in a disgusting state, but at least Harry had something to sleep in. His bed was an old wooden pallet and the tiny shelter was filled with all kinds of stolen or donated things: a plate, an old saucepan, a couple of blankets, an ancient army kit bag.

Then Black’s eyes settled something that was folded at the far end of the sleeping bag. Was Harry using this as a pillow?

The item looked new and in good condition. It was still relatively clean. Black squinted into the darkened shelter and realized it was a green parka with a fur-lined hood, like the one Alice Teale had been wearing on the night she disappeared.

While Black was still processing the likelihood of this being a coincidence, his eyes became fully accustomed to the gloom and he noticed another item hanging up by its straps at the rear of the shelter.

It was Alice Teale’s big, floppy bag.