Black Wood (18 page)

Claire laughed, ‘She’s good, Laura, isn’t she? I watched her do that demo at the summer fair last year. She’s a bright girl too. Quiet. You’d hardly believe she was related to Bridie …’

‘Ah, Bridie’s all right. She’s my unpaid eyes and ears of the town!’

‘Funnily enough, I was thinking of offering her a job …’

‘Christ, I wouldn’t go that far …’

Claire typed the advert into the desktop publishing system while Gray waited.

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘while I’m here … do you think you could look up something in the archives for me?’

Claire glanced up at the clock. She still had to finish the invites. It was Davie, though. She’d work late if she had to.

‘Sure,’ she said, flashing him her best smile. ‘What is it you need?’

It wasn’t that strange a request. But as soon as she heard it, she had a sudden urge to throw up.

Masks.

He was asking her something about masks.

Claire had pieced together what happened that day in the woods from what Jo had told her, and from small pieces of memory that resurfaced at will, like splinters of a broken glass that keep turning up no matter how many times you sweep the floor clean.

But when she tried to put it all together, it never made sense.

‘I’ve a feeling that Jo mentioned something about them in her statement. I’ve got Lorna checking the files back at the station, but I was just wondering if there was anything actually printed … It’s so long ago that despite Jo’s constant need to remember it I’m slightly hazy on the details …’

Claire nodded and clicked on the icon to open up the archive search facility. She was only half listening. She’d felt herself zone out when he’d first asked the question; somehow she’d managed to avoid Gray noticing. He was distracted, that was obvious.

‘Do you think that these things are linked, Davie? Seems a bit far-fetched. You had no idea who the boys were back then, why do you think they’d do nothing for twenty-three years then suddenly decide it was time to come back? I mean, they’re not even boys now, they’re older than me and Jo …’

‘I’m not sure they ever went away, Claire … One of them, both of them. I don’t know. They managed to avoid being caught after what happened to you, but I think they’ve been watching. Waiting for another time to strike. There’ve been a few other things, mind. This is a small town, Claire. Would you rather we had two loonies or a whole pack?’

Claire forced a laugh. ‘You’re being a bit flippant, Davie …’

He shook his head. ‘Quite the opposite. I’m trying to find a link. Trying to find something to go on. If I don’t nail this soon, the big boys will be down from HQ, wondering why we haven’t called them sooner …’

‘Why haven’t you? Are you meant to? Are you going to get in trouble?’ She bit her lip.

‘Don’t worry about me, Claire. I’m taking advantage of the current situation to do something interesting before we get shut down and relocated. Or offered voluntary redundancy …’

‘Is that going to happen?’

‘Probably. I don’t think the station’s viable under the new structure. I mean, it’s not like we’ve much to do, most of the time. They’ll station a couple of beat bobbies here on secondment from area command. Make them commute. It’s hardly far.’

‘But what if anything happens at night? It’ll take them longer to get here …’

Gray snorted. ‘You’ve clearly never needed our services or you’d know that the station shuts at six – there’s a phone on the wall outside for you to call HQ. If you call 999, the dispatcher sends out whoever’s nearest. I’m starting to think we’re just there as an ornament.’

‘Don’t you think if there was no station, it might cause more folk to start acting up?’

‘Good on them if they do. Like I said, the lads from CID will be here in a flash …’

‘You sound bitter, Davie. I never thought that of you.’

Gray took a deep breath, blew it out. ‘I do. I’m sorry, Claire. You know I’m not. I’m just frustrated that things are going to change. I kind of like them as they are …’

Claire stared at him. She’d never heard him like this before. She had a feeling there was more to his little outburst than being pissed off about the restructuring of Police Scotland, as it was called now. No. This had something to do with the weirdo at the Track. And it definitely had something to do with Jo.

What was it that Jo had that seemed to create such a hold over men? She was useless with them, yet they all wanted to protect her. Claire couldn’t help but feel jealous.

The results of the search popped up and she clicked it open. Ten hits.

The first one from 1990.

She scrolled down and noted that the others weren’t actually in Banktoun. The paper covered the whole county, and some of these had happened elsewhere. Not far, though. Maybe they were still linked somehow. She clicked on the icon to print them out in full.

While the printer sputtered and began the print job – forty pages’ worth, the whole articles coming out just in case the summaries didn’t give the full context – she clicked open the first entry.

1st July 1990

Girl badly injured after

attack in Riverview Woods

Police are searching for two boys, aged approximately 13 years old, who were involved in an attack that has left one girl in a coma …

She felt her hand start to shake as she scrolled down with the mouse.

It was the first time she’d managed to read past the headline.

‘Are you OK, Claire? You’ve gone white as a sheet …’

‘I … I don’t like to read this stuff, Davie. I keep it as far down inside me as it’ll stay. I’m too scared to remember it. I don’t want to picture those boys … It’s too much … my head … I still get headaches, you know?’

Gray went behind the counter and swivelled her chair round slowly to face him. ‘Listen to me, Claire. I’ve never stopped thinking about what happened to you and Jo. Never. I want to find those boys as much as she does. I want justice for you, and I want closure for her. But she goes off half-cocked. I’ve no idea if this Maloney has got anything to do with it. But I will find out. I promise you that. Now. Is there anything you need to do here right now that can’t wait until tomorrow?’

Claire sighed. ‘The wedding invites. But … well, I suppose. They use a different printer for these. They could be done later tomorrow and they’d still be ready for the customer to collect at five …’

‘Right then. That’s settled. I’m taking you home. OK?’

‘OK,’ Claire said. She waited until he had turned his back before she rubbed at her eyes and gently shook her head, trying to disperse the fog that was threatening to send her off into another blackout.

He enjoys the woods during the day even more than he enjoys them at night.

Different sounds. Different animals. Sometimes he wears a mask. The woman bought them for them both at Halloween, although they are too old for them now. He has kept them safe, in the dark of the wardrobe.

Witch. Wizard. Skeleton.

Devil.

Just a bit of fun … But the other boy likes them too.

He has a new hunting partner.

Someone just like him, he thinks.

Until the other boy decides that animals are not enough. Until the other boy decides to hunt the girls.

The other boy doesn’t tell her about the Collection, but they both know that the woman knows.

She is scared of him now. Starts to cry again. He wants to tell her that it’s OK. That it’s just for fun. But she wouldn’t understand.

She emptied the toybox while he was at school. Now, at the end of the bed, there is just a rectangular indentation in the pale-grey carpet from where it used to sit.

*

In the brightly lit office, the lady doctor asks him questions:

‘How long have you been collecting the animals?’

‘Whose idea was it to cut them up?’

‘Have you ever wanted to hurt a person?’

‘Have you ever wanted to hurt yourself?’

‘Has anyone ever hurt
you
?’

Yes
.

He answers only in his head, and apparently his cooperation is ‘unsatisfactory’.

He wonders if he will ever see the other boy again.

He wonders what the other boy might become.

Before they send him to his next home, he goes into the woods once more.

The Black Wood.

The sun never seems to make it through the blanket of trees, and the trees look scorched and dead, hence the name. He knows that the story about the Witch isn’t true. Just a tale, to scare boys away from the cottage.

But he is not scared.

He creeps as close as he dares. No, he is not scared.

He knows she’s not a real witch.

If only the little girl would come out to play. He’s seen her before, with the rabbits. He wonders if she has a Collection of her own.

I didn’t feel like working, but Wednesdays were usually OK and it was probably good to take my mind off things. I’d spent the whole of Tuesday cooped up in the cottage, avoiding phone calls, trying not to think about Maloney. It was a waste of a day off. I’d have been better going in to work. I realised I was glad to be out of the cottage now; it was suffocating me. Finding those sketchbooks had given me a jolt. Not to mention the bath taps and the wind that came from nowhere and disappeared. Just like the day at Gran’s grave. It felt like she was all around me, trying to warn me about something … just an eerie feeling I couldn’t seem to shake off.

Scott was waiting for me outside the shop. He’d managed a half-hearted attempt to clean himself up and put on fresh clothes. There was a stain down the front of his pale-blue polo shirt and his hair had that fuzziness as if he’d dipped it under the tap rather than giving it a proper shampoo. I felt confused and recoiled slightly at his scent.

‘Jo,’ he said. His breath smelt of old beer with a hint of toothpaste; his teeth looked grimy, small bits of food stuck to his gum line, as if he’d wiped them with a finger rather than scrubbed them with a brush.

‘What is it, Scott? I’m already late.’ I could see Craig inside the shop. He was standing next to the counter, peering out-side. Taking us in.

‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ Scott persisted. He put a hand on my arm and I felt myself flinch. Only a few days ago I was sharing a bed with this man. Sharing a life. Yet now I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. I wasn’t sure what it was, but something in him had changed. Discoloured. Like a bitten apple left in the sun.

I frowned. ‘Five minutes,’ I said. I held a hand up to the shop window, my fingers splayed apart. Craig shrugged and turned away. Pretended he was busy.

‘Can I buy you a coffee?’ Scott said. He gestured towards Farley’s.
Fuck it
, I thought. A quick hot chocolate and a croissant might give me a lift. I’d been feeling light-headed since I’d left the cottage. The walk across the fields had blown away the cobwebs, blasted the remnants of last night’s wine from my head. But I still felt like shit. Waking up to a dent in the pillow wasn’t enough for me any more.

I walked into the coffee shop behind Scott, staring at the back of his head. Remembering the feel of his skull. That little bump halfway up the back that always got caught in the hair clippers.

A sudden feeling of nausea washed over me and I had to stop to catch my breath.

Did he know?

Had I done this to him?

He turned back round to face me and he must’ve seen the panic in my expression because suddenly it was him frowning. Looking confused.

‘Jo? Are you OK?’

‘Fine. I’m just late.’ I scanned the tables, let my eyes settle on an empty one at the back. It was still littered with dirty cups, a plate with a half-eaten pastry and a screwed-up red napkin. ‘I’ll have a croissant,’ I said. I contemplated the thought of a hot chocolate, then decided it might make me feel worse. ‘And a Coke. Please.’ I sat down and started piling up the dirty cups and plates, but before I could finish the waitress appeared and scooped it all onto a tray with a practised effortlessness.

I was busy straightening the napkins into their little clip-holder when Scott turned up with a tray. He’d brought me what I’d asked for, plus a black coffee for himself … he looked like he needed it. Plus a hot chocolate in a tall glass mug. It had cream on top.

I sighed, and started spooning the cream into my mouth. He knew me better than I realised.

He took a sip of coffee and made a face. Either it was too strong or too bitter, or both. Then I remembered he didn’t even like coffee. I opened my mouth to say so, but he silenced me with a raised hand.

‘Look … This is not going to be easy, so I’m just going to blurt it out. You don’t need to say anything …’

I nodded. My raised eyebrows saying ‘go ahead’. I took a bite out of the croissant and the flakes of pastry fell down all over the front of my black top like dandruff.

‘I’ve been sacked …’ He paused, searching for my reaction. I ripped off a piece of croissant and dipped it in the chocolate. This was what French kids did for breakfast, apparently. So they told us in the textbooks at school anyway. Except they had oversized teacups like bowls. Not these stupid long glasses with a handle at the bottom that if you actually used you’d tip the whole thing over. I’d have loved to know who designed those things, with their complete ergonomic disastrousness.

‘Go on …’

He blinked once, then carried on. ‘I, uhm … we …’ Another pause. This time I just stared at him. That creeping feeling of bile burning its way up my throat.

I ripped off a piece of croissant. ‘“We”?’

‘Me and Kirsty …’

He pulled a face.

‘I fucking
knew
it. Get caught in the stationery cupboard, did you?’

‘Something like that … I’m sorry, Jo. It was one of those stupid things. She was all over me. She never bloody stopped. To be honest, I don’t care about that – I care about my job – getting sacked – I’d been there nearly fifteen years, Jo. I was looking at a massive pension. My career is ruined now. What the hell am I going to do?’

I swallowed, and felt the croissant sticking to the back of my throat. I stared hard at Scott. ‘I don’t fucking
believe
you,’ I said.