The man stood, kicked the remains of his small fire into smouldering embers and covered them with a few handfuls of earth. I pressed myself into the ground again, but he didn’t turn. With a surprising silence he picked up a small backpack, and shotgun that I hadn’t noticed, and disappeared through the scrubby bushes. I could hear him pushing through some more scrub then there was quiet.
I waited for what seemed an age, he didn’t return. But I could hear him doing something, it sounded like stone tapping against stone. Perhaps he was building something. On all-fours, I crawled slowly back the way I’d come, then turned and made my way towards the edge of the forest. The tall old oak tree was just a stone’s-throw away. My blind navigation had been just about spot on, but I felt my short hairs prickle at the sight of the place. I’m sure I can see bloodstains on the bark of the old oak.
And there’s the poacher, I think of him as a poacher for the want of anything else. He’s bending over something at the foot of the tree. What is he doing. I need to get a little closer, speak to him. Find out if he’s who I think he is. Recognising him will be easy. But I’ll wait ‘til he puts his gun down first.
Keeping at the very edge of the woodland I sidled along towards him, watching carefully for any sign that he might hear or sense me getting closer.
I managed to get within speaking distance without him stopping what he was doing or turning. A large beech tree was just ahead, it would give me some good cover I thought, so stepped quietly behind it and looked around the edge of the mossy grey trunk.
He’d gone!
The spot where he’d been working was empty. But I could see what he’d been doing. The police crime scene barrier-tape had been screwed up into a ball and he’d built a neat stone cairn on the spot where Jacques had fallen and died. So it had been stones that had been dug up and, although it was a dry-stone construction, it looked to have been well made and was about waist high with a heavy, flat stone sat on the top. It looked like a memorial. Does that mean my poacher knew Jacques? It would explain his vicious attack on me, revenge for the fatally injured Jacques.
To my mind, this proved it. I’d found my man, or had I? He was nowhere to be seen. I moved very carefully around the smooth trunk of the tree, my senses prickled with warnings. It looked to me as though he’d finished and left. Even the scuffed ground around his monument had been swept clean by a makeshift broom of pine twigs.
I stayed as still as his pile of rocks and listened, breathing slowly and deeply to catch the slightest scent or sound. I was sure he’d gone.
Quietly, I stepped closer to where he’d been working. Beyond the cairn was another of the narrow forester’s trails, a very narrow one, this one wasn’t meant for any vehicle, but it did explain how he’d got clear so quickly and without sound. I searched the start of the trail for footprints or signs of someone passing. Nothing.
‘Stand still. Drop the bow.’ came an order from so close behind me it made me jump and reflexively start to turn.
‘I said drop the bow.....Face your front!’ he ordered in an urgent voice. ‘Unless you’d like me to fix the other side of your ugly face, do it. Do it now.’ his voice rose to an excited shrillness that sounded oddly muffled.
It crossed my mind that he sounded a bit like a drunk, slurring some words, not sounding the consonants here and there. But he’d answered my question. He was my witness.
‘Who are you?’ I asked lamely, letting the bow slide to the ground. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
‘You and others.’ he said. ‘Take the arrows from your belt and drop them by the bow. We’ll not be playing cowboys and Indians today.’ he laughed. It was a horrible spluttering, gurgling sound. ‘I’ve known you were nearby for some time. Made more noise than a rutting boar. You’re lucky to be alive.’
I pulled the aluminium shafts from the quiver and dug them into the soft soil beside the track.
‘Spread your legs and lean against that tree.’
I did as he ordered. He kicked my feet wider apart and he ran his hand over me. He’d done this before I thought, perhaps he wasn’t a poacher. Perhaps he was a thief. I could feel the muzzle of the gun pressing at the back of my neck the whole time. He must have been looking for a pistol, because he made no comment about my knife.
He was close and I could smell him again, probably the worst case of neglected hygiene I’d ever encountered. Certainly stale sweat, but there was something else, I’d thought it seemed like something rancid, but that wasn’t it. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
‘Ok, get up.’ he said. ‘Start walking. Keep to the centre of the pathway and don’t try anything stupid.’
‘Where are we going.’ I asked, not moving. ‘Who are you?’
‘Walk. Maybe I’ll answer your questions later. Maybe not. Don’t make me angry. Move!’
His words struck a chord, I’d heard something like it before. Where? Who had it been? My mind prodded the corners of my memory, but I couldn’t find it.
I noticed his accent, he’s definitely French, I thought. Perhaps that’s why his speech sounds odd. But I thought of the face I’d glimpsed before I was clubbed. It had looked like a melted wax doll. Grotesque, like a Halloween mask of the worst type.
‘You saw the accident on Sunday morning didn’t you?’ I asked him as I started to walk slowly along the pathway. ‘I need a witness statement.’ I stopped and turned slightly.
‘I’m sure you do. Just walk. Shut up....keep moving.’
I’d caught a fleeting sight of him, his head was swathed in a scarf, just his eyes showing. A bit like an Arab’s desert headdress, I thought. It’s definitely him. Must be.
I walked, trying to think of a way to escape, to turn the tables. Perhaps I’d feign a stumble, a trip. Get my hands on my clasp knife, but the blade was only short, four inches at the most, not enough to threaten anyone with. Must be another way, must just watch for an opportunity. A fallen branch would make a good club, if he were close enough.
We walked on in silence. The sun, I thought, was about as high as it gets this time of year, so it must be about midday already. There was no breeze at all under the thickening forest and the midges were happily buzzing around my head and neck, biting as they went. Up ahead it looked as though the forest thinned and sunlight was a deal brighter. Perhaps we were coming to one of the areas that had been cleared by loggers. Might find a good stick there and give this monster a headache I thought, and searched the ground as we approached the clearing.
Chapter 22
Rachel had spent a long sleepless night. She was worried by the events that surrounded her father and had been frightened by the nightmares that had run through her mind to rob her of sleep.
She knew that she must return to the woodland, to find William her father and bring him home.
~ ~ ~
Charles was busy in the kitchen with skillet and grill, he must have been listening carefully for a hint that I was be on my way downstairs. Cooking probably wasn’t his best skill, but it seems he could manage a breakfast.
‘Morning ma’am.’ he called with a beaming grin, as I came into the kitchen.
‘You’re sounding cheerful this morning, young man. You must have slept well.’ I said. ‘And please call me Rachel, ma’am doesn’t sound right now.’
‘If you say so....Rachel ma’am. Oops, sorry. Coffee’s ready. Breakfast will be about five minutes.’
‘Hmm....Coffee is nice, thanks. I could get used to this.’ I said as I sipped the dark brew.
‘Eggs and toast I can do ma’am. Anything else and you mightn’t be so pleased.’
I decided to give up on his ma’am. If it made him comfortable, I guess it’s going to be ok.
‘What’s the weather like Charles?’ I asked. Wondering how Dad was. How he slept last night and what he was having for his breakfast.
‘It’s really fine ma’am. Going to be a nice day today.’
He’d obviously washed again at the well in the garden. I would need to
get him to use the shower soon I thought. He needed to change his clothes too.
‘I guess sometime we’ll need to get you some stuff from town. Jeans, shirt and some new underwear.’ I said, thinking out loud. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve brought anything with you?’
‘No ma’am. I’ve got nothing here. And I daren’t go back to the hostel for my box, they might be waiting for me.’
‘Do you have any money?’
He blushed. ‘No ma’am. The lads took what I had, when they worked me over. All they left me was my empty wallet and ID card.’
‘Right. I think that I can trust you....’ I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes ma’am. I’d do anything.’ he interrupted.
‘Yes....I’ll loan you some cash you can get the bus, or use dad’s old bike, go into town and get yourself some stuff. And don’t forget soap and a razor. I’d come with you but I must try to help my Dad.’
Beyond calling the lawyer that had been trying to reach us, I didn’t know quite what else to do. Charles rubbed his bristly chin, his cheeks flushing with a boyish blush.
‘Thank you ma’am. But I don’t know how I’d be able to repay you.’
‘We’ll talk about that later. There’ll be ways. Don’t worry.’ I had in mind some work around the house and garden, but we’d talk about that later. I had enough on my mind at the moment.
‘Toast is burning.’ I said, nodding at the cooker.
It was well past eight o’clock by the time we’d cleared up the breakfast dishes. Charles had decided to take Dad’s old bike to the local supermarket for his shopping and had ridden off down the lane with a wave and a broad grin. I was hovering over the phone, wondering quite what to say to the lawyer. I decided he’d need to know everything and was on the point of calling his office when I heard the front door creak as it opened and a gentle, nervous sounding tap-tap. My first thought was, that it was the damned police again. And was ready to send them packing with another demonstration of my gutter-french, when I heard a trembling voice.
‘Hello, anybody there?’
I knew immediately who it was, although I’d never spoken to her. ‘Marie, I’m just in the kitchen. Please, come in.’ I called, as I packed away my notebook and put the phone back in its pod.
She came in, arm in a sling and eyes brimming with tears. ‘You can send me away if you want, I’d understand. But, please, I must know what is happening to my poor William....your dear father.’
I stood and gently hugged her to me. ‘I’m not going to send you away Marie....Nothing could be farther from it. Thanks ever so much for coming. But we certainly do need to talk.’ I put the coffee pot on again.
And talk we did. I gave her my story first, telling her of Dad’s surprise departure from the hospital and the mess the police were making of everything. I told her of his dash across the fields yesterday afternoon and the pursuit of the helicopter. I told her that Dad had slowly remembered the events of Sunday morning, and told her of the poacher in the woods that would be a witness to the death of Jacques. I ended up by telling her how I’d followed her yesterday and of my frightening experience in the forest when I took the wrong turning.
By the time I’d finished, Marie had visibly brightened and I could see that she now had some hope that all would be well again.
‘I know this so-called poacher fellow, his name is Gerard, and I think I could probably persuade him to find William. Nobody knows the forest better than him.’ she nodded. ‘And I’ll get the scheming old git to step forward as our witness.’
She told me all about her last twenty four hours, how the house and estate was up for sale as of the end of the week or as soon as the police had finished there. She explained her hopes, her dream for a future, one that she’d talked to dad about. But most surprising, shocking even, was her account of her married life, the husband who had been an officer in the Army, his eventual fall from society and favour that ended with a complicated separation and a divorce that had strings attached to it.
We ended our chat as the very best of friends and with a plan. A plan of action that would clear-up the mess that things seemed to have fallen into and give a chance for a new start. But we needed to hurry.
I scribbled a note for Charles and we left the cottage on our way back to the dark Forest, but I wasn’t frightened this time. This time we’d get what we wanted.
Chapter 23
The cleared area of forest, where trees had been felled for their timber, seemed to linger tantalisingly close. William had been able to see it quite clearly for some while, but it didn’t seem to be getting appreciably closer.
Then the trail veered away from the clearing.
~ ~ ~
I marched on at a comfortable pace. Not fast, but not slow enough to arouse suspicion or anger in my captor. The sun was still high in a clear sky. I glanced at my wristwatch, it felt as though we’d been marching for an hour or more and I was surprised to find that it had only been a little over twenty minutes. My brain had been in overdrive I guess, trying to figure a way out of the mess I’d dropped myself into.
Looking ahead, it seemed as though the path curved yet again and headed back uphill, towards the clearing. And I could see that there was a lot of debris scattered on the ground from the logging, some branches looked to be just the size and shape that I was looking for.
But my poacher, would have to be a lot closer. Here was a chance. A small stream trickled from the edge of the cleared ground, it looked like a spring.
‘Ho, back there. I need to take a couple of aspirin pills.’ I gestured to the spring. ‘I’m thirsty too. That’ll do, looks clean.’
‘You can do without. Or I’ll give you a pain relief that’ll be permanent.’ he grunted.
‘Well I’ve news for you mister.’ I said, stopping and turning towards him. ‘If that’s what’s coming, then we’d just as well get it over with. So go to hell you ugly old bastard.’
I stopped at the spring and right on the clearing’s edge was a piece of waste timber that’d be perfect. About a metre long, it was almost naturally shaped like an Irish shillelagh, with a knob on one end like a lump-hammer.
‘You’re end will be something quite spectacular Englishman. It’ll take a long time. I promise you. But we can do it here....it’s as good a place as any.
He came striding toward me and careless in his temper, he stumbled on some logger’s debris. I took the moment. Dived for the wooden club and grabbed it by its shaft. Turning, I swung it hard at the man’s right arm as he came at me.
I heard the crack, probably not a broken bone. But he’d dropped the gun and it’d be some minutes before he could use his right hand again. The scarf fell from his face as he roared in pain and anger. What I saw made me falter. The face was a huge sore that seemed to be dissolving into itself. The poacher saw my hesitation and his anger powered a huge swing of a punch with his left fist. But he was not a natural left hander. I dodged and it glanced off the side of my shoulder.
We both dived for the shotgun. He got there first and his grip, even with an injured arm, was like a vice. One handed, I swung the shillelagh again and caught him a solid thump on his hip, but the shaft of my club broke, snapped like a carrot, and the heavy head soared across the clearing. He saw his chance. But I was quicker and brought my knee up into his groin, hard. As he gasped and bent forward in reflex, I followed it with a double handed hammer-blow to the back of his head.
He was down. And I ran. But he was already getting to his feet as I turned onto the forester’s track, sprinting back the way we’d come.
The path was fairly straight for long sections, I couldn’t stay on it for long, it would give him a shot like those at a fairground range. As if he heard me, I heard the patter of pellets as they zipped through the trees, followed by the sharp cough of his shotgun. But I’d rounded the first bend and was out of sight. He fired twice more but could only be aiming blind.
I was beginning to think that the thump that I’d g
iven him on the hip or thigh had done some damage and was slowing him down. I was easily a hundred metres or so ahead of him. If he was still coming after me, that is. And I hoped he was.
To my right, a pair of pigeons flew up with their usual panicky flapping. Then just a second later, a magpie made a fuss and took to the air. The track I was on headed towards another bend and it looked like the old devil was trying to cut me off by taking a shortcut through the woodland. It must have been him that spooked the birds, too far away for them to be worried about me. He’d recovered damned fast though, or maybe he was numbed by some kind of powerful painkiller. He must be taking something, the state he’s in, I realised.
My plan was to reach my bow and use an arrow to injure him enough to disarm him and take him in. If he was away to my right, he’s either going to try to cut me off, or he’s got an idea where I’m heading.
Without another thought I plunged into the woodland to my left and, once past the brush that bordered the track, found it quite easy going. Ahead I could see the brightness of the sunshine on the moorland. I was almost back to where I’d been captured. My stuff should be just to my right. I eased across, sliding along through the undergrowth that thrived in the open light at the side of the small pathway.
I stopped and listened. I could hear nothing, not a sound of any pursuing feet. Perhaps he was already ahead of me. Or maybe he was doing the same, listening.
Crouching, I carefully pushed through the undergrowth to look up and down the trail. I could see the arrows, their metal shafts glinting in the sun. They’d be about a dozen paces away. I could neither see nor hear anything of the poacher. He’d not have given up. Of that I was sure. But now that I was away from him, maybe my best idea would be to keep going. Get away from here and call the police.
Chapter 24
Rachel drove and Marie thankfully hopped into the passenger seat. Her wound was giving her a lot of trouble this morning and her neck and shoulder felt stiff and sore. But morning was fading fast. By the time they had each told the other what they knew, the clock had moved on towards half-past eleven. It was just before midday when they pulled up in front of the old Hunting Lodge. Marie could see that there were still no signs of anyone being at home.