The Cold Calling

murders.

‘Certainly a man with a mission,’ Cindy said.

‘It gets incredibly boring after a while,’ said Magda Ring. A rather beautiful woman, if somewhat sullen. Feeling slighted, perhaps, that this Adrian seemed oblivious of her charms. And oblivious he would be. If he was the Green Man.

If …

‘Where does he sleep?’

‘In a room above the stable.’ Bobby blinked, as if waking up. ‘On bare boards. I’ve checked it out. Nothing.’

‘Nowhere else?’

‘He doesn’t have much baggage,’ Magda said. ‘Travels light. Roger admires that. The itinerant hunter- gatherer. There’s his Land Rover …’

‘Worth a look, I suppose.’

‘Oh, and the forge. He restored an old blacksmith’s forge. Nobody else goes in there.’

‘Let’s see it.’ Cindy held open the door for her. She led them to a building very much on its own, part concealed by laurels and leylandii. A squarish, stone building with a chimney and castle-like slits for windows. A cast-iron bar ran the length of each slit. A rough, thick door of oak had no handle, only a large keyhole. Cindy pushed it; it didn’t move.

‘Well, Maiden, what do you suggest here?’

Magda said, ‘Don’t you people need a warrant for this?’

‘With a woman’s body out there,’ Cindy said menacingly, ‘do you really think it would take us long to get one? Let’s not waste time. Kick it in, Maiden.’

But the door resisted the flat of Bobby’s foot.

‘All right. I’ll get you a crowbar,’ Magda said dully. As if she also knew that this was the place.

They found the tapes behind some loose bricks at the back of the forge itself. Maiden thought they wouldn’t have found them at all if one of the bricks hadn’t been left half out, as if it had been replaced in a rush. The cassette cases were numbered one to six, in Roman numerals. Except for one, which had been placed on top of the others in the cavity.

‘So he’s been here recently.’

‘So it appears, Bobby.’ Cindy opened the unnumbered cassette case; it was empty. ‘Safe to handle these? Fingerprints?’

‘If it’s his voice on the tapes, we’ll hardly need prints. Sir.’

‘Quite. Maiden. Just testing.’

Cindy gathered up the tapes. Maiden looked around. There were cinders in the forge.

‘What’s he do here?’

Against the wall opposite the door was a small lathe, metal shavings on the cobblestone floor. An acrid tang in the air.

‘Turn his hand to anything,’ Magda said. ‘Made those bars for the window slits, for instance. As I said, Roger loves this in him. His self-sufficiency.’

‘He do much hunting?’ Maiden said.

‘He goes out with the local hunt sometimes. And I believe he belongs to a gun club in Hereford.’

‘A gun?’

‘There’s a cabinet in the house, a couple of twelve-bores in there. Roger goes with him sometimes. Roger says he’s just an extremely balanced person, which is why he’s so affable most of the time. No stress, Roger says. A simple man. We all have a lot to learn from Adrian.’

‘I suppose …’ Cindy picked up a strip of black metal. ‘… if he’s so practical, he could manufacture such a thing as a crossbow. How long did you say he had been here?’

‘Just under two years.’

‘Ah. Not relevant then. Shall we play these?’

Back in the Portakabin, Cindy took out the cassette marked I, handed it to Magda.

Maiden discovered his mouth was dry. Magda put the tape into the machine.

A swishing sound issued from the speakers.

‘Rain,’ Cindy said.

The voice began, hesitant at first, but a certain swelling excitement beneath it. The voice was distorted and tinny.

No-one can see me. I feel almost invisible … a part of … of everything. So utterly relaxed. So fused. I’ve never felt like this before. I…

There was a squeak.

Wind that back again,’ Maiden said. ‘It’s different. It’s not the same machine … you hear that? That’s one of those little hand recorders. The squeak is when he pushes the pause button. I’d guess this is not the kind of gear you’d use on the dream project?’

‘We use Marantz. Or Sony Pro-Walkman. With a microphone, with a windshield.’

‘No windshield on this. You can hear the wind banging against it.’

‘Which suggests?’ said Cindy.

‘That when he made this particular tape, he didn’t have access to the equipment here. Maybe the original was on a mini-cassette and he transferred it. Roll it, Magda.’

The rain noise again. But when the voice came back, it was stronger. As the tape continued, it became more confident, more fluent, more insistent.

… he is invisible in the greenery.

The Green Man.

The very oldest Guardian of the Earth, whose face one sees carved in stone above church doorways, his hair luxuriant with leaves, the leaves bearing fruit — stone nuts and stone berries. More leaves sprouting whole from the grinning mouth, foliage gripped between stone teeth. The grin that says, I am the Earth.

There was a crash. Cindy had slumped against the metal shelves, collapsing one.

‘It’s all right.’ He picked himself up. ‘Don’t mind me. Slipped. Clumsy. It’s all right … Maiden.’

Nobody spoke until the crackly, distorted tape was over.

The speakers hummed. Magda made no move to remove the cassette. Her hands were squeezed tight together.

‘It …’ Her voice cracked. She coughed. ‘It doesn’t sound like a dream.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Cindy said. ‘I can assure you of that.’

‘Christ, that’s why you asked if he could make a crossbow.’

‘Play the last bit again,’ Maiden said.

… broken the convention.

And wasn’t it easy?

‘His first kill.’

‘His first human kill,’ Cindy said.

‘The convention. The convention. ‘

Magda said, ‘Excuse me,’ and went out into the yard. They heard the slap of vomit.

‘She dug up Ersula’s body this morning,’ Maiden said. ‘She’s seen what he can do.’

‘Ah, me …’ Cindy took out the cassette tape, held it up between two fingers and dropped it in the box, as if it was radioactive. ‘Can you imagine anyone more despicable?’

‘And like all of them, like all serial killers, he doesn’t believe he’s doing anything wrong. He’s broken a convention. He’s feeling alive for the first time, the cunt.’

‘No … me, I meant. I wanted … so much to believe it. I wanted to be proved right. Can you imagine anyone more contemptible than that?’

‘Shut up, Cindy. If it hadn’t been for you …’

‘Maria. I knew that girl so well. She could talk to me. Damn. If I was any kind of shaman, I should have seen the danger, should have been able to warn her. I’m no bloody shaman, Bobby.’