Showered and breakfasted, Harry sat back in the small sofa in the lounge and closed his eyes. Thunder was still rolling around outside and he had no real urge to venture out into the rain, because with the amount of it coming down, he figured he’d be swimming to the Community Office, not walking.
In the darkness of his own mind, Harry tried to get his still tired mind to sift through the past few days of crazy. The sound of the rain on the windows, the rumble of the thunder, was almost meditative, and Harry drifted for a while, not exactly asleep, but not entirely awake either.
Two local men had been killed. They’d been to school together and in the same gang. Whether they’d kept in touch in later life, Harry didn’t yet know. The phone belonging to one had been found in the pocket of the other, the text sent to Nick that Monday morning coming from somewhere in the vicinity of Hawes. Eagle feathers had been stuffed into each of their mouths. And now some weird primitive style paint had been found. Just how the hell was he supposed to make any sense of it? How could anyone? None of this was random, of that he was damned sure. It was planned, meticulously so, and by someone who was very, very careful. But as yet they had no suspects, no real leads at all, just two grisly deaths and a random selection of unconnected bits of evidence, which all pointed to bugger all.
Or did they . . .
Harry snapped his eyes open, something jabbing at his thoughts, though what it was exactly he wasn’t quite sure.
The school reports, the logbooks he’d been reading, there was something in them, wasn’t there? But just what was it? What had he seen? He couldn’t remember now exactly, and perhaps it had taken his mind all night to just sift through it all for something important to float to the top, but something was there, in those pages, he was sure of it.
Harry sat forward, squeezed his eyes tight shut, focused on everything rolling around in his head, everything he’d seen, everything he’d read. What was it? Just what the hell was it?
Damn it . . .
Harry stood up, grabbed his coat, shoved his feet into his shoes, then strode out of his door and into the rain. It hit him like grit, stinging his skin, and the wind came at him like an invisible boxer, dancing around him and punching him and shoving him from all directions. Forcing himself onwards, Harry kept moving, his feet drenched in seconds, his trousers following soon after, so by the time he had reached the Community Office, he figured he was probably wetter than if he’d just thrown himself into a puddle and got it all over and done with.
Inside the Community Office, Harry almost broke through the door into the room he and the rest of the team were using, his clothes steaming in the warmth.
‘Been for a swim?’ Liz asked, looking up at Harry, eyebrow raised in amusement.
‘That’d be funny if it wasn’t so very nearly the truth,’ Harry grumbled. ‘The files, where are they?’
Liz pointed across the room.
‘We didn’t get far. Had to deal with a group of tourists who’d had just a few too many, which wasn’t fun. Then I got called out for a car accident involving a cow.’
‘Over the limit?’
‘No,’ Liz said. ‘The cow hadn’t had a drop. The fact that it could drive, thought? Now that was a surprise.’
Harry laughed. ‘Where’s Jaydn?’
‘I sent him off,’ Liz said. ‘He looked knackered. And I figured he’d be more use to us later on if he was actually awake.’
‘When is Jim swapping with you?’ Harry asked, then added, ‘And did you get anywhere with finding out anything about that scribbled out bit in the logbook? Anyone remember anything?’
‘Yes and no,’ Liz said.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Yes, I got somewhere, and no I haven’t found anything out yet, well I have, but I haven’t.’
‘Well that makes no sense,’ Harry sighed. ‘How come?’
Liz shrugged. ‘I asked around, people remember being at school pretty well, and John’s little gang, who no one spoke highly of, then when I asked about that date, if there was anything that happened, they talk a lot about the winter, how it was the best ever, but that’s about it. Someone mentioned something about an accident, but that could be anything, couldn’t it? The logbooks mention a few broken wrists thanks to that ice slide, for a start. And Jim’s here in half an hour.’
Harry thought for a moment, rubbing his head in an attempt to get his brain into gear.
‘And that’s it? Nothing else?’
‘That’s all that I could get,’ Liz said. ‘I reckon it’s just too long ago for anyone to really remember, which is fair enough, like, isn’t it? I mean, can you remember all that much about your time at school, a particular winter, anything that really happened?’
Harry shook his head. ‘A mate split his lip open, I remember that. Bounced his face off the back of someone else’s head running down a corridor. But yeah, I see your point.’
‘Why not give the school a buzz at eight, ask the head?’ Liz suggested. ‘She might know.’
‘That’s a bit weird though, isn’t it?’ Harry said. ‘Good idea, but what if that’s the only information the school has on it? And she wasn’t head back then, so there’s a good chance she won’t know anything more than we do.’
Liz yawned, rather too obviously. ‘Oh, sorry about that.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Harry said. ‘You get off home. I’ll call you if I need you.’
‘I’ll head off in a minute,’ Liz said. ‘We could try the churches? Might have records or something. Local papers. Maybe the surgery?’
Harry remembered the doctor from the day they’d found John. ‘I was supposed to go and see the doctor anyway,’ he said. ‘I’ll try him first in a bit, see if there’s anything there.
