Vera couldn’t remember what species he’d been after here in the forest. Treecreeper? Nuthatch? She wished she could remember. She’d been smaller then, and Hector had sent her up a ladder with an empty eggbox to retrieve the bird’s eggs. It had been a glorious spring day and the nest had been caught in a spotlight of sunshine. The eggs had been small, almost jewel-like in their beauty, and briefly she’d understood his obsession. Then fear had taken over, fear that she’d fall, or that she’d end up in prison, because she’d known all along that this was against the law.
She was sitting on a grassy bank at the edge of the clearing, and she felt the hoar frost seep through her coat and into her bones. If she’d known the night would end up like this, she’d have worn her thermals. Vera’s thoughts wandered back to Constance Browne. The teacher was wearing a weatherproof coat, so it was unlikely she was strangled in her bungalow. She’d been outside somewhere. They’d checked her landline, but there’d been no phone calls that morning. They hadn’t found a mobile. So what had made her leave her breakfast uneaten and rush away to her death? Vera had only met her briefly, but she knew in her bones that Constance hadn’t been a woman for panic, for impulse. There must have been a good reason.
Vera stood up and stamped her feet, to bring some life back into them. A tawny owl called and was answered further down the valley. Across the debris of dead branches, she saw suddenly a pair of eyes, caught in the moonlight, then there was a scuttering and the animal leapt away. Badger, Vera decided, or insomniac roe deer. The thought made her think of venison, of the casserole in the freezer. She’d thrown it together on one of her days off. Something to do when she wasn’t at work. She realized she was starving, felt in her coat pocket and found a bar of chocolate. Like any explorer she knew the value of emergency rations. She broke off a piece, let it melt in her mouth, and thought she’d never tasted anything so good. She looked at her watch and saw that it was Wednesday.
She was almost dozing when she saw them coming, the lights through the trees. By now she was freezing and the half-sleep had seemed a survival technique, a way of escaping the misery of the cold. Her brain felt like slush too, half-melted ice, not really functioning. She got to her feet again and almost stumbled, then pulled herself together. No way was she going arse over tit in front of the team. Some bugger would capture the moment on their phone and she’d never live it down.
Holly was in front, recognizable, even though the white scene suit over her outdoor clothes made her seem bulky. She moved easily over the rough ground, as effortless as the roe deer Vera had surprised earlier. Vera felt a moment of envy. Why did I never look like that, even when I was young? Then decided she hadn’t cared enough to work for it. There were always more important things going on. The latest investigation. Looking after Hector when he’d stopped being able to manage on his own, and the drink had eaten away at his brain. As they got closer, Vera saw that Holly was carrying a little rucksack on her back. Holly set it on the ground near to where Vera had been sitting, took out a thermos, opened it. Vera smelled coffee and warmth and could have kissed her.
‘Are you okay, boss?’ Holly handed over the thermos lid filled with liquid. Even with gloves, Vera’s hands were so cold that she almost dropped it.
‘I am now.’
Also in the bag, she found a pack of sandwiches, not shop-bought, a bag of crisps, more chocolate. And the hip flask. Vera took a quick swig, then hid it away. She wasn’t going to share the good stuff with them. Holly wasn’t much of a drinker anyway and it would only be wasted.
Next came Billy Cartwright and two of his team, then Paul Keating the pathologist. Vera ate the sandwiches and drank the coffee well away from their focus on the heap of dead branches covering Constance Browne, a strange surreal picnic.
‘Shall we go back, boss?’ Holly had been hovering, close by. ‘Leave them to it?’
The area of clear fell was suddenly brought to life by a series of bright, jerky images. It looked to Vera like an ancient black-and-white film; the CSIs taking their photographs, everything recorded, caught in the flashlights of the cameras.
‘Yeah,’ Vera said. She tried to get to her feet but didn’t quite manage it. Holly reached down and took her hand. ‘Why not? We’ll only be in the way.’
Later, she couldn’t remember that walk back to the Land Rover. It must have been slow because it was two o’clock by the time they got there. Holly must have slowed her pace to match Vera’s, and was there to help her scramble down the frozen, potholed track, which at times felt more like an assault course. By the time they arrived at the posse of vehicles, Vera was wiped out.
‘I’ll drive, shall I?’ Holly said. She had the keys in her hand.
For a
