There were sounds. Scuffling sounds in the undergrowth. Animal sounds, somehow comforting. Followed by a more regular beat of heavy boots crushing twigs, roots and frozen leaves. The snow hadn’t penetrated the canopy to deaden the noise. Then a sudden white light from a powerful torch, its beam sweeping through the lines of trees. She was dazzled, held like the birds Hector caught in his flashlight, when he’d gone raiding nests for eggs in the middle of the night. Exposed.
In the moment the torch beam got to her, there was another shot, and again there was a near miss. Perhaps there was no real attempt to kill her. Perhaps the killer was losing nerve, or losing heart. They should have hit her that time. All the same, she wasn’t prepared to risk it and she started running again, dodging between the trees. The forest was dark once more. Had the shooter given up? Thought she’d been scared away? But still she heard the pounding beat of boots behind her. Perhaps the torch battery had run out, or she was being played, taunted; though, unless she’d got things seriously wrong, she didn’t think that was really the killer’s style.
She chanced upon a straight path between two lines of conifers. It was still hard going, impossible to maintain any speed, because the ground was uneven and boggy. At one point she fell into a ditch, got a boot full of freezing water. She stopped for a moment to pull herself out and listened. All she could hear was the wind in the trees. No footsteps. Perhaps she should go back to make sure the child was safe, but she feared her presence would only put him in more danger, and besides, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to find her way. That was when she remembered she wasn’t sure anyone knew where Thomas was. She’d told them where she was looking, but not that she’d found the boy.
She sat to catch her breath, leaning against the straight trunk of a spruce, and fished her phone from her pocket, pressed in the passcode. One bar. When she dialled Joe’s number, there was a ringtone, but nobody answered and even the ringtone sounded hesitant and uncertain. She left a message. Thomas is in Jinny’s Mill. Take care and take backup. I’m . . . But before she could continue the phone cut out. Now there were no bars and reception had disappeared altogether.
This seemed to be a path of sorts and she continued, reaching out with her hands on each side, to make sure she was following the line of trees. Perhaps eventually it would come to a road or a Forestry Commission track, she’d pick up reception again and she could use her phone to find out where she was through GPS. Perhaps. Holly had shown her the trick once, but Vera had never quite worked out how to do it.
Time seemed not to move. Every step was the same and she could have been on a treadmill, moving but motionless. At last the path grew wider. Vera started to be aware of falling flakes, icy on her skin, and there was snow beneath her boots now. It creaked as she walked on it: dry not slushy. Her eyes had got used to the lack of light and could make out the contrast between the straight white path and the rigid line of conifers on either side. Then the trees stopped and she was in a wide space, leaving behind the rustle of branches. The clouds parted once more and she saw that she was in the area of clear fell where Constance Browne’s body had been found. The place of her nightmares. But the place too where pink plastic ribbons would lead her back to the track and at last to the road.
She was exhausted. She’d never been one for exercise, even when she was a lass, and this was new to her. Her doctor would be delighted, but she needed to rest before she started back. She wondered what was happening at the cottage, if Holly and Joe had picked up her message about Thomas, if they’d had the sense to act on the earlier text she’d sent. She sat on a pile of branches and closed her eyes.
Perhaps she fell asleep. Certainly, she didn’t hear the approach and there must have been footsteps, even though they’d be deadened by the snow. It was the voice that brought her back to the present, made her suddenly alert. A voice that was intimate, very close. Then the barrel of a shotgun, colder even than the falling snow, against the side of her head, just above her left eye.
‘Did you really think you could escape? I grew up here. I’ve known this place since I was a child. I could find my way blindfold and I knew where you were heading, even if you didn’t.’
Chapter Forty
THEY FOUND VERA’S LAND ROVER PARKED close to Karan and Dorothy’s cottage. Charlie had turned up to sit with the Falstones. Holly and Joe had both needed action by then, to escape the couple’s misery, and they were desperate to find out what had happened to Vera. They pulled to a stop outside the Brockburn cottage, thinking perhaps she might be there. There was a light at the window, although it was two in the morning. Joe knocked on the door, not caring that they might wake up the baby, not caring much about anything, except that they’d had a mumbled message from Vera that they couldn’t make out at all. That the boss had sounded disorientated, almost scared.
Karan came to the door, still dressed despite the hour.
‘Have you seen Vera? DI Stanhope?’
The man looked confused, shocked. Joe thought that was only to be expected. The couple wouldn’t usually have visitors so late at night.
‘No, no, I’m sorry. What is this all about?’
‘Is your
