22
Jenna
The forest looks less frightening in the light of day with the weak winter sun slanting through the trees and refracting in the frost-coated leaves. The mud has dried underfoot so that it crunches with each step I take.
After Jay left I looked up the address on the electoral roll for Katie Burke’s family. Her mother still lives in Stafferbury and, once I’ve got my car, I plan to drive over to her house after I’ve given my statement to the police in Devizes. Whether she’ll agree to speak to me remains to be seen. As I trudge along the track I try calling Dale to tell him about the man who has been staying without consent in the cabin opposite but the reception is sketchy this deep in the forest so I pocket my phone and pick up my pace. The parent in me wants to run away, back to the safety of Manchester and my beautiful son, but the journalist in me knows I need to stay and brave it out until Friday. It’s doubtful that Ralph’s death is linked to what happened to Olivia’s friends back in 1998 but, even so, it will add to the intrigue about the town for the podcast.
The thick branches eclipse the sunshine and a few times I stumble over potholes. Then I get to the place where I was attacked last night. There is a kind of dip in the track, still boggy in places from yesterday’s rain. I touch the back of my head gingerly. It’s still bruised and tender and I can feel where they put in the stitch. I stand still and listen. I can hear the faint faraway sounds of voices coming from the clearing, which must be the police still at the scene, and the solitary bark of a dog. I shudder when I remember the hand on my shoulder last night, the feeling of being followed before I was struck with something. Did whoever it was mean to kill me too, like Ralph? Or was it just to frighten me? To stop me snooping?
How lucky it was that Dale was the one to find me when he did. I wonder if he scared off my attacker. I’m not sure how long I was lying on the ground.
I walk on, faster now, suddenly desperate to get back to my car. I almost run the last few steps but then I stop. Something has been shoved under my left windscreen wiper. My first thought is it’s a flyer, until I register I’m in the middle of a forest. On closer inspection I can see a message has been scribbled on lined paper that looks like it’s been ripped from one of my notebooks. I slide it out from under the windscreen wiper and my blood runs cold as the words swim in front of me. They are written in neat block capitals slanted to the left.
LEAVE TOWN OR YOU’LL BE NEXT.
23
I drive erratically out of the forest, my head almost bumping against the ceiling as my car bounces over the potholes on the track as though I’m being chased. I don’t even know if I should be driving after my head injury last night. Calm down, I tell myself. It’s not like me to be so spooked. But a lot has happened over the past twenty-four hours. I only start to breathe easier when I’m back on the Devil’s Corridor and heading towards the next town. It’s a relief to be driving away from Stafferbury for a bit. Devizes is bigger and more bustling than Stafferbury and I park outside the police station. When I arrive, a young detective with a baby face called DC Stirling says he’s expecting me. It doesn’t take long to give him my statement, and once I’ve signed it I’m on the road again. I didn’t mention the note because they might take it and file it somewhere, and I want to keep it to myself for now. At the back of my mind there is the possibility of using it as some kind of bargaining tool – in exchange for more information from Dale.
It isn’t long before I’m back on the Devil’s Corridor and I try to imagine what it must have been like for Olivia that night, with the wind and the rain. The WELCOME TO STAFFERBURY sign is up ahead with its warning to drive slowly through the town.
I head along the high street, which looks prettier in the winter sunshine. A large Christmas tree has been erected near the war memorial since yesterday. I can’t even think about Christmas and how it will be this year. Will we spend the day together for Finn’s sake? As I drive towards Blackberry Avenue, where Katie’s mum lives, I have to pass the stables. I can see Olivia chatting to a woman I don’t recognize across the saddle of a chestnut pony. What do you know? I wonder. Is it conceivable she knows nothing about her three best friends’ disappearance?
Blackberry Avenue is a small road that joins with another at the end and is set with a row of detached houses from all eras. Number five is a mock Tudor with symmetrical windows, a driveway and a garage on the side. It’s small but tidy, almost sensible-looking, and I wonder if this is where Katie grew up. According to the electoral roll, Sally’s family live a few streets away.
I pull up outside and knock at the door. The street is quiet and there are no sounds coming from within the house. The driveway is empty and a green bin has rolled over and lies on its side. I knock again but no answer. As I turn away to pick up the bin I hear a voice. ‘What are you doing?’ I look up to see a woman striding out of the side gate in a quilted gilet, holding a pair of gardening gloves, a small black-and-white dog at her side that starts yapping at me.
‘I … um … Sorry. Your bin had fallen over.’
‘Ssh, Walter,’ she says, to the dog. She’s tall with a long, weathered face and light brown hair threaded with grey pulled back in a clip. I can tell straight away that she’s Katie’s mother: the same pointed chin and hazel eyes. Her face is criss-crossed with lines, etched with years of grief. She frowns. ‘You came to pick up my bin?’
I start to introduce myself but she holds up a hand. ‘I’m not interested. I’ve heard about you and I have nothing to say,’ she snaps.
‘But this podcast will shine a light on this case. Someone might come forward who knows something … anything about that night, something overlooked, a clue …’
‘It’s been twenty years,’ she interjects wearily, moving her dirty gloves from one hand to the other. ‘Don’t you think someone would have come forward by now.’ It’s not a question and I open my mouth but she charges on. ‘I’ve given up thinking that my daughter is going to walk through that door. My husband …’ she inhales and touches her chest as though it’s painful ‘… he died not knowing. And I’ll die not knowing. I have my son to think about now, and a granddaughter. I have to … I can’t …’ Her eyes smart and she shakes her head. ‘You need to go.’
‘But …’
She heads back through the gate, her dog trotting behind her. I swallow. I can’t begin to imagine her pain and my eyes fill when I think of Finn. Fuck. Having a child has made me soft. The old me would have followed her, kept on trying to persuade her. I would probably have made a nuisance of myself. But I can’t do that to her. She looks like she’s got the weight of the world on her skinny shoulders.
It’ll be different with Izzy, I hope, as I head back to my car. Not that Izzy won’t be in pain too – but a mother’s grief … I swallow the lump in my throat. I can’t think of it. I just want to go home, hug Finn tightly and never let him out of my sight again.
I sit behind the wheel in the quiet street. The back of my head is still throbbing and I reach into my handbag for two more painkillers, swallowing them with a swig from a warm bottle of water that’s been in my car since Monday. Then I check my mobile, disappointment flooding through me when I see that neither Izzy nor Dale has called. I know Dale must be run off his feet, especially now with Ralph Middleton’s death, and it might not have shown up on his phone that I’d tried to call him due to the sketchy reception in the forest. But Izzy … I really need to speak to her. If she’s willing to be interviewed for the podcast she might be able to convince her parents to cooperate. I couldn’t find either of Tamzin’s parents on the electoral roll.