‘Um … well, sure. Sure, that’s fine,’ he says, as though he’s trying to convince himself.
I ask him a few warm-up questions to relax him, like how long he’s been living in the town – nearly nineteen years – and if he has any family nearby （‘No, never been married. No children.’）。
‘Can you tell me a bit about the town? I know you weren’t here when Olivia Rutherford’s friends disappeared but there have been so many reports about strange goings-on. The haunted forest. A child crying …’ I remember hearing that myself on the night I was attacked. I shudder and he notices.
‘You’ve heard it, haven’t you? The child’s cries?’ When I nod he charges on, more animated than I’ve seen him so far. ‘The contractors who built the cabins heard it too. They told me. And others over the years. Ralph Middleton was convinced that the forest was haunted. And he should know. He lived in it. Other things too. Bright lights by the standing stones. A figure haunting the Devil’s Corridor. There have been many accidents on that road over the years, you know.’ He sounds almost proud of this fact. ‘The local pub, the Raven, is haunted by a woman in grey.’ I want to laugh in disbelief. It’s always a woman in grey. ‘Stafferbury is known as one of the most haunted towns in the UK.’
‘And do you believe it all?’ I ask him.
‘Of course.’ He crosses his arms and juts out his chin. ‘It’s hard not to when you’ve seen or heard things yourself. Once, many years ago, when I was staying in the high street I woke up in the early hours of the morning and saw a pony and trap overturn in the street. When I looked it up afterwards I found out that a horse and carriage accident had taken place here in the early 1800s.’
‘And what do you think happened on the night the girls disappeared?’
‘I wouldn’t want to rule anything out,’ he replies noncommittally. ‘But I do know that Ralph believed it was an alien abduction.’ I expect him to laugh or scoff but he remains serious. Then he adds gravely, ‘As you’re probably aware, Ralph was found dead last night.’ I nod, willing him to continue. ‘His caravan was stationed on my land – I own a large portion of the forest. And he worked for me – a bit of cash in hand – to keep an eye on the place. He told me over the years that he’d seen a lot of strange things. And it does make me wonder, you know. About his death.’
‘Wonder what?’
‘If it was perhaps …’ he pauses for dramatic effect ‘… supernatural.’
I stare at him in shock. Does he really believe that? My mum used to say, when I was little and scared that a ghost was under my bed, it was the living who could hurt you, not the dead.
‘You know,’ he continues, ‘that a long time ago human sacrifices were made at the stones.’
I remember Brenda telling me.
‘There are rumours of a pagan group living in Stafferbury. Not a cult exactly but … I’m not saying they sacrificed the girls or anything but … they’re a weird lot.’
‘Who do you think might be in this “group”？’
‘Well, I’ve only heard rumours, of course, but maybe Madame Tovey. And a few others. They’re mostly elderly now. Apparently they like to do some kind of ceremony at the stones in the summer.’ He waves his hand dismissively. ‘I don’t get involved. I’m not into that kind of thing although I have to admit there is a strange energy around those stones.’
I remember how I’d felt in the field earlier, that I was being watched, that a shadowy force was lurking, but I don’t answer. Instead I sip my coffee and ask him if he knows the families of the missing girls.
He hesitates. ‘Not really. They all keep themselves to themselves. Especially the Rutherfords.’
‘What about Ralph? You said he did a bit of work for you, looking after the forest and keeping it clean and litter-free. What do you think happened to him? Did he have any enemies you knew about?’
He pushes his chair back to fiddle with the blinds behind his desk. ‘Do you mind if I pull this up? It’s dark in here.’ He adjusts the vertical blinds without waiting for an answer. He spends a bit of time at the window, faffing with the cord, and I wonder if it’s some kind of delay tactic. The light in the room was perfectly fine. It seems unnecessary, but then I dismiss it. I’m becoming paranoid about everyone in this town.
‘Ralph?’ I remind him, when he’s returned to his seat.
‘Oh, he was a simple soul. I can’t believe anyone would want to hurt him. He was harmless.’
‘But someone obviously did.’
A shadow passes across his face but he doesn’t say anything and I mentally kick myself for being insensitive.
‘Anyway,’ I say, wrapping up, ‘thank you for talking to me.’
He flashes a relieved smile as I stop recording and fold up my stand.
As soon as I get back to my car my phone rings and Dale’s name flashes up on screen.
‘Jenna,’ he says, as soon as I’ve answered, ‘we’ve found something in Ralph’s caravan that I think you need to see.’
26
I’ve agreed to meet Dale in Bea’s Tearoom for a late lunch. I’ve been so busy today I haven’t had the chance to eat since this morning. Thankfully, it’s quiet now it’s nearing 3 p.m. and we find a table in the corner furthest away from the counter. After he’s ordered coronation-chicken baps for us both, Dale reaches inside his briefcase and takes out a manila folder.
‘This was found in Ralph’s things,’ he says, opening it and taking out a clear plastic wallet. He slides it across the table. It looks like it contains a series of Polaroid images, slightly grainy and out of focus, taken of a teenage girl in various outside locations. One looks like a petrol station, the other a park, the next the high street.
I peer closer at the photos. The girl is young. Maybe eighteen with a round face and a 1990s layered haircut, with caramel-coloured streaks. ‘It’s Olivia.’
Dale nods. ‘Before the accident. Look.’ He points to the photo of Olivia wrapped in a fake-fur coat at the petrol station filling up a white car. ‘Her Peugeot 205. It was written off after the accident.’
‘Do you think it was Ralph who was following her?’
‘Why else would he have them?’ Dale runs a hand through his already messy hair. He looks exhausted, and I feel a tug of guilt, remembering how late he’d stayed up with me in A and E.
‘Did he ever drive a white van?’
‘Ralph couldn’t drive.’
I hold the photos up towards the light to get a better look. They’ve been run through a colour photocopier so that they all fit on one page of A4. ‘So, Ralph was obsessed with Olivia and was following her before the accident? Is that what these photos mean?’
Chlo? appears with our baps and drinks, and I turn over the page of photos so that she can’t see them. Only when she’s gone do I turn them back. Something doesn’t add up about this. ‘Wouldn’t she have recognized Ralph? If he’d been following her?’
‘Hmm. You can see she’s quite far away in them, though.’ Dale takes a bite of his bap. Creamy coronation chicken oozes out of the side and drops onto his plate. He swallows. ‘I’m wondering now if Ralph was the figure Olivia saw in the road. Did he hang around waiting for her to regain consciousness, then pretend he’d just happened upon her crashed car?’