Evil Valley (29 page)

‘One of the search teams, sir. They’ve found something. There’s been a break in at a building on the edge of the moor. They reckon Gibson was there with Nicola.’

Chapter Nineteen

T
HE POLICE CARS BOUNCED
and roared over the rough ground of the car park by the ford, just below Gutter Tor. Claire was waiting, pacing, and beckoned urgently. Dan realised it was where they’d walked the last time they’d been out on Dartmoor. He’d parked just here, where the police driver was manoeuvring the car. Rutherford had dived straight into the pond by the ford.

Adam jumped out and strode over to Claire. Dan hobbled painfully behind. He seemed to have been forgotten in the excitement.

‘You found it, Claire?’ asked Adam as they made their way up a stony path in the green felt of the moor.

‘Yes, sir. The hut was hidden in the trees from where we were, up on the moor, but a local farmer told me it was here. It was just a hunch. It looked like a good place to hide. The door was open and I had a look round. There are a few blankets left and a couple of mats to sleep on. I haven’t touched anything, but I noticed there were long blonde hairs on one of the mats. There are a few bits of rubbish from where they’ve eaten too.’

‘Any clues about where they’ve gone?’

‘No, sir, not that I could see. But I didn’t do a thorough search. I called in as soon as I knew he’d been here.’

‘Good work, Claire, well done.’

A small, slate-roofed stone cottage was set into a copse of trees to the right of the path. It had a couple of windows on each side and a wooden door. They walked around to the back where there was a large shed and another, smaller door to the cottage. It was ajar.

Adam studied it, asked, ‘What is this place?’

‘A scout hut sir. Younger hikers can use it as a base for exploring parts of the moor. It’s a haven if the weather gets too rough.’

Dan followed them inside, stubbing a toe on a stone, making his ankle fire with pain. He gasped. He’d have to see a doctor soon.

There was a pair of white-overalled forensic officers kneeling on the floor inside the door. ‘You’ve got half an hour,’ Adam told them, checking his watch. ‘We’ve only got enough light for another three hours searching. Don’t worry about giving the place a detailed going over. I don’t have the time. Just see if you can find any indication of where he’s gone.’

In the corner of the hall was a sleeping bag and pile of blankets. There were some wrappings from a loaf of bread, tins of beans and sausages and a small camping stove. A forensics officer picked at the blankets with a pair of tweezers. In a windowless cupboard just off the hall was a small, battery powered television.

‘That’s how he watched Wessex Tonight then,’ said Dan. Adam turned, looked, then stood silent, staring into space.

‘So how did he get here?’ he asked aloud. ‘And where’s he gone now?’

‘I expect he left after he’d called in with that last message, sir,’ replied Claire, looking down at the blankets. ‘Just in case we had a chance to trace it. He’d know we were getting close.’

‘I think you’re right Claire. Which means he can’t have gone far. He’d have intended to use this place as a temporary base, then move on to wherever he planned next. Probably the place where he wants all this to end. But where? Are there any traces of a car?’

‘No sir. But we haven’t looked in the outbuilding yet.’

Adam turned quickly and strode outside. ‘Open it up,’ he barked at a young police officer standing in front of the shed’s double doors. ‘Now!’

The policeman jumped, turned and pulled hard at the catch. It groaned, but stayed put. He tried again, harder, and this time it gave. Inside it was dark, but there was the unmistakeable outline of a quad bike.

‘There,’ growled Adam. ‘That’s how he got up here.’ He walked in to the building and looked over the bike. ‘He wrapped Nicola up and put her on the back here. He probably stuck a tarpaulin over her, something like that. Anyone who saw him would think it was a farmer. Get forensics in here to see if they can spot anything that might help tell us where he’s gone now.’

‘Hang on,’ said Claire. ‘Look.’ She pointed to the front of the bike, at the handlebars. Hanging there was a tiny envelope, the sort that contain gift tags for Christmas presents. It was so small they’d almost missed it in the barn’s half-light. On the front was written “Adam.”

The detective reached down and picked it off, opened it, his fingers fumbling.

“Adam,

“I thought it was time I sent you a note, as you seem to be struggling. And after all, time is the point. It’s almost time now. But for what? And where? All I can say is this. It’s in the names and the numbers.

“Edmund.”

‘What the hell does that mean?’ Adam barked, a hand running through his hair.

‘It’s your final clue,’ said Dan. ‘He knew we’d be on to him now. He wanted it this way. He planned where he’d go and what he’d do. It’s the final chance to work out where he is and what he’s doing before the showdown. The deadline’s approaching and this is our last chance.’

Adam strode back out of the barn and looked around him. ‘Call Michael and Eleanor and tell them what we’ve found. Dictate the words in the note. Tell them to put everything they’ve got into cracking it. So where is he now? Where? Where is the bastard?’

‘I don’t reckon he’s gone far sir,’ said Claire. ‘There’s no room in that barn to store a car and he wouldn’t have risked keeping one out here in the car park for a couple of days. It’d soon be noticed. I think he must be on foot.’

Adam nodded. ‘Which brings us back to where we were. Dartmoor. At least we know for certain he’s here now. But where? Are there any other houses or farms around where he could he hiding?’

‘All checked sir,’ said Claire. ‘Nothing.’

‘Get them checked again. We might have missed something. I can’t risk that. And get the helicopter back to do a sweep over the area.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘And get the dogs to see if they can pick up a scent. I know he’s probably long gone, but it’s worth a try. Anything is.’

‘Yes sir.’

Adam turned to the east. ‘Burrator reservoir’s over there, isn’t it? Not far away either.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And there are lots of trees and woodland there. Plenty of places to hide.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Get a couple of teams going around the reservoir then. It’s worth a shot. We’re running out of time.’

The yellow sun was already dipping towards the western horizon.

There was no sight, no vision, it was too dark, perfectly black. There was only the incessant sound. Drip, drip, drip …

A gasping, wavering sob rose above the tinny beat, then another. He tried to ignore it.

The crying faded, and a small, faltering voice joined with the drip, drip, drip …

‘I’m scared Ed … I’m so frightened … I don’t like the dark.’

He tried again to shut it out, tapped the rhythm of the falling water on his knees.

Drip, drip, drip …

‘I’m really scared … Ed, please … please …’

Drip, drip, drip …

Breathless now. ‘You’re not … you’re not going to hurt me, are you?’

It was the first time she’d asked it. He flinched, surprised to find the question penetrated his mind.

‘No, of course not, my lovely. I would never hurt you. This is … it’s …’

He struggled to find some convincing words. ‘It’s the very last part of our adventure. It’s the most important bit … where you prove you’re brave enough to … it’s like those stories I read you. You remember those?’

Drip, drip, drip …

‘You remember them, don’t you? When the hero has to go through the final test before he can claim his great prize? Well, that’s what you’re doing now.’

Drip, drip, drip.

Drip, drip, drip …

Then her voice. Querulous, fearful. ‘How long do we have to stay here?’

He checked the luminous dial of his watch. ‘Not long now, my love.’ He bit back his reluctance, reached out and took Nicola’s hand, squeezed it. ‘Not long. I’m sorry we have to spend part of your birthday this way, but I’m afraid it can’t be helped. There are some people we need to avoid. They’re trying to stop us finishing our adventure and we don’t want that, do we? It won’t be long before we can go out and choose your pony.’

Drip, drip, drip …

‘Really, Ed?’

‘Really. You’ve been such a brave girl. We’ve almost finished our adventure now, and when it’s over we can find your pony. Have you decided which one you’d like yet? For being such a wonderfully brave girl, I’ll get you whichever one you want.’

Drip, drip, drip …

Then her voice, calmer now. ‘I think I’d like a black one, Ed. I think I’m sure about that now. I think he’ll be black and I’ll call him Beauty. Just like that book you and Mummy read to me. Will Mummy be here to help me choose him?’

He screwed his eyes shut, tried so hard to shut out her words. It was too late for guilt. Another few hours and it would all be over. But she was such a beautiful girl, so innocent, so trusting. Just a few more hours.

The relentless noise seemed to be growing louder, echoing in his head.

Drip, drip, drip …

Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t it have been some screaming, spoilt brat who he could easily hate? Why did it have to be a beautiful little girl, with loving eyes, golden hair, a cute gap in her teeth and a smooth hand she’d hold out for a reassuring squeeze? Why did he keep seeing her riding that pony, shrieking in delight, the tail of blonde hair flying behind her?

The answer snapped back. Because he’d chosen her. Because she was symbolic. Perfect.

He thought of her mum, sitting at home, surrounded by friends, family, staring at the phone, willing it to ring, but each time it did dreading what she would hear. What would she be thinking about him? She must be despising, loathing, detesting him. Just as he loathed and detested her. Or was almost sure he did …

Did she really once want to have a relationship with him? Could he have finally managed one with her? Maybe, if she hadn’t been a vital part of his wonderful plan.

He hung on to the thought. His wonderful plan. That was what this was about. Not something pathetic and weak, transient and meaningless like a relationship. Something that would live on, be forever remembered, not falter and die, unnoticed by the world.

Drip, drip, drip …

Could he have been a father to Nicola? She’d never had one. She’d mentioned that often enough on their outings. It was just her and Mum. It had always been that way.

That wasn’t so very different from his own childhood. He didn’t have a dad either, just a man who used that name, someone who would make rushed, flying visits, always on his way somewhere else, always with more important things to do, always too busy to stop and play. When he thought of his father he saw a blur, an undefined image of a half-remembered person speeding in and out of his life.

His imagination brought him that picture again. Nicola, astride the sturdy black pony, wearing matching black riding hat and boots, cantering safely around a grassy paddock, her gappy smile beaming her delight. Would her mum be there beside him, smiling too, perhaps reaching out to hold his hand, share the joy?

Drip, drip, drip …

It was growing louder still, boring into his brain. He ground a knuckle into the rocky wall beside him, felt the skin break, the shock of pain helping him force the thought away. It was too late for regrets. There was only one path for him now, and he was almost there. It was nearly time.

He heard the helicopter buzzing overhead, a couple of voices too he thought, but that could have been his imagination. Everything was going precisely according to the plan. They were looking for him, but he’d out-thought them again. They’d never find him here. They should have discovered the quad bike and hut by now, and they’d be gathering close by. But they’d never find him.

Not until he was ready. Not for a few hours yet.

More words in the blackness. ‘My mummy’s very pretty, isn’t she, Ed? Do you think she’s pretty?’

‘Yes, I think she’s very pretty.’

‘Was your mum pretty Ed?’

He wanted to walk away, put his hands over his ears, block out the dripping and that innocent little voice. He hadn’t harmed her. He hadn’t hurt anyone. He prided himself on that. He’d done what he had to do, and no one had been hurt. No one would be.

The two women he’d visited – that was how he liked to think of it – had been upset of course, but they would get over it. Nicola had cried a couple of times. The ride on the back of the quad bike was the worst, but the tears were brief and she’d been fine afterwards. They’d get over it, all three of them. They’d soon forget. It had been necessary. Someone had to make the statement that needed to be made, and it would be him. It was too late for regrets.

‘Yes, Nicola, she was very pretty. She was like a princess.’

He regretted the words as soon as he’d spoken them.

‘My mummy says I look like a princess with my hair. She says all princesses have long, blonde hair. Did you know that, Ed?’

‘I didn’t, but now you mention it you’re right. I’ve never seen a princess who doesn’t have lovely long blonde hair, just like yours.’

‘I’ll look like a real princess sitting on my pony, won’t I? Will it be long now before we can go and get him?’

‘Not long now, my love. Not long.’

The guilt came thundering back as he thought about what he had to do next. His father was there, scolding him, a finger pointing, his mother shaking her head, her lips pursed. He tried to block it out but it wouldn’t leave him, echoed louder and louder through his head.

He could feel the cold gathering around them, pulled a blanket over her little shoulders, tucked it around her. He didn’t want to think about what was coming next, but it wouldn’t leave him, whichever way he turned his head, however tightly he closed his eyes.

It had to be this way. There was no choice left now. It was too late for regrets.

Drip, drip, drip …

‘Not long now, my love,’ he whispered again through the perfect darkness. ‘Not long.’

The shadows were stretching further over the moorland, dark fingers pulling at the precious daylight and stealing it away. Dan didn’t bother checking his watch, he’d been doing so every couple of minutes for the last hour. It was just after half past four. And the icy cold was sharpening with the gathering gloom.