Ravens Gathering (24 page)

Being held by Martin had brought a mixture of emotions for
Tanya.  For the first time she could ever recall, she’d lost
control.  Her life to date had always been about staying in control. 
When her relationship with Ian had started, she’d always made sure she held the
balance of power.  Sex, of course, was her biggest weapon.  She
presented herself to him, let him taste the forbidden fruits, and from then on
he was hooked.  And he knew he had to keep her happy if he was going to
continue to enjoy those fruits.

She played to her strengths and, always, she looked to build
on them.

Things had changed though.

First there was Martin.  And last there was
Martin.  In between there was the small matter of a stolen bomb being
found in her back yard, and even that might have been something to do with
Martin.

Having been confined to this backwater for the last few
years, to meet someone who wasn’t like one of the locals had been
exciting.  And he seemed to be attracted to her as well.  But then
the promise of his flirting had simply died away.  He’d intrigued her,
offering something different, and yet remaining an enigma.

The power shift had been gradual, but she realised now that
it was all in his hands.  Even though she knew in her heart that he had no
interest in her either sexually or romantically, and even though she was sure
he was keeping things from her about the stolen van, still she wanted to be
with him.  Her anger, her sense of betrayal, her frustration and
embarrassment from earlier had all combined to leave her weakened, and
desperate for him to take care of things for her.

And when he put his arms around her, she surrendered
willingly.

For a few moments, there had been hope.  The physical
need she felt for him was intense, and feeling his hands on her back, she’d
been convinced her wait was over.  Instead of lust, though, she felt
tenderness.  He stroked her, soothed her, made her feel cared for. 
Which was a strange experience for her.  Not that Ian didn’t demonstrate
his caring for her.  But his expressions of caring tended to involve gifts
and treats and words.  On a rational level, she knew he genuinely did
care.  What she felt with Martin, though, was so different.  He
didn’t have to say anything.  She could just feel the warmth and love
emanating from him.  In a way that she couldn’t have imagined possible
from anyone, let alone this surfer dude who liked to piss off policemen,
villagers and family members alike.

He had taken her to bed.  But not for sex.  He’d
simply sat on the edge of it holding her hand until she fell asleep.

The sound of the kitchen door had
woken
her up.

She was alone.  Even though the room was in darkness,
she could sense there was no one else with her.  Ordinarily, she was slow
to waken when she’d been asleep.  But the door had disturbed more than her
sleep.  Worried that it might mean Martin was leaving, she took only a few
moments to clear her head and get up.

Out of habit, she hesitated before going downstairs. 
Her hair was undoubtedly a mess.  It always was when she first woke
up.  Though she knew that how she looked wouldn’t matter to Martin, the
importance of her appearance was so ingrained in her that she took a rapid
diversion into the shower room.  The light made her wince when she pulled
on the cord.  Blinking, she inspected herself in the mirror.  The
damage wasn’t too bad.  A quick brush through was enough to tide her
over.  The eye makeup was tolerable.  She certainly didn’t have time
to carry out a full repair job.

Since she’d been woken by the door closing, there had been
no obvious sounds from downstairs.  Inevitably in a house as old as this
one, there were creaks and groans all the time.  Those were just part of
the background.  Sometimes they were made by someone moving around, other
times it was just the house itself.

As she went out on to the landing, she strained her ears,
listening out for anything that might indicate whether Martin was still in the
house or not.  She hadn’t turned any more lights on, afraid that if he was
leaving, it might spur him on.  At the foot of the stairs, she could see
the only light was a dim glow coming from the kitchen.

Of course she realised almost immediately that the glow was
only passing through the kitchen.  It originated from the annexe.  She
stepped through the doorway, more uncertain of herself than she’d ever
been.  What if Martin had already gone?  And if he hadn’t, what was
she going to say to him anyway?  Plead with him to take her with
him?  Or ask him to spend the night with her in the knowledge that it
would never be repeated?

A small shadow appeared at the doorway to the annexe, but
rapidly grew bigger.  He was coming towards the kitchen.  She braced
herself, hoping to God she’d know what to say when she saw him.  And then
he was there.  But it was Ian, not Martin.

His whole body seemed to twitch when he saw her.  She’d
startled him.  A combination of guilt and a sudden awareness of her own
fragility made her empathise with him in a way she couldn’t remember having
done before.  She opened her mouth to apologise, but he raised a hand to
stop her, then closed the door behind him.

“I didn’t want to disturb him,” he explained, gesturing
beyond the door.

All the pieces fell hurriedly into place.  Martin was
still here.  It had been Ian closing the kitchen door that had woken
her.  She felt relief that Martin hadn’t left, and shame that she was
feeling that in the presence of her husband.  A husband, incidentally, who
seemed to be just as concerned about Martin as she was.

“Is he...?”

“Asleep, yes.”  In the shadows of the kitchen, he
peered at her as he drew closer.  “And I’m guessing you were too. 
I’m sorry if I woke you.”

She waved the apology aside.  Or was it the reference
to her having been asleep?  Obviously the quick brush of the hair hadn’t
been enough.

“Don’t worry,” she said, and was surprised at the tenderness
in her voice.  She reached for him and gave him a hug.  “It’s been a
long day for all of us.”

At first, he was rigid in her arms.  She couldn’t blame
him.  After the way she’d treated him in recent months, to be greeted with
affection must have felt strange to him.  But after a few moments he
relaxed, and she was surprised at how pleasurable it was to be held by
him.  Not in the thrilling and sexy way she’d always thought would mark
out the pleasure of being with a man.  Instead she was filled with an
affection and warmth that felt alien to her.  Alien, and yet more right
than she could have possibly imagined.  Which left her even more
confused.  Because she might have understood it if this had been
Martin.  He was new and brought something different with him.  But
this was Ian, who she’d been in a relationship with for six years.

It was Ian who pulled away first.  He looked at her
closely.  “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, surprising herself.  “I
thought I was, but...”  She tailed off, not sure if she could explain how
she felt.

Ian smiled at her warmly.  “Have you eaten?”

She shook her head.

“Why don’t you go and freshen up.  Have a shower, it’ll
help to waken you up a bit.  I’ll make us a meal while you’re up there,
and when you come down, we can have a talk.”

Something she would have hated to do normally.  And
yet, somehow, his suggestion felt right to her.  Maybe it was because of
the warmth she was feeling towards him.  She thought it was more likely to
be something else, but she was having some difficulty in identifying what that
something else was.

“Good idea,” she said eagerly and squeezed his hand.

“What would you like to eat?” he asked.

“Whatever you like.”  She smiled at him, and knew from
his expression that he was both puzzled and delighted.  It crossed her
mind that she may be building his hopes up only to shatter them.  But she
didn’t think so.

Playing along, he made a show of giving some thought to the
question, before saying: “You know, we haven’t had breakfast yet.  What
about eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms...”

Not ideal for keeping her trim figure, but just right for
this occasion.

“Don’t forget the tomatoes and fried bread,” she grinned,
giving him another hug.  “I’ll be ten minutes.”

“Well I’ll be at least twenty,” Ian told her, “so take as
long as you need.”

When she glanced back as she headed into the hallway, he was
still watching her, his face a picture of amused bewilderment.

He had been right, she realised as she went up the
stairs.  She always needed a shower in the morning to wake herself up
properly.  It might seem bizarre after such a long and arduous day to be
planning anything other than catching up on sleep, but there were things she and
Ian needed to talk about.  On his side, he needed to open up to her about
why he had been gone for so long.  On her part, she needed to explore
these new-found emotions with him.

The alarm clock told her it was almost nine-thirty. 
Smiling at the idea of a cooked breakfast this late in the evening, she almost
skipped into the shower.

As the water poured down her body, her brain was running
wild, thoughts leaping all over.  She wasn’t consciously looking for an
answer, but with such a profound change, it was inevitable that she would be
wondering why she felt so different.  As far as she could tell, nothing
had changed within Ian.  Okay, there was his secretiveness last night and
this afternoon.  But if that was going to have any effect on her it should
have been a negative one.

It was when she’d stepped out of the shower and was
towelling herself that it occurred to her.  She was looking for why Ian
made her feel the way Martin had.  But maybe it was nothing to do with the
way they made her feel.  Maybe something had changed within her.

Still puzzling over that, she walked into the bedroom. 
She was dabbing at herself absent-mindedly with the towel as she tried to
follow that line of thought.  The explanation was eluding her. 
Strangely enough, the best person to help her with it was Ian.  He was
very logical and methodical, but understood a lot of the complexities of the
human mind, so was well-equipped to guide her to the solution. 
Previously, she would have fought shy of talking to Ian about something like
this because she’d have been afraid it would have given him too much power over
her.  This time her concern was about him.  What if, in helping her,
he found out how she’d felt about Martin?  What if it revealed to him the
countless affairs and liaisons she’d had over the years?  Having
discovered an affection for Ian, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him.

She pushed those thoughts to one side.  There was
nothing constructive she could do about them tonight.  Not when there were
soldiers all around the farm and a bomb had been found hidden there.  It
was just a relief that they had managed to move it away, take it back where it
had come from.

Dropping the towel over the arm of a chair, she turned
towards a chest of drawers.  And felt something hard ram into her stomach.

No one was left in CID when he went through.  The few
that were on duty had been called out to a domestic incident that had escalated
into something much more tragic.  Or so he learned from the Desk
Sergeant.  Which meant he either had to wait until tomorrow morning, or he
could go out looking by himself.

In a way, it helped to make the decision.  The reality
was that, whilst the missing farm was strange, there was nothing to link this
oddity to the case.  So if he had been accompanied by another officer,
there was always the risk of ridicule.  And big and tough and experienced
as he was, he didn’t react well to having the piss taken out of him. 
Particularly when he was feeling tired.

This gave him the opportunity to go and have a scout around
by himself, and if it turned out to be of no relevance, he didn’t have to
report it to anyone.

To give himself even more leeway, he told the sergeant he
was going home.  It wasn’t a lie.  He was.  It was just that he
was going the long way.

He smiled at that thought as he approached the edge of the
village.  It was completely dark now, the sun a distant memory, and the
white background of the
Ravens Gathering
sign reflected his headlights
dully.  Ahead and to his right, he saw a dark opening and slowed down,
wondering if that was the place he was looking for.  The streetlights were
still a quarter of a mile away, so it was difficult to see clearly.  But
as he drew level and looked along the track, he could see a wooden signpost for
a bridleway, and beside that a black and white sign with the image of a
Friesian painted on it.  Beneath the cow were the words
Whartons
Farm
.

Gently pressing his foot down on the accelerator, he moved
forward.  There was no other traffic on the road, so he didn’t rush. 
With no one to see him, there was no one to be worried about his apparently
suspicious behaviour.

But he was in the village before he saw any other places to
turn off the main road.  A cluster of houses that was too small to
constitute an estate, then
The Major Oak
and opposite that the entrance
to
Blackthorn
Farm.  Lodge Farm
appeared shortly after on
the same side as the pub, but Collins already knew that if this phantom farm
existed, he must have gone past it.  He turned the Cavalier round and
headed back out of the village.

It was strange really.  Back in Westfield, the streets
would be busy.  Saturday night was for letting your hair down – in
whatever way was right for you.  For a lot of people it would be the pubs
and clubs.  At nine o’clock, it wouldn’t be buzzing just yet, but it would
be well on its way.

Not Ravens Gathering, though.  So far, he hadn’t even
seen anyone out walking their dog.  There was light in the pub, and
shadows cast on the windows, but he didn’t get the impression it would be
heaving.

As the streetlights faded in his
rearview
mirror, he kept his speed at thirty.  He didn’t want to be going so fast
he’d miss anything.  But when five minutes had passed, and he could see
the lights of Long
Clayford
ahead of him, he knew he
had gone too far.  He gently picked up speed and headed into the village
to turn round again.

This time, there were other cars on the road.  Just
two, and they were both heading in the same direction as he was.  The
roads were narrow and winding.  Unsure whether they were patient, sensible
drivers, or
lairy
idiots who’d rather risk their
lives than be a minute or two late, he increased his speed until he could find
a suitable place to pull over and let them pass.  And the suitable place
was the entrance to
Whartons
Farm
again, so he knew he must have missed what he was looking for.  He
reversed into the opening and turned back towards Long
Clayford
.

Unlike in the movies, being a good detective isn’t the
result of being a maverick with an estranged wife who loves you but hates the
job.  Nor is it about kicking in doors and being able to put a car into a
one hundred and eighty degree turn while reloading your handgun.  There
are many different facets to a good detective.  Some have their strengths
in particular areas.  But one of the most important things a detective has
to possess is patience.  It may be something they need as they piece
together the jigsaw of a crime scene, or read and re-read statements as they
look for a common thread, or they may simply end up driving up and down a dark
road at night as they search for an entrance to a farm that may or may not
exist.

Collins clocked up over thirty miles travelling back and
forth between the two villages that lay less than four miles apart. 
Thirty miles, and fifty minutes.  And then he saw it.  A narrow gap
in the trees to his right as he headed once more in the direction of Ravens
Gathering.  He was coming out of a bend in the road.  His speed had
dropped this time to around ten miles an hour.  He knew he was taking a
risk.  It was pretty well established that the incidence of drink-driving
in the country was greater than it was in the town.  In large part, it was
because the police had to concentrate their efforts in the more built up
areas.  After all, that was where most of the people were.  So if you
were going to take a chance when you were over the limit, there was a strong
likelihood that you’d get away with it out here.  Any drink driver coming along
this road tonight would more than likely not realise the Cavalier was there
until it was too late.  And he’d certainly not have the reflexes to brake
in time.  Of course, there were also the dickheads who didn’t need to get
some alcohol in their system to drive like lunatics.  He banked on it
being too early for the drinkers, and played the odds on the others. 
Fortunately, the odds worked in his favour.

There was no sign announcing the presence of a farm. 
Nor was there a gatepost, or any other indication that this break in the trees
was anything of significance.  But the combination of his speed and the
angle at which the headlights caught the trees made Collins realise that the
opening was a little too regular in shape to be a natural development.

Out of habit, he indicated, even though there was no one
around to see the lights flashing.  He drove into the gap, and felt a warm
glow of satisfaction as his headlights illuminated a rough – but nevertheless
well used – track.  It curved away to his left, disappearing from
view.  He stopped the car, letting the engine tick over as he considered
what to do next.

The reality, of course, was that he hadn’t achieved anything
yet.  All he’d done was find a track that led off the main road. 
Where it led to was still up for debate.  And there was also the very
strong possibility that, even if there was a farm at the end of the track,
there would be nothing to suggest its presence had anything to do with the
events at
Forest Farm
.  In truth, there wasn’t any decision to
make.  He just had to get on with it.  Letting out the clutch, he
cautiously followed the curve of the track.

Back on the road, the light had been limited.  Here,
with trees on either side and branches cutting out any illumination from the
moon or stars, there was nothing to guide him other than his headlights. 
And even they seemed to have dimmed, the beams dropping away only a few feet
ahead.  He drove slowly, alert for any sharp bends or suicidal woodland
creatures.

Even though he was watching out for them, he was still
surprised to see both at different times.  The squirrel appeared first,
the headlights catching it as it stood stock still in the middle of the
track.  He eased the brake on gently, so there was no sudden noise to
startle the creature – or alert any nearby humans.  It was only when the
car stopped completely that the squirrel decided to move on, glancing briefly
over its shoulder as it went.  Amused more than anything, Collins carried
on, and almost missed the sudden turn to the right ten feet further on.  A
very wide and sturdy looking tree trunk showed up in the lights suddenly, and
his amusement turned to gratitude.  If he hadn’t slowed for the squirrel,
he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have had time to stop before hitting the tree.

Without the hindrance of darkness, he estimated later that
it would probably have taken him little more than a couple of minutes to cover
the length of the track.  On that first attempt, it was closer to
seven.  But eventually, the track opened up into a farmyard.  To the right
was the house, with the outbuildings both directly ahead of him and on the
left.  He parked next to a Land Rover, which stood outside the house.

Dim lights shone through curtains in a couple of downstairs
windows, but no one answered the door when he knocked.  Not even on the
fourth attempt.  He turned his attention to the outbuildings.  Lights
were fitted to some of the buildings, sitting just above the doors to
them.  They cast a dull glow, creating shadows just beyond their reach.
 But they were bright enough for someone to find their way around the yard
without tripping over anything.

His footsteps sounded unnaturally harsh as he explored the
yard.  It took him a minute or so – a very long minute or so – to adjust
to it.  The sensation was reminiscent of the times he’d arrived home in
the wee small hours, and been desperate not to disturb anyone.  It seemed
that the harder he tried to be quiet, the noisier he was.  The key would
rattle in the lock, the creaky floorboards would catch him out because they
seemed to have moved, and the door hinges would need oiling.  Yet, any
other time, those sounds wouldn’t be a problem.  Nor were they to his
sleeping family.  It was just him being more conscious of them.

None of the doors he tried were locked.  If nothing
else, there was a strong case for sending a crime prevention officer out to
visit them.  He had a look around the workshop and storerooms. 
Nothing of interest in those.  The barn was interesting in that it housed
a tractor and some other farming equipment.  Like a lot of men, his
curiosity could be aroused by the sight of anything mechanical.  From a
professional point of view, it was meaningless though.  When he approached
the stable, he was again reminded of those early mornings returning home. 
He wanted to look in, but didn’t want to disturb the inhabitants. 
Fortunately, he didn’t, but as he headed back towards his car, he did wonder
why he’d bothered to make the effort.

From one perspective, the trip had been a waste of
time.  He’d found no one, nor had he seen anything suspicious.  Well,
that wasn’t strictly true, because it did seem odd to him that the place was
deserted.  He could partly understand it.  Why shouldn’t they go out
on a Saturday night?  But if they did, surely they’d have locked up. 
Wouldn’t they?

He was opening the car door as that thought passed through
his head.  Triggering another thought.  If the outbuildings were
unlocked, was it possible that the house was too?  He hadn’t tried the
handle when he’d knocked earlier.  When he tried it a few seconds later,
it opened.  With no squeaks.  Just when he could have done with one.

After all his years of policing, it still didn’t feel right
to him when he entered someone’s home without their consent.  Sure, he
could justify it if the need arose. 
No sign of life, lights on in the
house and the Land Rover parked outside.  Wanted to make sure everything
was all right.
 But being able to justify it and feeling comfortable
with it were two different things.

The door opened on to a kitchen.  It was smaller than
the one at
Forest Farm
, but still twice the size of his own.  The
fittings looked old but cared for.  A tea towel had been dropped
carelessly on to the table.  It too had seen better days.  A washing
up bowl was filled with soapy water, the handle of a saucepan sticking up
Excalibur-like from within it.  Dishes were stacked next to the sink,
waiting their turn.  Whoever had been in here had been disturbed.

Collins hesitated in the doorway.  Someone had been
disturbed.  Was he about to walk into a crime scene?  Because if he
was, he really needed to call the station and get some back up.  If he
did, though, and it was just a case of the person washing up getting called out
for something unexpectedly...  Well, that had happened to him often
enough, and it wasn’t always the job.  Maybe they’d had a call from a
teenager who needed a lift.  That was definitely something he could relate
to.

No, he decided.  He should go on in.

But that was as far as he got.  Somewhere in the yard,
he heard movement.  Hinges creaked, then footsteps.  He turned to
look, and saw a group of people emerging from the barn.

How the hell...?
  He’d been in there less than
ten minutes ago, and there’d been no sign of anyone.  Automatically he
started to retrace his steps in his mind, wondering if he could have missed
something when he’d gone into the barn.  Nothing came to him.

As he searched his memory, he was also watching them. 
The barn door swung shut, and then they were heading towards him.  A combination
of distance and lighting meant that they were silhouettes more than flesh and
blood.  But the shapes were not just humanoid.  Each of them was
carrying something.  It was difficult to tell for sure, but he thought he
recognised the objects being carried.  He’d been involved in tackling
armed robbers when he’d been in the Flying Squad.  Shotguns and pickaxe
handles had been commonplace in those days.

He glanced towards his car.  It was about thirty feet
away from him.  The group coming across the yard were not much further
away.  He wouldn’t have time to make a run for it.  And he suddenly
realised that, with the light from the kitchen behind him, he was an easy
target.