Shepherd's Cross (13 page)

What a fucking mess
,
Jennings thought.
How the fuck do I deal with this one
? He’d need to
call Dr Barratt for a start. And phone it in to headquarters. After that, he’d
need to get his arse up to Moorland Farm to inform the boy’s father, Mick, that
two of his sons were dead because
he’d
decided to bang them up in a cell
for the night. That was unlikely to be an easy conversation. Then, when all
that was done, there’d be questions for him to answer over the coming days –
hundreds of them, and God knows what disciplinary path his superiors may choose
to drag him down. And the village – the effect it would have on the people here
would be horrendous; his reputation would be in tatters. Shit; he’d be lucky if
he’d be able to show his face around here ever again.

Jennings sighed heavily and looked at
the dead brothers, his mind still trying its hardest to register the scene
before him. He knew he had to stand up, brush himself down and start sorting
this mess out. But he didn’t have the strength to get up; he wasn’t able to do
anything but sit there and think about how it had happened; how he had let it
happen. As he felt the inevitable guilt beginning to consume him, he wished
more than anything else in the world that he could turn back the clock a few
hours and come to the aid of the boys when they’d pleaded for his help. He
would sell his soul to Satan for the chance to do that.

He pulled his knees into his chest,
placed his hands over his eyes, and began to weep. For their sake – and for his
own.

8.15am:
‘I hope you’re respectable?’ asked Cara, knocking on Bronwyn’s bedroom door and
opening it without waiting for a reply. She’d stayed up to look after her
friend until the early hours of the morning; worried about leaving her alone
until she was sure that she was sound asleep. After Bronwyn had fainted, she’d
remained unconscious on the bathroom floor for almost three minutes. Cara had
been on the verge of phoning Dr Barratt when Bronwyn eventually opened her eyes
and asked where she was. A relieved Cara had helped her to her feet and
assisted her as they gingerly made their way to the bedroom next door, where,
with a considerable amount of effort, she had succeeded in helping her into her
nightie and into bed. Cara had sat with her for the next few hours, comforting
her as she drifted uneasily into and out of consciousness, as if she were in
the midst of a repetitive nightmare that kept jolting her awake at its
petrifying climax. Bronwyn hardly spoke all night, at least nothing that was
particularly coherent, and Cara had resisted the temptation to encourage her to
do so. There would be plenty of time for questions when she was feeling better
in the morning.

As Cara made her way into the room, she
was met by the welcome sight of Bronwyn smiling at her as she yawned and
stretched her way into the new day. ‘Morning officer,’ she said, trying but
failing to stifle another yawn. ‘What time is it?’

‘Quarter past eight. You’ve been in bed
for over twelve hours. I wouldn’t have woken you, but I need to head off to
work in a few minutes and wanted to make sure you were alright before I left.
I’d make the most of your lie-in, if I were you. I know I bloody well would if
I had the chance. Here, sit up, I’ve made you some breakfast. I hope you’re
hungry?’

‘Starving,’ replied Bronwyn. ‘I could
eat a scabby horse. It’s very kind of you, Cara – I really don’t deserve it
after the way I behaved last night. I’m so glad you came over…I’m sorry I wasn’t
much fun to be with. To be honest, I don’t know what the heck came over me.’

Cara plumped up Bronwyn’s pillows and
poured her some tea. ‘Well, I was going to ask if you can remember anything
about what happened. Do you want to talk about it? It’s fine with me if you’d
rather not right now.’

‘No, no. It’s okay,’ she replied. ‘I
don’t mind. I’m not sure if there’s that much to say, really. All I remember is
that I had just finished having a bath, when I heard a knock at the door. I ran
downstairs to answer it, thinking it was you, only to find there was nobody
there. When I came back upstairs, the hallway light went out and I heard crying
coming from the bathroom. God knows why, but I went to take a look – I couldn’t
help myself. When I got there, there was this girl, all beaten up with scars
and wounds all over her body. She was…she was…’ Bronwyn began to cry; the
painful memory of seeing the poor girl too much for her to bare.

Cara moved to her friend’s side and put
an arm around her. ‘Sssshhh. It doesn’t matter, Bronwyn. You don’t need to talk
about it now. Perhaps it might be better if you get some more rest first.’

‘No,’ replied Bronwyn, taking a tissue
and wiping the tears from her face. ‘It’s fine – really. I’m sorry: I know I’m
being ridiculous; but it seemed so real. This girl, the girl in the bathroom,
she was begging for me to save her. I felt so sorry for her. There was nothing
I could do to help her. It all happened so quickly; one minute she was there,
and the next she had vanished into thin air. The last thing I remember was
seeing you in the room. Oh, God. I must have been seeing things. Tell me I’m
not going mad.’

‘No madder than the rest of us,’ Cara
said, smiling. ‘It sounds to me like you’re in need of a break. Looking after
this place all by yourself is a big responsibility. I’ve seen you, Bronwyn:
you’re always fixing this or painting that; never mind looking after all those
guests – taking bookings, doing the paperwork, sending out flyers. It’s hardly
surprising you’re exhausted. I don’t want to speak out of turn here, but maybe
what you saw last night was some kind of hallucination brought on by cabin
fever?’

‘Cabin fever?’

‘Possibly. It’s been a long winter, and
there’s no end in sight. You’ve been kicking around an empty Hostel for weeks
now. It can’t be healthy for a bright, gorgeous singleton like you to be cooped
up here night after night!’ She winked at Bronwyn, who smiled sarcastically
back at her, although she was grateful for the opportunity for some
light-hearted humour. ‘I know that I’m not exactly one to be giving out advice
on how to be sociable,’ Cara continued, ‘but I honestly think you could do with
spending more time with people your own age. You need to lighten up girl – live
a little. It can’t do much for your self-esteem when the only male attention
you ever receive is from the likes of Frank Gowland ogling you up through his
inch-thick beer goggles. Frank Gowland: The Cross’s answer to Tom Jones!’

The thought of Frank Gowland with an
unbuttoned shirt revealing a hairy chest-wig and gold medallion was enough to
cause both girls to burst out laughing.

‘You’re right, you’re right,’ laughed
Bronwyn. ‘Guilty as charged, your Honour! I don’t know, Cara; maybe I do allow
myself to get stuck in a rut now and again. I just love it so much here – the
people, the countryside, my job – sometimes I imagine myself forty years from
now; a contented spinster still dishing out porridge to boy scouts and boring
them all with stories about the local wildflowers. And do you know what? I think
there would be far worse ways to spend a life. Look at Emily Mitford – she
seems happy enough.’

‘I’m not telling you to suddenly drop
everything - far from it,’ replied Cara. ‘But every now and again, when it’s
quiet and you haven’t got any guests, why don’t you hop on a bus and have a
night out in Newcastle with some of your Youth Hostel friends there? It would
do you good to let your hair down; recharge the batteries…meet a man who
doesn’t smell like a combination of beer and sheep shit!’

Bronwyn smiled. ‘Oh, Cara. What would I
do without you, eh? I guess that I must have been imagining things. I
have
been pretty tired recently; maybe a break would do me good. What must I have looked
like to you last night?’

‘Never mind about that; what happened last
night won’t go any further than these four walls, I promise. All the same, it
does seem out of character for a level-headed girl like you to imagine seeing
something so horrific. This girl…she didn’t happen to be called Kathryn, did
she?’

Bronwyn looked blankly at her. ‘No, at
least I don’t think so. I don’t remember her telling me her name. Why do you
ask?’

‘Oh, it’s probably nothing. It’s just
that…well, last night, when you were asleep you kept mentioning the name
Kathryn. You said it over and over again. When you told me earlier about seeing
a little girl, I thought that you might have been dreaming about her. Anyway, I
really must get to work now. But don’t you worry about a thing. Why don’t you
take it easy this morning and I’ll pop back at lunchtime to see how you are?
Maybe we can start planning that much needed night out, eh? And is it okay for
me to stay here again tonight; there’s no way I’m getting out of this village with
the roads being like they are.’

‘Of course – I could do with the
company.’ Dream or no dream, she didn’t especially want to spend the night by
herself; particularly when it was time to use the bathroom. ‘And Cara,’ she
added, placing her hand on Cara’s forearm as she stood up to leave. ‘Thank you.
You’re a good friend. I mean that.’

Cara smiled. ‘That’s what friends are
for,’ she said. ‘You get some sleep. I’ll be back at lunchtime.’ And with a
final reassuring smile, she left the bedroom, walked downstairs and headed out
of the Hostel into the cold, fresh morning air.

As Bronwyn listened to her friend leave,
the back door closing firmly behind her, she paused to reflect on what Cara had
said to her; of her talking in her sleep about a Kathryn. She was sure that she
couldn’t remember the little girl telling her her name. Positive, in fact. But
as she placed her tea-cup onto the bedside table and pulled the warm, thick
duvet over herself, she couldn’t help thinking that she had heard that name
somewhere before.

8.45am:
Dr Henry Barratt stared into the cell and shook his head in disbelief; it had
been a long time since he’d witnessed anything as gruesome as this. Over the
years, he’d encountered more than his fair share of dead people, not all of
whom had peacefully passed away in their twilight years while enjoying a good
night’s sleep. Twenty five years ago, when he was a fresh-faced medical student
at Edinburgh University, he’d held aspirations to specialise in vascular
surgery – amputations, gushing arteries – he certainly didn’t object to
chopping people up for the good of their health. A brief spell as an army medic
on deployment during the Gulf War had opened his eyes to the casualties of war;
men dying in his arms as he desperately tried to stop the blood from spurting
out from all manner of irreparable wounds. That experience had eventually taken
its toll on him; so much so, that on returning to the UK he had opted for the
more predictable, if perhaps more boring, life of the General Practitioner;
taking over the small Practice in Shepherd’s Cross that served the residents of
the surrounding villages and hamlets. That was twelve years ago, and in all
that time, he had only been called upon to certify the death of four suicides:
a farmer who had fired a gun into his mouth after Foot and Mouth disease had
wiped out his entire flock, two teenage boys who had hung themselves in
unrelated incidents, and Linda Gledall, who had drunk a gallon of
industrial-strength weed-killer after an argument with her drunken husband,
Kenneth. The tipping point in that particular case had apparently been when old
Kenneth had thrown Linda’s beloved Siamese cat onto the living room fire;
trapping it in the flames with the protective grill. Barratt could recall reading
about it in the suicide note that she had left in the glove compartment of her
car where she was discovered two days later. That had been a sight to behold;
the poison had shrivelled her skin like a prune, turning it a deep yellow
colour, giving her the appearance of a decaying zombie in a low-budget horror
film.

‘I’m sorry to get you involved in this,
Henry, I really am,’ said Jennings, who was standing beside his friend at the
entrance to the cell. ‘I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you for a
report confirming that they’re dead, and all the relevant details that go with
it: estimated time and manner of death; that kind of thing. I haven’t touched
anything since finding them like this earlier this morning. Haven’t even put a
foot inside the cell. I didn’t want to get in the way of the investigation.’

‘Well, they certainly look dead to me,’ said
Barratt, taking his jacket off and draping it over a nearby chair. ‘Could you
open the door please, Brian. I better get to work.’ He rolled up his shirt
sleeves and opened his medical briefcase, pulling out a pair of sanitised
gloves and a camera. ‘There’s no need for you to hang around if you don’t want
to,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and put the kettle on. I shouldn’t be
too long.’

A relieved Jennings nodded and turned to
leave. As far as he was concerned, he’d spent long enough staring at the
puffed-out eyes of Lee Carter as he hung from the bars like a second-rate
scarecrow. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’ Barratt waved him away without looking
up; his work had begun and he didn’t need any distractions.

Jennings made his way upstairs and into
the kitchen. He’d discovered the brothers over an hour ago, but the adrenaline
was still pumping around his body as he struggled to cope with the shock. He
was in the process of filling the kettle from the tap when a voice called out
behind him, causing him to cry out and drop the kettle into the sink. ‘Sarge?
Are you alright? What are you doing here?’

‘Jesus Christ, Cara,’ he said, turning
to face her. ‘What do you think you’re playing at, creeping up on me like that?
You frightened the life out me.’ The shock had drained the colour from his
face, but he was relieved to see her all the same.

‘You look terrible,’ she said, concerned
at the bedraggled state of her superior, who normally prided himself on
dressing according to the strict standards of his profession. ‘What are you
doing here anyway? You’re not supposed to be working today.’

‘I think you better sit down. I’m…I’m
afraid that something terrible has happened.’ He walked over and sat down
opposite her, slowly running his hand through his hair and looking up at the
ceiling, seeking the inspiration that would enable him to express what he was
about to tell her as diplomatically as possible.

He started without too much difficulty
to explain the events of the previous evening; from the moment he arrested the
Carter brothers, right up to locking them in the cell for the night.
Unfortunately,
the second part of the story wasn’t as straightforward to
describe as the first; in addition to having to recall the tragic chain of
events that had taken place downstairs, Jennings had to deal with the
slack-jawed look of abject horror on Cara’s face as she struggled to absorb the
news. When he’d finished speaking, he sat back in his chair, and with the
defeated body language of a broken man, awaited the onslaught of questions from
his deputy.

But there were no questions. Instead,
Cara stood up and walked around the table, and with a sympathetic smile, she
bent down and gave him a firm, reassuring hug; the first since she had met him
four months earlier. The last thing she wanted to do was to make it any more
difficult for him than it already was.

‘So what do we do now?’ she asked,
intent on creating a more constructive agenda.

‘Well, I’ve already spoken to
headquarters and reported the deaths, along with the version of events as I see
it. And Dr Barratt is downstairs as we speak. There’ll need to be a full
investigation, obviously, but I’ve been ordered to keep a handle on things
until they can send some people out here. The way it’s looking outside, that
might not be for some time. In the meantime, I have the unenviable task of
informing Mick Carter that two of his boys are dead.’

‘It might be best if I come with you,
Sarge, just to be on the safe side.’ Cara was keen to support her boss but
keener not to be left alone in the Station with two dead bodies in the
basement.

Jennings shook his head. ‘No…thanks
Cara, but I think it would be better if I handled Mick alone. He’s bad enough
with people he does know, let alone those he’s never met. Besides, I need you
to maintain a presence around the village; there are going to be plenty of
people out and about today, shovelling drives and playing in the snow. Plenty
of people who will have heard about the arrests last night in the pub. I need
you to keep a lid on things for me – if anyone asks about Jed and Lee, just
tell them that the investigation is on-going and that you’re not at liberty to
say anything that may jeopardise the proceedings. Do you think you can manage
that?’

‘Yes, Sarge, no problem.’ She turned
towards the basement door as it swung open, Dr Barratt emerging, his glove-clad
hands speckled with drops of dried blood. He acknowledged Cara with a cursory
nod and looked at Jennings.

‘Well, we’re going to need an autopsy,
but the evidence appears to back up what you told me, Brian. The kid hanging there…’

‘Lee Carter.’

‘Right…Lee. He must have been a hell of
a strong lad. He’s used an unbelievable amount of force towards his brother;
the injuries he sustained are massive.’

‘I just don’t understand why he did it,’
said Jennings. ‘It doesn’t seem to add up.’

‘Well, I’ll certainly be advising
forensics to check for illegal substances. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were
high as kites. The behaviour shown towards both the Woodsman boy and the
brother reeks of psychosis. You’ll often find such cases come with a history of
drug abuse.’

‘Drugs? I suppose that would make sense,’
Jennings said. ‘It might also go towards explaining the hooded figure that they
were banging on about.’

‘Hooded figure?’ asked Cara. ‘What figure?’

‘Oh…err...nothing,’ he replied. ‘I’ll
tell you later. Anyway,’ he continued, changing the subject as quickly as
possible, ‘what are we going to do with them until the cavalry arrive? It could
be a day or two before they manage to get here. Henry – I don’t suppose that
you happen to have a mortuary lurking underneath your Practice by any chance?’

‘Afraid not,’ replied Barratt. ‘To be
honest, I would think the best place for these two is exactly where they are
now.’

Jennings looked shocked. ‘We can’t just
leave them there like that! It’s inhumane, for God’s sake.’

Barratt shook his head. ‘Hold your
horses, Sergeant; I wasn’t implying that we don’t move them at all. I’ll need a
hand to get Lee down for a start - don’t worry, I’ve taken plenty of photos -
then we’ll lie them down and cover them up. We’ll need to be careful not to
touch any of the evidence though. Trust me, they’re better off locked up down
there where they’re out of everyone’s way. The basement’s nice and cold.
Besides, the last thing we would want people to see is you and I hauling two
body bags into the back of a Land Rover. Agreed?’

Jennings nodded. ‘You’re right; the
basement’s the best place for them. Come on; I’ll give you a hand. Cara, it’s your
call, but it might be better if you stay up here.’

Cara didn’t need any encouragement to
remain where she was. ‘Fine by me.’

As Dr Barratt followed Sergeant Jennings
to the basement, Cara’s thoughts drifted to the hooded figure that Jennings had
mentioned, and the young girl who Bronwyn had imagined seeing in the bathroom
yesterday evening. She made her way over to the coat-stand by the entrance and
pulled on the jacket and gloves that she had removed only twenty minutes
earlier, preparing herself to face the freezing cold elements outside. She
glanced over her shoulder at the basement door as she left; for as long as
there were dead people lying below her, there was not a cat in hell’s chance of
her spending a moment longer in the building than was absolutely necessary.