The Girls in the Woods (10 page)
Will pulled up outside the house and stared up at their bedroom window; the dull glow from the bedside lamp was the only light on in the entire house. He couldn’t wait to see Annie, hold her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her and the baby. Murder cases made him appreciate the good things in his life more than usual; when he had been single it hadn’t been so hard on him – his relationships were never serious and none of them ever meant anything more to him than a quick leg over with preferably no strings attached. When he wasn’t in a relationship it would be a few Jack Daniels chasers in the Black Dog with the rest of the team, then he’d go home and drink some more until he’d blacked it all out, falling into a drunken stupor until it was time to go back to work and find the bastards who committed such heinous crimes.
Now, it was much harder to block it out – and it hit home how much he had to lose. He was too scared to count just how many times it had almost been taken away from him in the blink of an eye. He didn’t know what had happened to change the infamous bachelor boy Will Ashworth but he was grateful that something had… actually, he knew it had been Annie. That day he’d seen her at her Ben’s farmhouse in the abbey woods wearing the blue woollen beanie hat, even though it had been a warm day, had been the day he changed and somehow the spell had been cast. He’d found he couldn’t stop thinking about her, every minute of every day.
He got out of the car, careful not to slam the door too loud in case Annie was asleep, and went inside, kicking off his shoes. The house smelt of vanilla and lime air freshener but he could also detect a hint of Chanel No 5. He considered pouring himself a large whisky to help him sleep but he didn’t want to go to bed smelling like he’d been down the pub. He was hungry, although not enough to eat a full meal, so he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of the chocolate cereal that she’d bulk bought last time they went shopping. He would forever associate Coco Pops and Chanel perfume with his wife. His mind wanted to flash back to the photographic stills of the skeleton, which he’d spent hours staring at this afternoon, but he forced it to think of Annie and their baby; hell, even Jake’s face was a better option than that desolate, open grave. When he’d finished he rinsed his bowl and spoon, putting them on the sink to drain.
‘Is that all you’re having?’
He started at her voice, not expecting her to still be awake. He strode across the room to where she was standing, pulling her close. She smelt of the expensive body lotion he’d bought her for her birthday.
‘God, you smell so good.’
‘Yep, even I can’t stop sniffing my arms. Was it really bad?’
He nodded.
‘They’re all bad but there was something so… so desolate, sad.’
‘Yes, I can imagine. How awful to be murdered then buried where no one except your killer knows where you are – until someone stumbles across your grave years later. Whoever it is, their poor family must have gone through hell. All the years of wondering why and where they’d gone. It makes me feel cold to the bottom of my feet.’
Annie squeezed him tighter; kissing his cheek she let go and grabbed his hand.
‘Come on, I’ll run you a nice hot bath and if I can bend down I’ll even scrub your back.’
Will laughed.
‘How is our bump today?’
‘He’s been off on one all day, so restless – I’m tired just thinking about it.’
‘Well, she might take after her mother; she never does know when to quit.’
Will rolled his eyes at Annie but squeezed her hand tight and let her pull him towards the stairs.
‘You’ll see. I’m positive it’s a boy.’
‘And I’m positive she’s a girl.’
‘Are we placing bets Mrs Ashworth?’
‘No, because you always win.’
She tugged him towards the bathroom.
‘You go back to bed. I’ll have a quick shower. I don’t want you getting yourself into any compromising positions whilst trying to scrub my back.’
He pulled her close, kissing her until he could think of lots of ways to take his mind off work. She shoved him towards the bathroom.
‘Go get your shower. I’ll go warm the bed.’
Will dived into the bathroom, leaving her grinning at the top of the stairs. As she turned to go back into the bedroom she caught a glimpse of the woman from earlier at the bottom of the stairs. Annie felt her heart begin to race as she went into the bedroom and shut the door. She wasn’t about to let her in her bedroom; some things were sacred. It bothered her that this woman had latched on to her, yet wasn’t saying anything. Tomorrow she would sit down and try and speak to her. She didn’t look scary like – Annie almost said the forbidden name and stopped herself just in time. The woman looked shocked, like she needed help – maybe she had only recently died and didn’t know what had happened to her. It happened now and again. Annie often wondered if she gave off some kind of psychic radio waves that told the recently departed that she could see and hear them, because they seemed drawn to her. Will came in, a short towel wrapped around his waist and she soon forgot about her ghostly visitor. His tanned body looked good; even though the scar which ran along the side was impressive it didn’t take anything away from how amazing he looked.
‘Do you still like what you see, even with this big old scar ruining my six-pack?’
She threw the duvet across and patted the bed next to her.
‘Yes, I like very much – and that scar just makes you look even damn sexier.’
They both began to laugh and he ran and jumped onto the bed, careful not to land on the bump, which was even more impressive than his scar.
He pulled her close and she kissed him, long and hard.
1995
Since the day they’d met handing out the flyers they had pretty much been inseparable; for some reason she was besotted with him; he knew he was a complete charmer when he needed to be and with Jo he’d turned it on full force. Yet she was just a convenience for him – it drew the villagers’ attention away from the single male who lived near to the woods now he was in a relationship. Yes, he did like her and she wasn’t bad looking. She had nice, pale green eyes which matched her auburn hair and she was pretty good in bed, but the one thing he did hate was her laugh. It was so loud and unladylike. If he spent enough time with her he would change that – after spending time with him, she would be meek and mild and not dare to answer him back. She would be there to answer his beck and call whenever he wished. If she didn’t comply then she would become another photograph in his very special album, which was locked in the small safe in his workshop. It was covered by a table that had a long, white cloth on it, out of sight should the police have reason to come snooping around. It had been almost three months now and everyone had given up hope of finding Sharon, which was a relief. The general consensus in the village was that she had run away. Her parents didn’t believe it, but the police did – and the people were keen to point fingers. All sorts of accusations had been flying around but the one that seemed to stick was the well-known fact that her parents had been far too strict with her and she’d run off. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to do it again; he didn’t enjoy the killing so much – that part was far too messy. What he did like was having the perfect model to pose for him for hours, even days, without having to worry if they needed the toilet or something to eat. It was wonderful being able to take your time; in fact, he was pretty sure if other photographers realised how wonderful it was they would all be doing it for the sake of their art. He wasn’t sure why people had lost interest in photographing their dearly beloved once they had departed from this earth. It could make a huge comeback and he’d even thought about offering his services as a post mortem photographer, but something had stopped him. People would call him weird and start talking about him; the thought made him angry so he’d kept quiet, deciding it was far better to be able to create his masterpieces in death alone, taking as long as he wanted. There was one thing he was sure about: his photographs would go down in history once he decided to share their beauty with the world.
Tonight he was going to ask Jo to pose for him, see if she would after he’d made her a romantic meal and plied her with a few glasses of red wine. Once he had her naked and under his lens he would be able to blackmail her in the future should the need ever arise. He knew she was pretty much hooked by his kind, selfless ways. He might even propose to her – a wife would be very handy, then he’d also have a permanent alibi and they could live happily ever after until it was time for him to kill again. He’d gone back into his studio without even thinking about it, pushing the table to one side so he could open the safe for another peek at his ever-so-perfect pictures once more. It was like an addiction. He loved the feeling of power, knowing the girl was dead. One day he would enlarge his favourite shot and frame it to hang on his studio wall, see if anyone noticed how dead his model was. They wouldn’t unless they stared at her hands, which were slightly darker than the rest of her, but he didn’t think they would because she was so beautiful in death that she looked more alive than ever. The telephone jolted him from his fantasy and he rushed across to pick it up before it stopped ringing.
‘Hello, Star Style Photography.’
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.
‘Hello, erm, I was wondering if you did photoshoots that would be suitable for a portfolio?’
‘As a matter of fact I do. I’m doing a lot more of those than I used to – they seem to be becoming very popular with all the teenagers. Are you wanting to become a model?’
The girl began to giggle.
‘Well, I would like to, but I’m not too sure if I have what it takes.’
‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? I bet you do. When would you like to come?’
‘I’m off work all week so whenever you can fit me in would be great. My parents are away on holiday so I can use their car to get to you.’
He smiled – this was perfect, too perfect.
‘How about tomorrow at three? It will give you a chance to get here because if you’ve never driven before you need to allow around forty minutes. I prefer to work in the late afternoon, early evening. You’ll be my last client so we won’t have to rush. Oh, and what’s your name?’
‘Sorry, I’m Wendy Cook and that would be really great. Thank you. Can you tell me how much it will be?’
‘The sitting is always free. If you like any of the photos you can order them and pay for as many or as few as you like. Don’t worry about the money, Wendy; you won’t need any tomorrow – just bring yourself and any clothes you want to wear. Do you know how to find me? I’m afraid my studio is a bit off the beaten track?’
He began to rattle off directions to her, knowing fine well it was far too risky and too soon, but who was he to turn away such a good opportunity? He doubted anyone would know where she was – if she brought a friend along she would live another day, but if not, and he quizzed her a little to make sure she hadn’t told anyone where she was, it would be perfect. He replaced the receiver and went for a shower before Jo came around, needing to cool himself off because he was more than a little excited at the prospect that tomorrow could bring him a fresh model.
***
Wendy Cook stared at herself in the mirror, pouting then turning from side to side. She had a good profile; her friends had always told her she was pretty and skinny too. Never having to worry about her weight, always eating whatever she wanted. She knew it was a stupid daydream wanting to be a model, but if she didn’t try she would never know what could have been. There was no way she was telling anyone about the photoshoot, though, because her friends would take the piss out of her for months about it. She piled her long, blonde hair on top of her head, holding it with one hand and pulling her slouch top down over one shoulder, exposing the bare flesh. As long as the photographer wasn’t one of those perverts who were always on the news she should be okay, and she doubted he would be. He worked in a studio in Hawkshead, for God’s sake, one of the quietest Lakeland villages. It was hardly the place to run a seedy, back-street pornography ring from, and besides, she could look after herself. She hadn’t been going to karate since she was four not to be able to kick the shit out of someone should the need arise. He had sounded nice and sincere on the phone, not to mention helpful. She couldn’t wait. The doorbell chimed and she let her hair loose, pulled up her jumper and ran down the stairs to open the front door for one of her best friends, Susie. It was funny Wendy hadn’t been to Hawkshead before, even though Sharon – who was both her and Susie’s friend – had lived there. Wendy wondered where on earth Sharon was; it was as if she had disappeared off the face of the earth. She had been so shocked when she and Susie had got to college that day and the police were waiting to talk to them. All three of them went to the same college at Kendal and, although they were all on different courses, on the very first day they had sat together on the bus which travelled from Barrow through to Kendal picking up an assortment of teenagers on the way – and they had made friends. Sharon had never told them she had a boyfriend but then again that didn’t mean anything; they’d only known each other a year and out of them all she was the quietest. Susie was the loudest and she was the prettiest, although she didn’t brag about it because she didn’t want to upset her friends. Just like Wendy hadn’t mentioned anything to Susie about her wanting to be a model because she was the biggest gossip in Barrow and by bedtime tonight would have told everyone she knew. Susie walked in carrying two frozen pizza boxes and handed them to her.
‘I thought you might need a little sustenance because I know I do. I’m starving to death. Can you cook pizza?’
‘Aw, thanks, Susie, that’s very kind of you – and do you know what? I can even turn the oven on by myself and cook anything that comes out of a packet, as long as it has instructions on it.’
‘No need to be sarcastic – I was just checking. Not all of us are blessed with cooking skills. So what have you got planned. Should we have a party now that you’ve been left home alone? Invite all the guys around and get drunk?’
