Witch (14 page)

“Get down from there,” Constable MacDonald said to Constable Lee.

“I’m going to go down. She could still be alive. Call for help,” Constable Lee said.

It was still raining at this time, and the edge of the well looked wet and slippery. I reached for my radio to call for help, when I heard Constable Lee shout. I looked up to see that he was no longer balanced on the edge of the well. I raced towards the well with Constables MacDonald and Woodland to discover that Constable Lee had fallen down into the well.

I heard Constable MacDonald shout into the well over and over again. He sounded panicked, as we all were. At this time, I contacted the control room by way of my personal radio and asked for immediate assistance. I felt powerless to help Constable Lee, who was now lying unconscious at the bottom of the well with Smith. Constable Woodland started to scream and kick the side of the well. Even though I had already contacted the control room, I heard Constable McDonald repeatedly shouting into the radio for help.

About 23:50 hours the same day, we were joined at the well by other members of the emergency services. I was taken to a nearby police vehicle and treated for shock. It was during this time I learnt that both Molly Smith and Constable Lee had died by falling into the well.

Police Constable Richard Hart.

Chapter Twenty-One

I handed my father’s ten year old statement back to Vincent, who sat silently beside me on the sofa. It had felt strange reading my father’s words – words that he had written so long ago. Again it felt as if I were spying on him somehow – as if I had found his private diary and sneaked a peek inside. I had never known he had witnessed the death of a friend and colleague, and in a way, it explained why he, Mac, and Woody had such a close bond.

“So Jonathan Smith was right in his suspicions that his daughter was involved with a local man,” I said, looking at Vincent.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Did they ever find out who he was?” I asked.

“Nope,” Vincent said, slipping my father’s statement back into the file and pulling out another.

“How come?”

“Because your father changed his statement,” Vincent said, looking at me. “All three of them did.”

“What do you mean my father changed his statement?” I breathed, eyeing the sheets of paper Vincent was now holding.

“I found this,” he said, passing a new statement to me. “At first glance it reads almost identically to the other, but there is a difference.”

“Like what?” I asked, looking down at what appeared to be an exact copy of the first statement I had read.

“Read the paragraph about how your father and the others first came across the girl, Molly Smith,” Vincent
said, his voice barely a whisper.

With my hands gripping the edges of the paper, and my mouth turning dry, I scanned the statement until I found the part where my father and the other constables had been in the van on the road. To my horror, it had been changed. My father’s account now read like this:

I was sitting in the passenger seat next to Constable Lee and Constables MacDonald and Woodland were both seated in the back. Suddenly Constable Lee swerved the vehicle away from the curb and braked sharply.

“I nearly hit that girl,” I heard Constable Lee shout.

“What girl?” I said.

“There was a girl walking alongside the road. Didn’t you see her?” Constable Lee asked me.

Once the vehicle had stopped, all four of us climbed out. It was then I saw a young girl standing beside the road in the dark. I walked towards her. I now know this female to be called Molly Smith. I would describe Molly as being about eighteen years old, and about five foot and four inches in height. She was of slim build, with long black hair and wearing a thin black dress. I noticed her feet were bare, which struck me as being odd, as the night was cold and it was raining. I recognised this girl to be part of a small family who had recently moved to the town of Cliff View, who had been suspected of committing burglaries in the area. As I approached Smith, I said, “What are you doing all the way out here in the dark?”

“Fuck off, copper!” I heard Smith shout.

I then saw Smith turn and run into the wooded area beside the road. At this time, I lost sight of her. Constable Lee ran back to the police van and returned a short time later with two large dragon lights. He gave one of them to me and kept the other. The four of us then made our way into the thick crop of trees beside the road in search of Smith...

The rest of the statement read exactly the same as the first. With my hands trembling, I handed the statement back to Vincent. I didn’t want to touch it. I didn’t want to be a part of his lies.

“Why?” I gasped, although I knew the answer already.

“I guess it was easier to say it happened like that,” Vincent said. “The old guy – Jonathan Smith – suspected that his daughter had gone to meet someone that night, a man who she had been having a secret relationship with. We know from your father’s first statement that really was what happened. I guess once the old guy started kicking up a fuss, it was easier to change the statement...”

“So as not to point the finger at any of the good townsfolk of Cliff View,” I whispered. “After all, the Smith family was seen as just a bunch of thieves, drifters – witches.”

“And I guess the local police didn’t want to go asking all sorts of questions and unearth some secret relationship between one of the Smiths and a law-abiding member of the community,” Vincent said. “I guess it could have been any man Molly Smith was meeting that night. They could’ve been married – they could’ve been a cop. How would that have looked in the eyes of the local community?”

I felt numb all over and sick
to the pit of my stomach. Now I could understand how easily my father, Mac, and Woody had got their stories straight – how they had twisted the truth about the accident I had been involved in. They had done it before to protect someone from the local community, like they had lied to protect me. They had made Molly Smith look as if she were out that night committing thefts, just like they had made out that Jonathan Smith was reckless enough to cause that accident out on the road. But I was a part of that lie. I had gone along with it to protect myself. So was I any better than my father, Mac, or Woody? I guessed not. However wrong my father’s actions had been, I could understand him risking so much to protect me – I was his daughter. Who could have meant so much to him that he would have lied all those years ago? Who had he been so desperate to protect, and why?

“Whatever happened in the past is done now,” Vincent said. “We know your father changed his statement and I’m not saying that is right.
Whatever way you look at it, Molly Smith’s death was an accident. What good would come out of digging up the past just to find out who it was she met up with that night?”

Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at Vincent. “I don’t believe her death was an accident,” I said.

“What do you mean?” he asked right back.

“Molly Smith was pushed into that well,” I whispered.

“How can you be so sure?” he frowned at me.

“Because she told me,” I said.

As soon as the words were out, I wished at once I could take them back again. Vincent looked at me. There was a long, uncomfortable silence and I wished that
The Black Eyed Peas
were roaring from the speakers again. Maybe the music would have drowned out what I’d just said.

Finally Vincent said, “What do you mean she told you? Molly Smith is dead.”

I got up and went to the window and folded my arms across my chest. “I dream about her,” I said, my back to Vincent. “They’re more nightmares, really.”

“What happens in these nightmares?” Vincent asked, sounding as if he was genuinely interested.

“I’m down in that well with Molly,” I said, unable to turn and face him.

“How long have you been dreaming about her?” he asked, and I could hear him getting up from the sofa.

“Ever since I wiped out her family on that road,” I whispered. “At first I thought I was dreaming about the old man because of a guilty conscience. Then you mentioned the death of a young girl in a well and I thought I’d dreamt of her because of what you had said.”

“Why don’t you think that anymore?” he asked, and I could see his reflection in the windowpane as he stopped just behind me. Part of me wanted to turn to him and be held in his arms. I felt scared all of a sudden. But I couldn’t turn around and face him.

“I found out where that well was,” I started. “So I went there today, and it’s the well from my dreams. How could I dream about a well I’d never seen before? Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that I kill Jonathan Smith and his family, only to end up dreaming about his daughter who died in a well ten years before? What are the odds of that happening?”

“There could be any number of reasons why,” Vincent said softly, that joking manner of his now gone.

“Like what?” I whispered, more to myself than him. “That old guy called me a witch before he died. Perhaps he was cursing me – and now I’m paying for what I did.”

“But you didn’t do anything, did you?” he asked. “It was his fault you drove into him and his family. Wasn’t it?”

I very much wanted to tell Vincent what really had happened. I wanted to tell him what had happened between me and Michael up at that farmhouse, how I’d been drinking and how I’d fled at speed when I’d heard the control room trying to raise me on the radio. I wanted to tell Vincent how I’d been busy searching through the glove compartment for gum to rid my breath of the smell of whiskey when I ploughed into the horse and cart. I just wanted to scream. I wanted to confess it was another of my father’s cover-ups which I had become involved in. But I couldn’t. I didn’t even know Vincent that well. It wasn’t like I was planning on confessing to a priest. This was another copper who would be duty-bound to do the right thing and make sure justice was seen to be done. 

“I guess it wasn’t really my fault,” I said, and a part of me felt like it had just died as I continued the lie my father had started out on the road.

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Vincent said. “And Jonathan Smith would have no reason to curse you.”

“Then why call me a witch?” I said, summoning up the nerve to turn and look him in the eye.

“Who knows?” Vincent said with a shrug. “The guy was dying. He could‘ve been trying to say anything.”

“He definitely said
witch
,” I breathed.

Vincent looked at me, and I could see biscuit crumbs on his work tie. I reached out to brush them off, when Vincent suddenly took hold of my hand in his. His touch was soft – gentle. Part of me wanted to pull my hand away, but I didn’t. He looked at me, and I looked back at him. There was another uncomfortable silence.

“So if what you say is true, and Molly did tell you in a dream she was pushed into that well, then you know what we’ve got ourselves?” Vincent said.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head and looking into his deep near-black eyes.

“We’ve got ourselves an X-File, Scully,” he smiled.

I snatched my hand from his. “I knew it was too good to be true,” I hissed.

“What is?” he said, looking confused again.

“You taking what I had to say seriously,” I snapped at him. “I thought you believed me, when all the while you’ve just been taking the piss!”

“Hey!” Vincent said back, taking my hand again, but this time more forcibly. “Who says I was taking the piss? I was being serious about the whole X-File thing. I believe you, Sydney. Honestly, I do.”

“Why?” I said, trying to pull my hand free.

“Because what you told me about your dreams took courage,” he said. “Most people wouldn’t have said anything for fear of being laughed at. But you trusted me enough to tell me, and that means a lot.”

“I could’ve been making the whole thing up,” I said, still trying to wriggle my fingers free of his grasp.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“Why not?”
I demanded.

“Because I’ve never seen such fear in anyone’s eyes before,” he said, letting go of my hand. “Something has spooked you real bad, and I want to help you if I can.”

“Why do you want to help me?” I asked. “You don’t even know me.”

“Does there have to be a reason?” he said, turning away and heading back towards the sofa.

“Yes,” I said. “You only met me yesterday, so why would you want to get mixed up in something as mad as this?”

“For the same reason I drive you half crazy,” he said, wheeling around to face me.

“And what’s that?”

“Because I can’t help poking my nose into stuff that has nothing to do with me,” he said.

“You certainly have a habit of doing that,” I sighed.

Looking at me, Vincent said, “You look kinda disappointed.”

“About what?” I asked, confused.

“The reason for me wanting to help you,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now it was my turn to blush. It didn’t happen often.