Elizabeth George - This Body of Death

They went past the cemetery as well. Gordon was about to ask where the hell they were going when a left turn into a rutted track took them into a bumpy car park. And then he knew. This was Set Thorns Inclosure, an area of woodland like many others across the Perambulation, fenced off from the free-roaming New Forest animals until the timber within it grew to a size that made it impossible for it to be harmed.

Walking paths wound through this vast acreage of woods, but only one other car stood nearby and no one was in it. Thus they had the woodland virtually to themselves, just as the other man would want it.

“Come along, darling,” Gordon was told. “Let’s have a bit of a stroll, eh?”

Gordon knew there was little point in playing for time. Things would be as they would be. There were certain situations over which he had at least nominal control. But this was not one of them.

He got out into the morning air. The scent was fresh and pure. There was a gate up ahead of the car, and he went to this, opened it, went inside the inclosure where he waited for instruction. It was soon in coming. Paths went in three directions from this point: deep into the inclosure or following the woodland’s boundaries. It didn’t matter to him which path was chosen as the outcome was going to be the same.

An examination of the ground was sufficient to indicate which way they should go. Paw prints and footprints looking rather fresh led into the heart of the trees, so they would take an alternate route, this one skirting southeast along the inclosure’s boundary before dipping downward into a swale and then rising again beneath chestnuts and through thick copses of holly. In open spots, the Perambulation’s foresters had stacked wood cut from the trees or felled by storms. Here the bracken was thick and lush, encouraged into growth by filtered sunlight, but now beginning to brown at the edges. By the end of the summer and into autumn, it would form a covering of brown lace wherever the sun hit the floor of the wood most strongly.

They trudged along, Gordon waiting for whatever was to come. They saw no one although they could hear a dog barking in the distance. Other than that, the only sound came from the birds: harsh corvine calls from avian predators and the occasional short burst of song from chaffinches hidden deep within the trees. It was a place rich in wildlife, where squirrels fed on the thick windfall from the chestnut trees, and a flash of auburn in the undergrowth was a sure indication that foxes were here.

There were shadows everywhere as well, and the air was fragrant. Walking and waiting, he could almost forget, Gordon thought, that he was being trailed by someone intent upon doing him harm.

“This is far enough,” the other said. He came up behind Gordon and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Now let me tell you a tale, my darling.”

They were inches from each other. Gordon could feel the hot, eager breath on the back of his neck. They’d come to a widening of the path at this point, more like a small clearing, and up ahead there seemed to be an intersection of some sort with a gate beyond it. In the distance the woodland ceased, and he could see a lawn spreading out. Ponies grazed there placidly and safely, at some great distance from any road.

“Now, my sweet, you’ll need to turn round and face me. There. Just like that. Nicely done, my love.”

Face-to-face, Gordon could see much more than he wanted to see-large pores, blackheads, a patch of whiskers missed in that morning’s shave-and he could smell the sweat of anticipation. He wondered what it felt like to have such supremacy over another, but he knew not to ask that of the man. Things would go worse for him if he played this badly and the point that he’d learned long ago was just to get through things so that he could go on.

“So we’ve been found out.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Oh, I think you know. You’ve had a visit from the coppers, haven’t you. They’re on your tail. What d’you make of that?”

“The cops know nothing that you don’t tell them,” Gordon said.

“Think that, do you? Hmmm. Yesssss. But they’re on to Winchester Technical, dear heart. Where d’you think they’ll go now they know that’s fiction? Someone somewhere should have sorted that one.”

“Well, no one did. And I can’t see that it matters. I didn’t need the bloody letters in the first place.”

“That’s what you think?” He took a step closer. They were chest to chest now and Gordon wanted to step away, so invaded did he feel. But he knew how that step would be interpreted. The other wanted fear to overwhelm him.

“I learned the trade. I’ve worked the trade. I’ve got a business. What more do you want?”

“Me?” His voice was all innocence and surprise. “What do I want? Darling boy, this isn’t about me.”

Gordon made no reply. He swallowed a sour flavour in his mouth. He heard a dog yelp excitedly somewhere. He heard its master call out in response.

The other man raised his hand then and Gordon felt its heat cradling the back of his neck. And then the fingers tightened just behind his ears, thumb and forefinger slowly increasing their pressure until the grip was agony. He refused to react, to blink, to groan. He swallowed again. He tasted bile.

“But we both know who wants something, don’t we? And we both know what that something is. You know what I think should be done, don’t you?”

Gordon gave no answer. The pressure increased.

“Don’t you, darling? Answer me now. You know what I think should be done, don’t you?”

“I suspect it,” Gordon said.

“A few little words from me. Five or six words. That can’t be what you want, eh?” He gave a little shake to Gordon’s head, a movement wearing the guise of fondness, except for the pain of the pressure behind his ears. Gordon’s throat ached; his head felt light.

“You’re bound,” he said.

For a moment, nothing. And then the other whispered, “I. Am. What?”

“Bound. You know it. This game of yours-”

“I’ll bloody well show you a game…” And the smile, that baring of teeth like an animal, except to think of the other man as an animal was to dishonour animals.

“Down,” he said and he spoke through his teeth. “Down you go. That’s right. On your knees.” He forced the issue with the pressure of his hand. There was nothing for it but to obey.

He was only inches from the other’s groin, and he saw the hairy fingers go deftly for the trousers’ zip. They lowered it smoothly, as if it had been oiled in anticipation of this moment and the purpose behind it. The hand slid inside.

The dog ended things. An Irish setter bounded onto the path, coming from the intersection of trails up ahead. It trotted along and gave a bark. Someone called out, “Jackson! Come boy. Come.”

Gordon found himself jerked to his feet. The setter reached him and snuffled round him.

“Jackson! Jackson! Where are you? Come!”

“He’s here,” Gordon shouted. “He’s over here.”

The other smiled, no teeth this time, but an expression that said things had been merely postponed, not canceled. He whispered, “One word from me and you know who shows up. One word from me and poof…everything’s gone. You’ll keep that in mind, won’t you?”

“You rot in hell,” Gordon said.

“Ah, but not without you, my dear. That’s the real beauty of your position.”

MEREDITH POWELL FOUND the office she was looking for without much trouble. It was in Christchurch Road near the fire station, and she walked there from Gerber & Hudson Graphic Design on her morning break.

She didn’t know what to expect from a private investigator. She’d seen depictions of private eyes on the telly, and the emphasis always seemed to be on their quirkiness. She didn’t want quirky, however. She wanted efficient. She had little enough money to spend on this venture although she knew it had to be spent.