Neil White - Beyond Evil

Charlie looked towards the figures by the stones, and in the moonlight, he saw the blood on the woman on the stone, dark against her pale skin. She was still now. He looked across to the window where he could see Donia’s outline, and he realised she would be next, whatever they did.

Ted was right.

‘I’ll go,’ Charlie said, and started to clamber out of the ditch.

‘What do I do?’

‘Sit tight,’ he said, and then jumped out of the ditch and ran the short five yards to the wall. He was in the open, and knew that movement might attract their attention, but it was the only way. His hands went onto the wall. The stones were loose, but his choices were limited. He threw his leg towards it and scrambled over, heard the clack of stones as he fell to the ground on the other side. He sat there, panting, waiting for some sign that he had been seen or heard. He couldn’t hear anything.

Charlie took a deep breath and tried to work out the layout. There was movement nearby. He jumped, and then clasped his hand to his chest as he saw the outline of a sheep. The deep thump of his heart made him realise that he couldn’t afford to get this wrong.

He went onto all fours and shuffled along, his fingers moving through the coarse grass. The cottage got nearer all the time, and he could see light through the windows. Donia wasn’t visible, and he started doubting that it had been her, but he had to keep going, just in case.

He got to a gate, a metal five-bar that kept the sheep penned in. He peered through. He was level with the standing stones, visible along a stone path than ran alongside the cottage. His eyes shot to the window again. He saw Donia’s outline again, the curl of her hair. And he noticed something else this time; the metal grille on the window, and the sharp knots of barbed wire.

There was excited chatter coming from the group at the stones. The woman on there was naked and still, and Charlie could see blood on her, some of it seeping onto the stone. He smacked his hand against the wall in frustration. He should be helping her. He sat back, felt the cold stone against his body, and hung his head for a moment. But he couldn’t focus on that. He had to find a way inside without being spotted.

He went to the gate again and peered through. The woman on the stone had not moved, but it seemed like the group was distracted by her.

The gate was held closed by a small loop of rope. Charlie lifted it away from the stone gatepost, watching the group all the time, waiting for someone to spot the movement, and then pulled at the gate. It didn’t creak. He let out a long breath, and then put himself into the gap. He kept on watching the group and made a silent prayer that there was still enough darkness around him to hide the pale glare of his face.

There was a small stone courtyard behind the cottage, sheltered by an outbuilding that spurred off the main house. It would give him shelter, but he couldn’t see a way in. As he looked along the cottage though, he saw a shaft of light going onto the grass. It was the main doorway. He would have to go in that way.

Charlie ran across the path, kept low and headed for a dark shadow in the grey stone that was created by the overhang of the roof. There were no shouts, no one looking towards him.

He tried to absorb himself into the wall so that he was enveloped by darkness, but everyone seemed too engrossed in whatever was going on at the stone circle to hear him.

His footsteps were slow as he crept forward, careful of where he was standing. The darkness at the side of the house made him feel more secure. His foot kicked something metal, and so he paused, to make sure that no one had heard him. As the metal object caught the light from the window, he saw the jagged teeth of an animal trap.

Charlie knew then that it wouldn’t be easy.

As he edged forward, he saw that he had to cross the window where he had seen Donia. He moved quickly, knowing that he would cast a shadow across the path. As he got back to the relative darkness, he took another look around. There was nothing there except the light from the window reflected back against the eyes of a watching sheep, like yellow glints in the black.

He was close to the corner of the house and could see more clearly what was happening on the stones. The woman on the stone wasn’t moving, but the blood still ran from the wounds along the side of her body, gravity doing the work, her heart no longer pumping it out.

Charlie closed his eyes. What the hell was going on up here?

Then when he opened his eyes again, he saw that everyone was looking up the field, distracted now. He followed their gaze, and then he put his head back against the wall.

It was Ted, walking towards the group.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Sheldon arrived at Dixon’s home and jabbed at the doorbell, which sounded loud in the night. When Dixon answered the door, it looked like she had expected visitors. There was no surprise. She turned away from him without a word and walked into the house. She slumped onto a large leather recliner, and as she settled, Sheldon thought her eyes took too long to refocus on him. There was a large wine glass half-filled with a deep red liquid, and the bottle on the floor next to her was empty.

She saw him looking. ‘So, I’m getting pissed. So what? I’m entitled to celebrate.’ Her voice sounded bitter.

‘Celebrate what?’

‘What do you think? The end of my police career,’ she said, and she raised her glass. ‘A-fucking-men to that.’

Sheldon sat down on the sofa opposite, the soft leather squeaking as he made himself comfortable. He thought about offering some words of comfort, but she was right. It was all over, and she knew it.

‘Where is Mr Dixon?’ Sheldon asked.

Her lip curled. ‘Mr Dixon isn’t here anymore. He doesn’t like the way I do things. And do you know what, Sheldon; neither do I.’

‘So tell me,’ Sheldon said. ‘How do you do things?’

She didn’t answer, just stared into her glass instead.

‘Answer me something else then,’ Sheldon said.

She looked up.

‘Why did you want me to lead the investigation?’ he said. ‘You tried to keep me. Why?’

Dixon considered him for a few moments, and then she shook her head. ‘You don’t want to go there.’

‘But I do.’

‘You know the answer.’

‘I want to hear you say it.’

She took a gulp of wine, and then went to the room next door, coming back with another bottle, picking at the foil seal with the end of a corkscrew. Once she had opened the bottle, she refilled her glass and held the bottle out for Sheldon. ‘Do you want some?’

Sheldon shook his head.

She scowled. ‘Didn’t think you would,’ she said. ‘Too fucking pure and controlled. That’s always been your problem. Not enough fun away from the job.’

‘You don’t look like you are having fun to me.’

She leaned forward, wine spilling out of her glass onto the carpet. ‘Don’t be smart, Sheldon, it doesn’t suit you.’

‘So tell me,’ he said, his tone firmer. ‘Why did you appoint me as head of the investigation?’

‘Why do you think? Because I admired you? Is that what you think?’ she said, the words snapping out, becoming strident. ‘No, Sheldon, you have it all wrong.’ She laughed, but it was exaggerated, filled with drunken scorn. ‘I knew you would mess it up, and so I fought for you.’

‘So you wouldn’t get found out?’ he said. He had guessed that as a reason, but it didn’t lessen the feeling of betrayal, of humiliation, that he was the force joke. ‘Or was I just getting too close, by bringing in Lucy? You put me on leave to keep me away, hoping that the files would eventually become cold cases, and so that you could hold on until retirement, hoping that Gemma grows out of her little gang of misfits.’