November Lake: Teenage Detective (The November Lake Mysteries) Book 1 Page 4

  “So how do you know he headed back in the direction we came from?” Kale asked.

  I pointed the torch down at the spots of blood that led from the car, leaving a bloody trail to be followed. Kale looked down, then back at me.

  “He would’ve had to pass by us. We would’ve seen him,” Kale said.

  “In this fog?” I said, setting off back in the direction we had come from. I followed the trail of blood. Kale walked alongside me.

  “He couldn’t have got far if he’s bleeding,” Kale said.

  “But not badly,” I said, following the spots of blood that were now growing smaller and fainter. “I knew he was a weirdo.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who was staring at me back at the petrol station,” I reminded him.

  “So you think that’s who this is?” Kale asked.

  “He was filling up a 4x4 the exact same colour as the one wrapped around that tree. And besides, the petrol gage indicated the car had only just been filled up,” I told him.

  “Hang on,” Kale said, slowing down, a smile creeping across his face.

  I looked at him. “What?”

  “That’s how you knew so much stuff about the driver,” he smirked. “You were just remembering what you had seen back at the petrol station. You had seen him before.”

  “Not so,” I said, turning away and following the bloody trail again.

  “Well, however you came across that information, you can’t explain why he would want to drive us off the road,” Kale said, as if teasing me.

  “I’ve already told you why,” I said, stopping to look at him. “The guy was a creep. There wasn’t something quite right about him.”

  “What…because he was looking at you?” Kale quizzed, hands thrust into his jacket pockets, keeping his fingers warm against the chill wind.

  “It was more than that,” I said, turning away and catching a glimpse of Kale’s car in the fog. I headed toward it.

  Reaching the car together, Kale said, “Why did you shut the doors? I hope you’ve got the car key.”

  “I never shut the car doors,” I said back, remembering how they had been left open, the key swinging from the ignition.

  “Great,” Kale sighed, combing his messy fringe from his brow with his fingers. “The key is locked inside the car.”

  Bending down, I lit the inside of the car up by shinning the torch through the window. Then standing straight, and with my heart starting to quicken, I looked at Kale and said, “The key isn’t there anymore. Someone has taken it.”

  “What?” Kale said, easing me aside and peering into the car. “Why would someone want to take the car key?”

  “So we can’t drive away from here,” I said, my skin turning cold. Shivering, I pulled my coat tight about me.

  “But who would do that?” Kale said.

  “The same guy who was staring at me back at the petrol station, the same guy who drove us off the road, the same guy who has now disappeared,” I whispered, my eyes darting left, then right as I glanced nervously into the thickening fog.

  “But why would he want to do any of those things?” Kale whispered back, his face now looking as if it had drained of all colour.

  “I guess there is only one way of finding out,” I said, setting off in the direction that the spots of blood led.

  The trail soon petered out or became invisible amongst the wild thorny shrubs and bushes that covered the slate walls on either side of the country road. The fog was still dense and surrounded us like smoky cloud. It muffled any sound, drowning our world in silence. The whole effect was disorientating, and it wasn’t long before I had lost all sense of direction. I rummaged through my coat pocket for my phone, fingertips brushing over the mints Kale had given me earlier that night. I plucked my phone from my pocket. There was no signal.

  “I haven’t got a signal either,” Kale said, standing beside me, phone in hand.

  “I’m not surprised,” I smiled, looking at the brick he held in his hands. “Where did you get that thing? A museum?”

  “It’s cheap,” he said, shoving it into his pocket. “I like cheap and so does my overdraft.”

  I shone my torch along the wall for any signs of blood. A few steps away, almost hidden by the fog was a stile. “This way,” I said over my shoulder at Kale. I spotted the bloody handprint on the wooden post almost at once. Shining the light on it, I said, “Looks like our man went this way.”

  Gripping the torch in one hand, I climbed over the stile and into the field on the other side. Mud squelched about my boots. I waited for Kale to climb over, then together we set off into the fog once again. We hadn’t gone very far when I heard the sound of murmuring. It was very faint. Cocking my head to one side, I strained to locate the direction it was coming from.

  “Ahead,” Kale said, pointing into the wall of fog and setting off.

  I went after him. The murmuring grew louder. And with every step it sounded as if someone was crying out in pain. I gripped Kale’s arm to slow him. “Be careful.”

  “Always.” Kale gave a nervous smile.

  Then, turning, we almost tripped over the body lying in the field. Both of us cried out in surprise and the body at our feet cried out in pain.

  “Watch where you’re going, can’t you?” a voice groaned.

  I shone my torch down into the upturned face peering out of the churning fog at us. I flinched backwards at his stare. It was the man who had been watching me back at the petrol station. But now his eyes were clouded over with pain as he pressed the palm of one hand to his side. He wore a wax coat, and the blue checked shirt beneath it was stained black with his blood. It seeped through his fingers. My first instinct was to kneel down and tend to his wound, as I had learnt advanced first aid at training school, but I fought the urge and stood back. This was the man who had creeped me out. This was the man who had driven us off the road and stolen the keys to our car. I placed my hand in my coat pocket and let my fingers brush over my police badge.

  “Help me,” the man groaned.

  “Give me back the keys to my car,” Kale said, holding out his hand.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said through gritted teeth as he fought the pain.

  I was starting to wonder if we should give the guy some first aid. If he bled to death and we had done nothing to save him, then what sort of police officers were we?

  “You drove us off the road, then took the keys to our car,” Kale came again. He didn’t seem to share the same concerns I did.

  “I never drove you off the road,” the injured man groaned. “I was just trying to get past you. You were driving so slow.”

  Kale glanced at me, then back down at the bleeding man. “Why the rush?”

  “My sister is in danger,” he said, sounding out of breath. “She has been kidnapped, and if I don’t get to her, she will die.”

  “Kidnapped?” I breathed. Was this guy for real?

  “Sarah is being held against her will in a farmhouse just on the other side of this field,” the man panted, pressing his hand flat against the wound in his side. “You’ve got to help me.”

  “Car keys?” Kale said, holding out his hand again.

  “I haven’t got your keys,” the man winced, looking up out of the fog at us.

  “Who else would have taken them?” I asked.

  “Morris Cook,” the man said.

  “And who is Morris Cook?” Kale asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “The man who is going to murder my sister if I don’t save her,” he said. “Please help me.”

  I pointed my torch into the fog. Just ahead I could see what looked like the outline of a small building. It sat in the fog like a shadow. Still not knowing if we should believe this stranger, how could we not help him? We were police officers after all, albeit probationers and still at training school. Bending at the knees, I slipped one arm around the injured man. I looked back at Kale.

  “I don’t like this one little
bit,” Kale said.

  “Neither do I,” I told him. “But what are we meant to do?”

  Drawing a deep breath, Kale crouched down, slipped his arm around the shoulders of the stranger, and together we hoisted him to his feet. He cried out in pain as we led him to the small building hidden in the fog.

  As we drew closer to it, I could see that the building was in fact a small barn. Supporting the stranger between us, I pulled open the door. The hinges made a grinding noise that sent shivers down my spine. I cast the torchlight inside and could see that the ground was scattered with hay. There were several bales in one corner, and some old oily tractor parts in another. We led the man inside, settling him down against the bales of hay. I looked out in the fog just for any sign that we might have been followed by this Morris Cook, the stranger who had been mentioned. Not being able to see any more than just a few feet in front of me, I slowly closed the barn door.

  “Do you want me to take a look at that cut?” Kale asked the man.

  “No,” he breathed deeply. “It’s painful, but not too deep.”

  “Look, we both know a bit about first aid,” Kale started. “We’re both…”

  I reached out and placed my hand on Kale’s arm. Without saying a word, I looked into his eyes and shook my head. Something told me not to tell this guy just yet that we were both cops. He had mentioned that his sister was being held captive close by. He might clam up if he knew we were police officers, fearing that we might scare this Morris Cook into taking some rash action and hurting his sister.

  As if reading my mind, Kale stopped mid-sentence. He looked down again at the man. “What’s your name?”

  “Clive,” he said.

  “Last name?” I asked.

  “You don’t need to know that,” he said, pulling himself up into a seated position against the hay. I was glad now that we hadn’t revealed what we were to him. He probably thought we were just a couple of harmless kids on our way home after a night out.

  “We need to know something about you if we’re going to help you,” Kale said. “Or perhaps we should call the police?” Kale took his phone from his pocket.

  “No!” the man barked, raising one hand in the air. “Don’t call the police.”

  “Why not?” I asked, kneeling beside him. “If your sister has been kidnapped like you say she has, then shouldn’t the authorities be called in to help?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Clive winced again through the pain.

  “It seems simple enough to me,” Kale said, eyeing the man on the ground.

  Drawing a deep breath that made a rattling sound in the back of his throat, the stranger started to explain. “Fifteen years ago, I was just a kid – twenty – I committed an armed robbery. Not on my own. With a friend. Morris Cook. We got away with a few thousand, or so we thought. But we were wrong, or at least in some small part. Morris was caught, left some DNA at the scene – a hair or summin like that. But Morris never gave me up. He kept silent about who was with him that day and where the money was. He got twelve years and served every moment. But twelve years is a long time in a young man’s life. Morris changed while in jail, and I changed, too. Whereas Mo became hardened, I took another path. The money didn’t last long. It soon went on women, drinking beer, and smoking pot. When the money ran out, I ran out, too. I ran out on Mo. Although twelve years seemed like forever, I could never quite forget that Mo would someday be released and he would come looking for me and his share of the money.

  “So I moved away, got a job, and eked out a life for myself. I wanted a quiet life. Like I said, I was just a kid the day I committed that robbery. And in the twelve years since, I’ve had plenty of time to think and grow up. I never married, but when my parents got divorced, my kid sister, Sarah, came to live with me. She’s eighteen now, and never has a brother been more proud. She’s not like me. Sarah is smart. Going off to University she is.

  “Then, just like I feared he always would, Mo showed back up in my life. It seemed that I hadn’t run far enough. He wanted his share of the money. He had little prospects of getting a job like I had done. Who was going to employ someone who had just served a twelve-year stretch for robbery? When I told him I had none of the money left, Mo went berserk. I offered to pay him back out of my wages. I could pay him a few hundred every month. That was the most I could afford. I was a mechanic in a small garage and didn’t earn a fortune. Mo took the money, but with each passing month, he demanded more and more. When I refused, he threatened to tell the law that it was me who was with him that day and had committed the robbery. He said he had evidence – proof – that I was with him. But worse than that, he threatened to tell Sarah about me. I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t have Sarah think bad of me. I didn’t want her to know about my past. It would’ve broken her heart to think of me as some criminal. So I kept paying the money each month to Mo until I had paid him back more than we had ever stolen. But still he wanted extra until I was paying him more each month than I actually got in my pay pack. All I had left was my home, and I wasn’t going to sell that. It was for me and Sarah. It was our home. So I took out loans, ran up huge bills on credit cards until I was drowning under a sea of debt. My phone wouldn’t stop ringing as the banks chased me for money. I had debt collectors banging on my door day and night while Morris slept peacefully in the remote farmhouse he had bought with the money I had given him each month. It was only a matter of time before Sarah realised that something was very wrong. I wasn’t sleeping and I looked like shit most of the time. Then one night I broke down and told her everything. She held me close, and for the first time since Mo’s return, I felt as if I could breathe again. Sarah didn’t judge me like I feared she would.

  “So when he showed up again demanding money, I told him I had explained everything to my sister. I wanted him to know he couldn’t threaten me – hold me to ransom anymore. He reminded me that he still had evidence that it was me who had committed that crime with him all those years ago. But it was never really the fear of going to prison that had made me hand over the money to him each month, it was the fear of what my kid sister would think of me and the fear of who would look after her if her brother was in prison. But even as Morris skulked away, I knew that he would always have some kind of hold over my life as long as he had that evidence against me. My sister saw this unease in me too. But she had her own life to lead. A few months ago she set off traveling across Europe with a friend – or so I thought.”

  “Where had she really gone?” I asked, sitting now on the hay-covered ground, torch casting an eerie beam of light up into the barn roof. Kale was still standing, arms crossed over his chest as he looked down at the man.

  “Sarah had tracked down Morris and befriended him,” Clive said, looking down at his blood-covered hand, then back at me.

  “She had become your tormentor’s friend?” I gasped.

  “I received a letter from my sister a week ago,” Clive continued to explain. “In the letter she explained how she had tricked Morris into believing she liked him. He had never met my sister, so he was unaware of her true identity. Sarah had wanted to get close to him, hoping he might brag about his past, and in doing so, give away where he kept hidden this evidence against me. She told me in her letter that she finally knew where this evidence was kept. Sarah said she was going to try and take it without raising Morris’s suspicions. That was the last I heard from her. There was no address in the letter she sent me. After two days of pacing back and forth, fearing that Morris had discovered who she really was, I received another letter, and my fears were proved right. This letter was from Morris. In it, he explained how he had discovered my sister’s true identity, and unless I signed the deeds of my house over to him, as that is all I have left of any value, then I would never see Sarah again. In his letter, he gave me the address of Blackwater Farm, which is just on the other side of this field. I went to my solicitor at once and had the deeds to my house made over to Morris Cook.” Making a hitching sound in the b
ack of his throat, Clive reached into his coat with one blood-stained hand and pulled out a plain brown envelope. “So I brought the deeds out here, but I was running out of time and petrol. So I stopped at the garage to fill up, as I was running on empty and I didn’t want to get stranded out here on these remote roads and unable to get to the farm and save my sister.” Pausing, Clive looked at me. “It was then that I saw you. It was like looking at my sister. You look so much alike, you could be her reflection. At first my heart leapt as I thought my sister had managed to escape Morris, but as I stared at you, I realised that in fact you were not my sister, and she was still being held against her will by Morris. So not wanting to waste one more second, I paid at the pump and raced away.”

  I looked up at Kale, who gave me a knowing smile.

  “But I got lost on these narrow country roads. I am unfamiliar with the area and the roads all look the same. Somewhere I must have taken a wrong turn, as I found myself heading away from my sister and not toward her. It was then, as I tried to navigate the winding roads, I came across you in the fog. You just suddenly appeared ahead of me.”

  “So you decided to ram us into the nearest ditch,” Kale said.

  “No,” he shook his head. “I didn’t mean to. All I wanted to do was to get past you. It was never my intention to force you off the road. I looked back to make sure you were okay, and that’s when I hit the tree. I made my way blindly through the fog, the urgency to save my sister forcing me on. It was then I came across your car. We must have passed each other in the fog. The car was locked and there were no keys to be taken. If there had of been, don’t you think I would’ve taken your car to get to my sister instead of staggering, wounded, across these muddy fields? Why would I waste such time?”

  I looked at Kale. We had a guy here who had just unknowingly confessed to taking part in a twelve-year-old robbery. But he was a victim, too, and part of me couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He had perhaps been punished for that crime more harshly than any sentence a court of law could have passed. But what were we to do now? He had told us his sister was being held captive in a farmhouse not too far from here. My common sense told me to call 999 and ask for backup, but the lack of a signal bar on my phone told me that wasn’t going to happen.