It began with a sound like someone knocking. Rob couldn’t place it at first: he’d had a fair bit to drink and was in a mellow, reflective mood. With his family growing up and moving on, days like these had to be savoured.
There were a couple of different conversations in progress, and music playing on Evan’s portable speaker. The barbecue was fizzing and spitting with the last of the burgers, destined never to be eaten. Rob, sitting on the left-hand side of the terrace, looked over his right shoulder. Was it someone at the front door, or the gate at the side of the house?
The next knock was harder, with the flabby echo of timber yielding beneath the blows: a fence panel. But the neighbours on one side were out, and the others weren’t the sort who’d object to a Sunday afternoon barbecue. So where…?
Rob gestured to his son. Evan and his girlfriend Livvy were intertwined on the swing seat; a quick tap on his phone and the music stopped. There was a moment of frozen silence before something thudded into the rear fence.
Wendy Turner frowned at her husband. ‘What was that?’
Rob stood up and moved to the edge of the terrace. He was a tall man, nearly six two, but even he couldn’t see much beyond the fence. The house backed on to a large wild meadow, some of it privately owned and enclosed for horses. The rest was common land with access to a network of trails that criss-crossed the fields south of Petersfield; as a consequence most of the residents along here had opted for high fences for privacy as well as security.
‘Has one of the horses got out?’ Evan began to extricate himself from the swing seat, but Rob waved him back down.
‘I’ll check.’
Later he would try to remember if there had been a note of caution in his voice. He jogged down the steps and was crossing the lawn, curious to see what sort of animal it was, when he heard a loud groan that could only have come from a human being.
Rob was close enough to locate the sound now: the third panel of seven. Someone – a man – was breathing in short, desperate gasps, bumping and knocking against the fence. Rob tracked him moving left to right, towards the gate.
And it was unbolted. Evan and Livvy had been on the common not half an hour before, tossing a Frisbee back and forth.
‘Rob?’ His wife’s voice was uncertain, maybe even fearful.
‘It’s okay.’ He had no idea if that was true, but he strode forward as the handle juddered against the latch. Rob quickly pressed his shoulder to the gate, holding it shut. He could feel the man’s weight against it, heavy and insistent.
There was a moment when Rob could have thrown the bolts home and kept the intruder at bay, but instead he did the opposite. . . his decision swayed by a simple whispered plea.
‘Help me.’
Wendy shouted something – it might have been, ‘Rob, don’t!’ – but it was too late: he’d whipped the gate open.
Taken by surprise, the man stumbled in and collapsed at Rob’s feet. Several of his fingers looked pulpy and misshapen, which was perhaps why he didn’t try to break his fall. His long grey hair was matted with blood, as well as leaves and twigs and what might have been dirt or something worse. The smell coming off him was foul: a stench of ingrained sweat, bodily waste and decay.
As Rob recoiled, there was a high-pitched scream from Georgia. His fifteen-year-old daughter had been on a sun lounger in an alcove beside the terrace. As she leapt up and fled indoors, Wendy looked set to go after her, but Rob yelled, ‘Get the first aid kit! Evan, call 999, ambulance and police!’
Gasping, the man struggled on to his elbows and knees. Thin strands of drool hung from his mouth as he tried to speak. He wore filthy jeans and a tatty blue fleece with a large tear across the back. Beneath it was a grimy t-shirt, stained with blood and pus from what looked like a network of slashes to the skin.
On one foot he wore a cheap trainer flapping open at the toes; the other foot was bare, and crusted with blood around a small circular wound to the top and bottom. Having spent his working life on building sites, where he’d witnessed a fair number of accidents, Rob knew it was a puncture mark: exactly as if someone had driven a nail through the man’s foot.
Torture was the word that popped into his mind. This man wasn’t just in terrible pain, but in fear of his life – that much was clear from the way he went on scrabbling over the grass. He was making a noise in his throat but couldn’t control his breathing enough to form words.
‘You’re safe, you’re safe here,’ Rob told him. But when he reached out, the man flinched, his back arching in panic; he coughed up a gout of blood and collapsed once again, his body still except for one leg, juddering against the grass.
Rob tried feeling for a pulse, but his first aid skills were severely limited. Wendy, thankfully, was a lot more capable, and now she came running towards him, holding the emergency medical kit.
Evan was speaking urgently on the phone, and Livvy had gone inside after Georgia. Rob checked the gate. He couldn’t see anyone on the common, but his view was restricted to a narrow slice of land. On the soft, springy turf it would be all too easy for someone to creep up on them.
Wendy gasped at the sight of the man’s wounds. She dropped to her knees, then had to turn away, one hand over her mouth as she retched. Rob understood her reaction: up close the sweet, cloying odour of rotting flesh was overpowering.
‘I don’t know how much we can do for him,’ he said. ‘He needs a hospital.’
Wendy swallowed heavily. ‘Let’s get him in the recovery position, at least.’
Together they rolled the man on to his side, his head lolling in a way that reminded Rob of a landed fish. An unnatural, feverish heat radiated from his skin. His face was so bruised and swollen that it was difficult to put an age on him. Late fifties, if Rob had to guess.
Wendy bent forward to detect a breath. ‘He’s still with us, just about.’ Straightening up, she took a gulp of less tainted air and shook her head. ‘He must be in agony.’
Rob started to get up. ‘You all right here?’
‘What?’
With a nod at the common, he said, ‘Whoever did this could still be out there.’
Rob listened to her objections – it might be dangerous; he should leave it to the police – but knew he had to do something.
‘Just a quick look,’ he promised, and without waiting for a response he moved through the gateway, ready to react at the first hint of an ambush.
But there was no one in sight. In the woods on the far side of the meadow, a light breeze stirred the treetops. Birds chirped listlessly; from far off he could hear the low rumble of traffic and the whine of a lawnmower.
Rob wondered if his son’s music had attracted the man to their property – homing in on people who could come to his aid – but already, at the back of his mind, a much less welcome theory was forming.
He took a few steps towards the nearest footpath, checking the ground for signs of blood. Wendy shouted his name, and he realised that he’d drifted out of sight.
‘It’s fine,’ he called. ‘Won’t be a minute.’
She’s right: let the police handle this, he thought. But another voice didn’t welcome that idea. Not if there was any chance that his other theory could be right.
Was this some kind of message?
A warning?
With his thoughts in turmoil, Rob made for slightly higher ground, passing the wire fence of a grassy paddock where two palomino mares grazed contentedly. He crossed a couple of paths that had been worn to dirt by regular use, but found no blood, no evidence of the man’s route to their home.
At the top of the rise he stopped to scan the tree line beyond the meadow. There was still no one to be seen, and yet Rob had the feeling he was being watched. The sun was a dazzling white disc, and for a moment his vision blurred; he felt the first twinge of a tension headache and knew this was pointless: I ought to be back with my family—
An unnatural shape drew his attention, obscured from view by a large clump of gorse. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he trotted down the slope and saw that it was a boy – or a young man – hunched over in an odd position, one knee jutting forward.
He was sitting on a bike, Rob realised; a small, wiry figure, wearing a black t-shirt and long khaki shorts.
‘Hey!’ As Rob moved closer, the boy rolled back a couple of feet. There was a surliness about his posture that Rob, as a father of two young men, knew all too well. ‘Can I ask you something? Hey!’
No response. The boy stared at him from behind the bushes. Rob caught a glimpse of a pale face, a mop of dark, scruffy hair. Something about his gaze seemed to radiate hostility.
‘Were you here a few minutes ago? A guy in a blue fleece, he’s badly hurt. Did you see where he came from?’
Still nothing. They were about fifty feet apart. Fuming, Rob said, ‘This is important. Has anyone been along—?’ He broke off as the boy’s head jerked up, reacting to something.
Distant sirens, pulsing slowly towards them. The sound distracted him for a moment, and that was all it took for the boy to race away. Rob dashed forward but caught his toe on a root; stumbling, he managed to regain his balance as the bike went sailing into the trees.
Chasing him would be futile. Once in the woods, the boy had any number of routes to follow – and even if Rob were to catch him, what then? Rob might consider it his public duty to restrain a potential witness, but wasn’t he just as likely to be prosecuted for assault as thanked for his efforts?
A sudden wave of dizziness had him doubled up, his heart thumping like crazy. Hearing a shout, he quickly stood and put on a reassuring smile. Evan was sprinting towards him in huge strides, virtually floating above the grass. He was a natural athlete, not quite as tall as his dad but leaner and faster; he made Rob feel like an old man.
‘Paramedics are here.’ Evan caught his glance at the trees and said, ‘Who were you shouting at?’
‘A lad on a bike. Thought he might have seen something.’ Rob blew out a sigh. ‘He just took off.’
‘If it was a kid, you probably scared him to death.’
‘Not a child. A teenager, or your sort of age.’
Staring at the trees, a patch of shadows caught Rob’s notice. Was the young man still in there, watching them?
‘Can’t really blame him for not wanting to get involved.’ Evan placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘You need to come back and rest.’
‘I won’t keel over, don’t worry.’ To prove it, Rob set a brisk pace. ‘How’s Georgia?’
‘Fine. Livvy’s with her.’
‘We need to be careful. This could bring back all kinds of. . .’
‘Yeah, except she’s tougher than any of us. Stop stressing, Dad. It’s all under control.’
Rob couldn’t help but give a rueful smile. Evan and his girlfriend had returned from their second year at university with an air of confidence that implied they had adult life completely sussed, and couldn’t understand why the older generation had made such a fuss about the challenges of independence.
Reaching the gate, Rob waved his son through and took one last look at the woods. Evan was probably right, but something about the boy’s reaction troubled him just the same.
What did you see? he wondered.
What do you know?
Back in the garden, a couple of paramedics were tending to the injured man, who was already hooked up to a drip and had an oxygen mask covering his face. Wendy was being led back towards the house by a stocky, middle-aged policeman.
On the terrace a female officer was in conversation with Livvy, who had a protective arm around Georgia. The sight prompted a twinge of guilt; just for a moment, when the man blundered into the garden, Rob had forgotten his daughter was there.
Evan hurried past the activity on the lawn, but Rob paused to ask, ‘Is he going to be all right?’
One of the paramedics was preparing an injection of some sort; she offered Rob a quick, professional smile. ‘Too early to say. But we’ll do our best.’
This brief exchange had alerted the policeman to their presence. Under scrutiny, Rob realised how hot and dishevelled he must look, which perhaps explained why the officer’s expression seemed to harden slightly.
‘This is Rob,’ Wendy said, ‘and my son, Evan.’
The cop spared Evan no more than a glance before his focus returned to Rob. ‘Mr Turner, I’m PC Clark. My colleague, PC Jardine, is speaking to. . . your daughter, is it?’
Rob nodded. ‘And my son’s girlfriend, Livvy.’
‘And where had you been?’ PC Clark indicated the open gate.
‘Just went to check the common, see if there was any clue as to. . .’ Rob trailed off, aware of how defensive his tone had become.
‘And was there?’
‘Not that I could see.’
‘How long were you gone?’
‘Three or four minutes. I tried to speak to this lad on a bike, but he was too far away, and then I heard the sirens, and Evan came to get me—’
‘Whoa, whoa.’ Clark had his hands up, as if to stop traffic. ‘Let’s rewind a fraction. Your wife tells me you were having a barbecue.’ He looked round, pointedly confirming the presence of the still-smoking grill. ‘So the whole family were here, yes?’
‘Everyone but Josh.’ Wendy saw the man’s confusion and tried to clarify. ‘Evan’s twin brother. He’s not yet back from university.’
‘It was just the five of us.’ Rob must have sounded brusque, because Wendy flashed a warning glance: Don’t get tetchy.
After recording the full details of everyone present, PC Clark asked Rob to describe what had happened. From Wendy’s frown, Rob gathered that she’d already given the policeman an account.
He wants to see if our stories tally.
Rob tried to compose himself. ‘There isn’t much to tell you. We were just out here, enjoying the sunshine, when something banged on the fence.’
As he ran through the sequence of events, he watched the paramedics carefully lift the unconscious man on to a trolley stretcher. PC Jardine accompanied them out past the side of the house, signalling to Clark as she left.
After a nod in response, the policeman said, ‘Is the gentleman known to you at all, sir?’
‘Never seen him before in my life,’ Rob said forcefully, even while a sly voice in his head whispered: You should have taken a closer look, this could be a warning—
‘Sure about that?’
Rob, swallowing heavily, said, ‘Positive.’
Clark held his gaze for a long moment, before switching his attention to Wendy. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she said, ‘It’s not easy to be sure – with all the blood on his face, I mean – but I don’t think so.’
The policeman jotted a few notes, then said, ‘In due course my colleagues will need to take full statements. And for the meantime, that end of the garden is out of bounds.’
He moved away, surveying the ground carefully before each step. At an offer of refreshments, he turned and smiled for the first time.
‘Tea with milk and one, please.’
Rob followed Wendy into the living room. Georgia was on the sofa between Evan and Livvy but leaning forward, as if uncomfortable with their proximity. Livvy was saying, ‘. . . I’m sure he’ll be fine once they get him to hospital.’
‘Exactly,’ Wendy added. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, darling. Honestly.’
‘But what happened to him?’ Georgia looked from Wendy to Rob. ‘Why did he come here?’
Because of me.
Rob turned his shudder into a shrug. ‘There wasn’t any particular reason. Maybe he heard the music and knew there’d be people in the garden who could help?’
Georgia considered this explanation, then went back to staring at the floor. With a nod of thanks to Livvy and Evan, Rob joined Wendy in the kitchen. ‘Okay?’ he asked.
She shook her head. Her jaw was tight, a muscle twitching in her cheek. For a moment Rob interpreted it as anger, but then she threw her arms around him and let out a sob.
‘The state he was in, Rob. The cruelty of what was done to him. . .’
‘I know.’ He hesitated for a moment before holding her tight. ‘I’ll make tea. You go and sit with the others.’
‘No, I’d rather keep busy.’ She eased herself away from him, tore off a sheet of kitchen roll and blew her nose. ‘That’s a good point, about the music.’
‘It’s the only thing I can think of.’ He turned quickly to the window. PC Clark was at the gate, gazing out over the common. ‘Interesting that he asked us both to describe what happened.’
‘I suppose he had to.’ Wendy put a couple of coffee mugs on the unit and then paused. ‘But we don’t have anything to hide, do we?’
Rob spun to face her, unsure if that was an allegation. ‘What you said about the blood on his face – it sounded like you were contradicting me.’
‘Not really. Anyway, your tone was getting a bit aggressive.’
‘Because he was glaring at me like I’m the prime suspect.’
Wendy exhaled loudly. ‘Look at it from his point of view. He responds to a call about a badly injured man in our garden. We say it’s nothing to do with us, and he’s, what, just supposed to accept it?’ She mimed tugging a forelock. ‘Right you are then, sir, I’ll be on my way. . .’
The bad Cockney accent made him grin, which helped defuse the tension. She was right, of course. The police would naturally consider the possibility that the householders were responsible for the attack – and it probably hadn’t helped that Clark’s first sight of Rob had been when he’d returned from the common, red-faced and sweating.
He fetched the milk and handed it over as a kind of peace offering, but was thrown by her next question. ‘Do you think it’s worth calling Dawn?’
‘And ruin her Sunday evening? That’s not fair.’
‘No, all right, then. I just thought – if they are suspicious of us – she might put in a word on our behalf.’
Rob thought this a foolish idea, but he answered with a shrug. To be in the clear, what they really needed was for the police to identify whoever had tortured that man half to death.
But what if the answer caused more problems than it solved?
Evan and Livvy accepted coffees, and even Georgia agreed to have a hot chocolate. They’d put a DVD on, some kind of slushy romantic comedy to lighten the mood.
Outside, PC Clark was mooching along the flower beds, and eagerly changed course to collect his tea. No sooner had he taken a sip than his radio bleeped.
With a look of weary resignation, he retreated across the lawn to speak in private. Rob and Wendy tried not to show an interest as he listened, made a couple of muttered comments, then lowered the radio and turned back to the terrace.
‘Cardiac arrest en route to the hospital. Never regained consciousness.’ He tutted, perhaps because his afternoon had become a lot more complicated. ‘Potentially, this is a murder enquiry now.’
By six o’clock Russell Drive was jammed with vehicles, most of them bearing the livery of Hampshire Constabulary. It was one of those summer evenings that feels cooler indoors than out, prompting Wendy to fetch a cardigan.
‘I think I’ve seen Dawn’s car,’ she called from the stairs. ‘Did you contact her?’
‘Not me, no.’ Rob tried not to scowl when, a moment later, the doorbell rang.
Detective Sergeant Dawn Avery was on the step, wearing black leggings and a white t-shirt; still slim, but unmistakably pregnant. Rob greeted her with a brief, careful hug after she and Wendy had shared a longer embrace.
‘Lovely to see you,’ Wendy exclaimed. ‘How many weeks is it now?’
‘Twenty-eight.’ Dawn rested a hand on her belly. ‘This is supposed to be the “blooming” stage, but I just feel knackered all the time.’
‘It’s because there’s no rest with the second one. Is Leo all right?’
‘Yeah, he’s good. Tim’s on bedtime story duty tonight.’ She grinned at Rob. ‘He was disappointed you couldn’t make the bike ride.’
‘Petworth and back?’ Rob said in mock horror. ‘I like cycling, but not that much.’ And then he thought: Maybe if I’d known what lay in store for us today. . .
After a little more small talk, Wendy said, ‘We did wonder if you’d be assigned to this.’
‘Actually, I’m not. DS Husein knew we were friends because I recommended your guys to quote for a central heating system.’ Looking slightly embarrassed, she added, ‘The fool went for someone cheaper, and he’s had them back twice to fix leaks.’
‘Oh, well.’ It wasn’t the first time he’d heard something like this. Rob was just grateful that Tim and Dawn, like many of their friends, had done their bit to promote his business after its troubles.
They moved into the living room, which offered a perfect view of the activity taking place on the lawn. There seemed to be at least a dozen officers in attendance, including a team from the Scientific Services Department, clad in the ominous white suits that Rob recognised from many a TV drama.
‘It’s actually a mercy for you that the victim died en route to hospital,’ Dawn told them. ‘If his death had occurred on the lawn, the body wouldn’t have been moved till a full forensic examination had been conducted.’
Spotting DS Husein, Dawn went out for a chat, leaving Wendy to offer Rob an encouraging smile. ‘Makes such a difference to have a friendly face, doesn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ Rob agreed, though he wasn’t sure how convincing he sounded.
They’d come to know Dawn well in the ten years she’d been with Tim, who was one of Rob’s oldest friends. To begin with it had been slightly awkward, because they’d been similarly close to Tim’s first wife, Jill. That marriage had foundered on a disagreement over children – to Tim’s dismay, Jill was always adamant she didn’t want them – and Rob and Wendy had never seen him as happy as when Dawn announced she was pregnant with Leo. Now there was a second baby on the way, and Tim seemed undaunted at the idea of becoming a parent again in his late forties. Rob couldn’t imagine anything worse.
He stood and watched Dawn and the other detective in conversation. There were frequent gestures towards the common, and once or twice, when DS Husein glanced back at the house, Rob had to steel himself not to duck out of sight.
Dawn moved on to greet a couple of her colleagues: a spot of workplace banter, judging by the wide smiles and her playful attempt to slap the head of a short, thickset man in an Iron Maiden t-shirt. It reminded Rob that, as horrific as this afternoon’s events had been, to the officers here this was simply another job.
Returning to the house, Dawn accepted a glass of cranberry juice, and told them that attempts would be made to search at least part of the common before darkness fell.
‘Poor DS Husein got lumbered as Deputy SIO, and he has actions up to his eyeballs. It’s a tough ask to gather enough bodies on a Sunday evening – I only got spared because I have to be in London for a trial tomorrow.’
The other priority, she told them, was house-to-house enquiries. ‘Far more likely to catch people at home on a Sunday night than we will in the morning.’
Rob perked up at this. ‘Do you think he was seen, making his way here?’
‘It’s possible, though we’ve had no other reports that fit the bill.’
Without intending to blurt it out, Rob said, ‘And are we being considered as suspects?’
Dawn gave him a sideways glance. ‘Why’d you say that?’
‘Just the impression we had. The first officer on the scene, PC Clark—’
‘Ah, you don’t want to worry about Don.’ Her smile was brief, and slightly unconvincing. ‘Though that’s not to say there aren’t. . . formalities.’
‘Of course,’ Wendy said. ‘You can’t simply take what we say at face val—’
She broke off as DS Husein appeared in the doorway. Now Dawn’s expression grew warmer, and contained a hint of relief.
‘Just the man to put your minds at rest,’ she declared, but Rob couldn’t help adding the word that she seemed to omit.
Hopefully.
Detective Sergeant Husein was a slim, graceful man in his late twenties – that was the minimum age Rob assumed he had to be, given his rank – but with his soft brown eyes and clean-shaven skin he could have passed for a decade younger. He was one of the few people present who was formally dressed, in a well-fitting grey suit, which made him look like a schoolboy at a family christening.
He nodded in greeting, his gaze seeming to linger on Dawn’s glass.
‘Would you like some juice?’ Wendy asked.
‘Yes, please. I usually end up drinking gallons of tea and coffee, but I don’t really like the stuff.’
With a teasing smile, Dawn said, ‘Shahid prefers a beaker of squash with a bendy straw, don’t you?’
‘Forget the straw. A sippy cup is even better.’ He raised his eyebrows at Rob. ‘There’s a running joke that I look about twelve.’
Wendy returned with the drink, and Husein sat forward on the sofa, notebook at the ready.
‘We plan to start the search this evening. There’s a chance of rain overnight, but I’m hoping the forecasts are wrong.’ His eyebrows twitched. ‘First I want to check that you’re sure he came from the common?’
Rob said, ‘Well, we didn’t see or hear him till he was at the fence, so no, we’re not a hundred per cent.’
‘There’s a path a few doors down,’ Wendy added. ‘In theory he could have cut through there from the road. Or even come from one of the other gardens.’
‘But across the common is the likeliest route, isn’t it?’ Dawn asked.
They agreed that it was, and Husein said, ‘What we have found are a couple of bloodstains on the far side of your fence, consistent with him brushing against the panels.’ He stared into his glass. ‘Are you certain you didn’t recognise him?’
Rob glanced at Wendy, then immediately wished he hadn’t. It might suggest that they were colluding.
‘Definitely not,’ she said, and Rob nodded in agreement.
Dawn offered Husein a wry smile. ‘Never mind, Shahid. Job would be boring if the answers were there on a plate.’
When Husein’s phone buzzed, he took his time checking the display. As they waited for him to continue, Rob was conscious of Wendy’s rigid posture. Her hands were clasped together, fingers writhing. It made him realise he was working too hard to appear relaxed, when it was clear he was anything but.
‘If you didn’t know him,’ Husein said, ‘and we’ll take it for now that he didn’t know you, we’ve got some ten or eleven houses along here. . .’ He tapped his pen against his teeth. ‘What we need to determine is whether there was any specific reason for coming to your house.’
‘It’s probably random,’ Dawn added, as if to reassure them. ‘But we can’t afford to overlook anything that could have governed his choice.’
‘We get that,’ Rob said. ‘What occurred to me is that we had music playing, so he’d have known there were people here.’
‘If there was no one in the neighbours’ gardens, it could be that simple.’ Husein shared a glance with Dawn, who shrugged.
‘Did the man say anything to you?’ she asked.
‘Um, yeah, just “Help me”.’
‘In English?’ Husein queried. ‘And nothing else?’
‘I think he was trying to say more, but couldn’t get the words out. And I’ve only just realised this, but he might have had an accent.’
‘What type?’ Dawn asked.
‘I couldn’t say for sure. His voice was quite thick, guttural – could have been Scottish, or maybe the north-east.’
‘So not Eastern European?’ Husein had a hopeful edge to his voice.
‘I don’t think so, but I can’t be certain. I’m sorry.’
Husein waved away the apology, and Wendy said, ‘Did he not have any ID on him?’
There was a hesitation. Rob guessed the detective would deliberately withhold information, not least because he’d want their answers to be as unbiased as possible. But after a glance at Dawn, Husein shook his head. ‘Not a thing.’
‘That’s a bit strange, isn’t it?’ Wendy said.
‘It gets worse. From the preliminary examination of the body, we’ve discovered some. . . unusual wounds.’
‘Unusual?’ Rob felt a coldness spreading along his spine.
‘In a couple of places his skin had been excised. He has several tattoos, quite conventional ones. Our theory is that his attackers might have removed other, more distinctive tattoos that could have assisted with identification.’
Wendy made a noise in he. . .
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