Path of Needles (12 page)

‘Back then, girls who reached puberty were often sent to spend a winter with the seamstress, though not just to learn sewing skills; it was about learning refinement, kind of a finishing school. They called this “gathering pins”. When they had finished, they could accept a sweetheart, who would often give pins as gifts.

‘On the other hand, threading the eye of a needle was seen as a sexual symbol. In some regions, prostitutes even wore needles on their sleeves as a way of advertising themselves.’

Cate shifted her feet. ‘So this girl—?’

‘She could be a prostitute. I suppose that part’s up to you. Of course, the red of the cloak can be seen as a symbol of sin or sexuality. Little Red is an innocent who chooses the wrong path, or leaves it altogether.’

Both of them fell silent.

‘He didn’t kill her with the needles.’ The voice was loud, intruding on Alice’s thoughts, and she turned to see the man who’d been watching them earlier.

‘This is the senior investigating officer,’ said Cate, ‘Detective Superintendent Heath.’

He nodded at Alice. ‘So what did she die of, in these stories of yours?’

‘It varies. In some versions, particularly the earliest, she doesn’t die at all but uses her own wiles to escape. In the better-known ones, though, she gets to the grandmother’s house and the wolf is waiting for her. He’s eaten the old woman and now he wants to eat the girl. He gets her to take off her clothes and burn them in the fire, since she won’t be needing them again.’

‘And then he eats her,’ said Cate.

Alice sighed. ‘Mostly, yes, the wolf gets her in the end.’

‘He certainly got her this time,’ said Heath, and then added, more quietly, ‘There’s no need for you to see that.’

Alice grimaced. ‘You know, some would suggest that her death is her punishment for leaving the path, for being disobedient.’ She frowned. ‘Some of the stories stressed that as their moral. I wonder why she was left out here, though? Little Red has to go through the forest, the deep dark of the trees. It’s odd that she wasn’t left further in the woods. But then, I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense – the fallen woman among the fallen trees.’

Heath let out a breath. ‘On the other hand, it may just have been because he wanted the body to be found. This place is a work in progress – there must be wardens about most days, although they didn’t spot her until now.’ He gestured around the clearing. ‘That could mean he has
local knowledge. The first dump site – that might have been someone driving around, trying to find somewhere quiet. This time he’s thought about it, been more organised.’ He paused. ‘Thank you, Ms Hyland. Cate, if there’s nothing else, we need to get this screened off properly before the press descend. And we need to organise a search of the rest of the clearing.’

Alice didn’t move. ‘Didn’t someone say there was something in her mouth?’

‘Where did you hear that?’ Heath snapped. He glared at Cate, and Alice realised someone had spoken out of turn: like the bottle stoppered with a girl’s toe, it was another of those details meant to be withheld. She opened her mouth to say it hadn’t been Cate who’d told her; closed it again when she saw his expression. There was something in his eyes that didn’t brook being questioned.

‘If your theories hold true,’ Heath said, ‘perhaps you could tell us what it was.’ He shot a glance at Cate. ‘If no one’s told you already.’

Alice noticed that Cate too opened her mouth to speak, but she didn’t say anything either.

‘I don’t know what it could be,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing left in her mouth in the story. She’s the one who’s eaten, in fact, by the wolf. She does sometimes eat what the wolf leaves for her, though, when she arrives at her grandmother’s.’ She paused to collect her thoughts.

‘All right: first of all, the wolf beats Little Red to the cottage. He eats the grandmother, but he doesn’t eat all
of her; he saves a little of her flesh and puts it in the pantry, and he drains some of her blood into a bottle—’

She broke off and they stared at each other.

‘When he’s done that and the girl arrives, the wolf tells her to eat, so she finds the things he’s left for her, and eats part of her grandmother – a cannibalistic meal. In some variants he fries the grandmother’s ears and pretends they’re fritters. That’s the Italian version again, I think. Always interesting, the Italian versions.’

Heath gestured for her to continue.

‘The other thing she’s given in that version is the grandmother’s teeth. He boils them in a pot and pretends they’re beans. I never really understood that – it’d be pretty hard to fool anyone beyond the first mouthful.’ She saw the expression on Heath’s face. ‘Ah. Well, that’s odd. I wonder where he got the teeth from?’

‘Never mind about that,’ said Heath.

Alice knew he wasn’t dismissing her words; this man took in everything, even when giving the impression it was beneath his notice.

Cate was focused on Heath, her look purposeful. He motioned her aside and started to talk in low tones, words Alice couldn’t catch. They moved further away; they appeared to have forgotten her. She kept looking into the trees. She didn’t want to turn and walk across the clearing again, to see the body that was lying there. If she did, would the policeman who’d brought her here even still be around, let alone be prepared to drive her home again?
She looked about, keeping her gaze away from the patch of red. Other officers were closing in and she watched as they resumed their work. One of them looked up and narrowed his eyes, staring at her as if wondering why she was still there. Alice looked away.

It looked as if Cate and Heath had come to some kind of decision; they headed off towards the far side of the clearing, leaving Alice alone. The trees weren’t far away; there was a narrow path leading roughly towards the lake. It wasn’t the way she’d come, but at least it would take her away from here, and from the things she’d seen – the things she’d
smelled
. It would take her home. She longed suddenly for her cottage, its safety, its warmth. If she was there, she could forget; everything would be all right.

In the next moment she was walking away and into the trees, entering their shade. She felt better at once. She did not look back, nor did she wait for anyone to notice that she was leaving.

*

When Alice was halfway down the hill, her legs began to shake. She stopped walking and leaned against a tree, then stood there, staring at her arm. She was still wearing the white overalls the policeman had given her. She didn’t know why it had come as a shock to realise it now; she only knew that even though she’d been able to see it all the time, had heard the rustle of it, she somehow hadn’t taken it in. She started to peel the stuff off, pulling free of it, until she was just Alice once more. When she saw
it lying bright and artificial against the green she realised she couldn’t just leave it there. If the police found it, it could lead to all kinds of mistaken suspicions, couldn’t it? She should give it back, to Cate maybe, not one of those others who had stared at her. She gathered it up, wadding it into a tight ball, carrying it with her.

She caught a glimpse of water somewhere below, the light striking silver from the flat grey surface. She was completely alone now, and for the first time she realised she might be out in the woods with a killer: someone who knew this place, who had walked the same paths she had. Strangely, though, she didn’t feel afraid. It was all so unreal. She felt like a character from one of her books, straying from the path, but safe in the knowledge that all of this was nothing but a story. The real Alice was no doubt far away, wrapped in a blanket in her favourite chair, drinking something warming, enclosed within the walls of her own home. She couldn’t possibly be here, having walked away from the police like that. She couldn’t possibly have seen the things she’d seen.

Alice closed her eyes. Was that how someone had done this to that girl in the clearing? – by not seeing her as real, only a character, to be torn and broken? That must be how they had taken her, pushed needles into her skin. And then what? She didn’t want to think of it any more. It made her wonder how the girl had died, and how badly.

He didn’t kill her with the needles.

Alice shivered and went on. She was almost at the
lakeside path – she could see the sandy gravel through the trees – when she saw the bird.

Once she had seen it, she wondered how she had failed to notice it before. It was the only bright thing amid the trees. It sat on a low branch, and it was looking at her. She recognised its small shining eyes, the brilliant blue feathers. It did not take fright and fly away, or even move; it simply sat and watched her, as though waiting for something. Alice wasn’t sure she liked it – but of course it would see her as a threat; it was only natural that it should stare at her like that.

The bird rose from its perch, spread its bright wings and flew. It landed a short distance away and began to sing.

Alice didn’t even think about what she was doing: she followed.

The trees closed in around her. Tall beech had given way to silver birch, the spindly trunks scabbed and surrounded by whip-like branches. Somewhere the breeze sighed, causing the trees’ limbs to tremble. Alice kept her eyes on the bird, which fluttered onwards, always keeping a little way ahead. It was heading around the hillside, not down towards the lake or up towards the clearing. It was becoming harder to push through the branches now, and the bird was getting away from her. Alice could see it only in brief splashes of colour, but its intense, pure song drew her on. The wood was quiet and dark and Alice was alone, and it was strangely peaceful, being away from everything
and everyone. This place was unreal, a place where no one could hurt her or force her to see things she didn’t want to look at. It felt as if the wood belonged to her and her alone.

Belying her reverie, a dog’s loud bark cut into the day. Alice jumped and put a hand to her chest; told herself it was only a dog, nothing out of the ordinary. The harsh bark came again and Alice realised that it was somewhere close, and that its body must be big, to make such a sound. Then she saw it pushing through the undergrowth, a solid black creature, its tongue lolling from its jaws. A voice followed it through the trees, an ordinary man’s voice, calling, ‘Here, boy!’

Alice remained motionless. The dog had stopped too, its legs braced, its small eyes fixed on her. After a moment it rustled away.

Alice looked around for the bird, but it had already gone, and her sense of calm had gone with it. She didn’t feel safe any more. She didn’t want to see the man with the dog, and she didn’t want him to see her. She edged away, not liking to turn her back, then, as soon as she had gained some distance, she turned downhill once more. It wasn’t long before she reached the lakeside path and stepped from the soft earth onto a level surface.

A family was walking towards her, a mother and father and a little girl waving a stick. They looked happy, and Alice guessed they were just ending their walk; they probably hadn’t even heard about what had been found such
a short distance away. They had a dog, too, but it wasn’t the one she had seen; it was small and white and wagging its plume of a tail as it rooted out new smells. The child gave an excited cry as a mallard splashed down into the water, and the father pulled a bag from his pocket and handed her a slice of bread.

Alice turned in the other direction. A man was standing on the path, looking at her. He was about her height, and hunched solidly in a warm coat. He was wearing binoculars around his neck. ‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said, ‘sorry to trouble you.’ His voice was thin and dry, like the physics teacher Alice had had when she was in school. She didn’t approach him. It was odd, but now she was standing on an open path, in clear view of anyone walking around the lake, she was wary. As if he sensed her unease, he didn’t approach either.

‘I’m looking for a bird,’ he said, touching one hand to his binoculars. ‘It’s a very special bird. I’m sorry to disturb your walk, but I saw you come out of the woods and I wondered if you’d seen it.’ He pushed his glasses further up his nose. ‘It’s very rare, you see. I was hoping to catch a glimpse.’

Alice opened her mouth to ask a question, though she already knew the answer. She asked it anyway, because she wanted time to think: ‘What does it look like?’

‘Oh – forgive me. I get so tied up in – it’s blue, you see. Very unusual. You’d know it at once if you saw it.’ He licked his thin lips, lifted his glasses away from his watery brown eyes.

She hesitated. The blue bird had come to
her
, she was sure of it. It had
revealed
itself to her. She found herself shaking her head.

‘Oh, what a shame. My colleagues were so sure—Well, never mind. They just thought—Well. You never know when, do you? You can’t name the hour. Perhaps I’ll see it tomorrow.’

Alice nodded,
yes, of course he might see it
; but she somehow didn’t think he would. It was a secret thing,
her
bird, a sight meant for her and her alone. As the man waved and headed towards the car park, she wondered if it would come back later; whether it would sit in her apple tree, looking at her as she watched it from her window, singing in her garden.

It wasn’t until she started to follow the birdwatcher, matching her pace to his, that she saw the police cordon at the end of the path. There was an officer there wearing a bright tabard, and he was questioning a man who held a large black dog on a tight leash.

*

‘Of course I’m fine,’ Alice said. Her nerves had failed her when she’d seen the officer was the same young policeman who’d brought her to Newmillerdam, what felt like hours ago. He was questioning anyone emerging from the path, taking their details and writing them in yet another register. ‘I thought they’d finished, and the person I was with – Cate Corbin – she went off with that other man.
Her boss.’ Alice held out the overalls she carried, and the policeman stared down at them.

There were other walkers behind her now, shuffling their feet with impatience as they waited for their turn to leave. The twitcher who’d spoken to her earlier was among them. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d passed him. He must have stopped, watching the ducks maybe, or sitting on a bench while she’d gone past in a daze. As soon as she’d seen the policeman everything came back: the girl lying in the wood with no life in her, no way to go home again. Alice glanced across the lake and up the hill. Behind those trees, her own home awaited. Its rooms were warm, its walls comforting.