The Disappearance of Katie Wren (18 page)

Ignoring her, I slip into the next room. Katie is on a table, and two doctors are examining her in an extremely intimate manner. There are tears in my poor girl's eyes, and tears in mine too as I head over to comfort her.

All that matters is Katie now. I have to look after my sweet darling. She's so innocent, and she needs to come back home with me at once.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Crow

It's funny, but for months I've been nursing the lilacs in the back garden, nurturing them every day and trying to keep them alive. And now, after I've been neglecting them for the past few months, I find that they look stronger than ever. It's almost as if they benefited from being left alone for a while.

“How are the tomatoes?” Katie asks.

Turning, I see that she's watching me from the back door. She's holding a big mug of tea, and she's smiling for the first time since we got home from London last week.

“A little worse for wear,” I reply, setting my trowel down, “but I think they can be nursed back to full health. They've always been delicate little things. I was thinking of transplanting them to the border by the fence, but I'm not sure they'd survive. I think they're better off right here, and I shall just have to fuss over them a little more.”

“The garden looks really nice this year,” she continues, taking a sip of tea. “All your hard work is starting to pay off.” She pauses, and I can tell that something's troubling her. “The police called. Tim is pleading not guilty to all the charges against him. Apparently it doesn't matter how much evidence they have, he still won't make this easy.”

“That's hardly a surprise,” I point out. “I imagine he finds it hard to admit the truth, even to himself.”

“They also told me a little more about their investigation. They've linked him to three other girls who vanished over the past few years. It looks like he kept them in his basement, and then... Well, they didn't want to go into the details. I guess they didn't want to upset me, but it's pretty obvious. He must've killed them.”

I feel a shudder pass through my chest.

“They found three hidden cameras hidden in the bathroom of my apartment,” she continues. “He was using them to watch me through gaps in the grouting between the tiles. I kinda can't quite believe I didn't notice, but I guess that's not something you really look for. They must've been pretty small.”

“I didn't notice them either,” I reply, thinking back to the day when I cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom. I even scrubbed the grouting, and I didn't spot any gaps where a camera could be hidden. In fact, for a moment, I feel certain that there couldn't have been any cameras at all. Still, I suppose I wasn't in a fit state to notice very much at all. “I'm sure it'll all come out at the trial,” I tell her. “For now, we should just be glad that such a dangerous man is off the streets and locked away in jail.”

“It makes me sick every time I think of him,” she says with a shudder.

I pause for a moment. “And it was definitely him?” I ask.

She flinches slightly.

“I'm sorry,” I continue, “I didn't mean to pry.”

“Sometimes I feel like you don't believe me,” she says defensively. “I see doubt in your eyes.”

“That couldn't be further from the truth!”

Hurrying over to her, I place my hands on her shoulders. “I believe you,” I tell her firmly, feeling a rush of remorse as I realize that my poorly-chosen words have upset her again. “You mustn't listen to me,” I continue. “I just find it hard to reconcile that monster's actions with the man I spent time with. Tim seemed so kind and caring.”

“The perfect man, huh?”

“In some respects, yes. I suppose I'm just shocked that I was so easily taken in. I always thought I was a rather good judge of character. I suppose I was just dazzled by his manners and his good breeding. There's no fool like an old fool.”

“Yeah, well...” She shrugs. “It
was
him, Mum. Two or three times a day, for the whole time I was being held, I saw his face whenever he came down to the basement. I felt his hands on my bare flesh, and I heard him whispering all the things he was going to do to me. And no matter how bad it got, and no matter how much everything hurt down in that basement, I know that I was the lucky one. Because the other girls never made it out at all, and their experiences lasted days or weeks longer than mine.”

“I know,” I reply, feeling a shudder pass through my chest.

“One of them was fifteen,” she adds.

I take a deep breath.

“Just a kid,” she points out. “A runaway. She'd left home after an argument on her birthday, and clearly somehow she ended up meeting Tim. They haven't quite figured out what happened after that, but they know for certain that he held her in the basement and that eventually he killed her. I guess he did things to her first. The same kind of things he did to me.”

I nod, although I feel sick to my stomach.

“So think about that next time you're wondering whether it can all be true,” she continues. “I guess sometimes monsters hide in plain sight. I think I need to sit down for a moment. I'm still not feeling totally right, and my legs are kinda all trembly.”

“Of course. Let me help you. I can -”

“I'll be fine.”

She limps past me and out into the garden, and I know better by now than to offer more help. Since we returned from London last week, Katie has seemed more resilient than before, and a little more introspective. She doesn't talk so much, and she spends a lot of time up in her room. Still, as she makes her way over to the garden table, I try to remind myself that she's been through a dreadful ordeal. If I were in her shoes, I dare say I'd have to be locked away in a psychiatric institution. My daughter's strength is quite remarkable.

Suddenly there's a flash of something dark, and a large crow swoops down, brushing against Katie's shoulder before it soars back up into the clear blue sky.

“What the fuck?” she hisses, turning and batting the bird away, even though she's already too late.

“It was a crow,” I tell her, looking up and watching as the dark shape arcs through the sky. “Maybe you have some food in your dressing gown pocket.”

“Of course I don't,” she mutters, sounding distinctly unimpressed. “Fucking bird. I don't know what the hell it's up to, but I'll break its goddamn neck if it tries that again.”

The crow is still circling above, as if it's intent on watching the house. I don't think I've seen such a large creature in Shropley before. It looks more like the kind of monstrosity one would expect to come across in London.

“Would you like some lemonade?” I ask Katie, hoping to change the subject. “I made some this morning, with fresh lemons.”

“Whatever.”

“It's the same old recipe as usual, I'm afraid,” I continue, hurrying back into the kitchen, “but I think you should -”

“Fuck!”

I turn just in time to see that the crow is attacking Katie. She turns in her chair, trying to push the bird away, but it lets out a series of loud and angry caws as it tries to scratch the back of her neck with its claws. At the same time, it pecks at her hands, and to my shock I see blood starting to drip from her wrists.

“Get out of here!” I shout, grabbing the hoe from the corner and running to the table, waving the rounded wooden end. The crow ignores me at first, still trying to peck at Katie, but finally it flies up and lands on the garden's back wall, where it proceeds to settle and watch us.

“What the hell?” Katie stammers, getting to her feet and staring with a shocked expression at the three trickles of blood that run from her wounded wrist all the way down to her elbow. “Why does that bird hate me so much?”

“Shoo!” I shout, hurrying to the bottom of the wall and then waving my hoe up at the monstrous creature. Even now, it resolutely refuses to depart, until finally I hit its flank and force it to take to the sky. I turn and watch as it soars up past the roof, and then it stops next to the chimney and turns to watch us again. Evidently it's still not entirely ready to leave us alone.

“It must be insane!” Katie hisses, wiping the blood on the side of her dressing gown. “Maybe it's got, like, rabies or something!”

“I'm sure it's not that bad,” I reply, hurrying over to her. “Let me see.”

“No!” She pulls her arm away and turns her back to me. “I'll be fine.”

“You should see a doctor. It might be -”

“I'll see a doctor if it looks infected,” she replies. “Seriously, Mum, stop fussing. Don't you think I've been through enough examinations lately? I just have some cuts, that's all.”

“But the bird -”

“It's gone now, right?”

“I just want to look after you and -”

“It's a bit late for that!” she hisses.

I open my mouth to ask what she means, but I quickly realize she must be referring to the fact that I let her go to London. I desperately want to apologize, to tell her that I'll always keep her safe from now on, but somehow the words won't quite leave my lips. Instead, I look up at the roof and see that the crow is still watching us, although at least it seems to be keeping its distance.

“I think maybe we should go inside,” I mutter finally. “Katie, we've had enough excitement for one day, haven't we?”

“What the fuck is up with that thing?” she asks, clutching her wrist as I lead her inside. “I swear to God, I will
brain
that little bastard if I get the chance!”

“One mustn't get
too
carried away,” I tell her.

“I'm not getting carried away. I'm just telling you what I'll do if that bird tries it again. I'll be ready for it, and I'll grab its neck and twist its head until it falls off. And then I'll crush its skull and squeeze out its pathetic excuse for a brain.”

I can't help feeling that Katie seems much angrier than ever before, but again I simply have to assume that this is a result of her ordeal. Her language has become much harsher, too, although I doubt very much that she'd listen to me if I asked her to moderate her tone. Perhaps she simply has to get this anger out of her system, and perhaps she'll go back to normal at some point. Either that, or she might have been irrevocably changed, in which case I shall simply have to adapt to this new side of her.

Once we're inside, I turn and slide the door shut. As I do so, however, the crow swoops back down and attacks the glass. I step back, shocked, and watch as the frantic bird tries desperately to find a way inside. Finally it swoops across the garden and stops on top of the shed, where it perches and turns to watch the house.

“Fucking thing,” Katie mutters darkly, her eyes filled with pure hatred. “If it tries that again, I'll make it pay!”

***

Later, as I sit alone after dinner watching
Midsomer Murders
, I can't help worrying about Katie spending so much time up in her room. Every night since we came back to Shropley, she's retired early and locked herself away, and it's almost as if she doesn't want to spend time with me. I keep hoping that she'll agree to see a therapist, but so far she resolutely refuses to leave the house.

Muting the TV, I suddenly realize I can hear Katie talking in her room.

I wait a moment, before setting my wine glass down and getting to my feet. By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, I can tell that she's definitely talking to somebody up there, although I can't quite make out any of the words. I know I shouldn't snoop, but I decide to sneak up until I'm almost on the landing. I even remember to avoid the creaking step, three from the top, that might give away my presence.

“I don't know,” I hear Katie saying, and then she pauses for a few seconds. “I don't know. I could... No.”

Silence.

“I don't know. I don't know. I really think it was coming closer. I could feel him out there, but I couldn't make the connection. He was starting to notice me, though, I'm sure of it. I just need more time.”

She stops again.

“I think I have to go,” she adds suddenly. “I think someone can hear me. But I don't know. I just don't know. Later. Soon. Tell him that.”

A moment later, I hear the tell-tale beeping sound of the call being disconnected, followed by the rumble of her chair's wheels. Turning, I quickly make my way back down and over to the sofa, and I sit down just as Katie's door creaks open.

I wait.

Silence.

And then, slowly, her door bumps shut again.

I sit in silence for a few more minutes, just in case she starts talking again, but I think I heard her bed creaking a moment ago, which means she's probably retired for the night.

I un-mute the TV and try to focus on the episode, but I can't help wondering what Katie is doing up there. Still, I suppose I should try not to over-analyze her every move. The most important thing is that I have my daughter back, and now we can start to put this nightmare behind us.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Cemetery

“Look at it!” Father Curtis says as we stand in the cemetery. “Who would do such a thing? It's obscene!”

I can't help but agree. During the night, somebody evidently saw fit to come into the churchyard and dig up one of the graves. They made it all the way down to the rotten, collapsed coffin below, and then the lid was partially torn away. A section of tarpaulin has now been placed over the hole, while Father Curtis waits for someone to come and refill the hole, but the whole scene is rather ghastly and I can't even begin to imagine who might be responsible.

“Was anything...”

I pause for a moment, not really sure how I should phrase the question. After all, one doesn't like to be too direct, not when dealing with something so delicate.

“Was anything
taken
?” I ask finally. “I mean...”

My voice trails off.

“It's impossible to say,” he replies with a sigh. “This particular grave is over two hundred years old, so there really wasn't much left down there. The whole thing is quite horrifying, and I just can't understand what could motivate someone to go to all this effort.” He looks toward the old, moss-covered gravestone. “Here lies Jeremiah Cobham,” he reads out loud. “I mean, who
was
Jeremiah Cobham? I looked him up this morning, it seems he owned some land in the area, but that's no reason for somebody to desecrate his grave like this. I can only assume that the target was picked at random, and that this is some kind of sick prank.”

“And nothing like this has happened before?”

“Absolutely not. In all the time I've been here in Shropley, I honestly haven't encountered one problem. The village has always seemed so utterly peaceful. It's hard to believe that anyone from the town would even think of doing something so monstrous.”

“I suppose you must simply chalk it up to hi-jinks,” I suggest, “and hope that the miscreant doesn't strike again.”

“Maybe,” he mutters, “although...”

He hesitates for a moment.

“There
is
something else,” he adds finally. “I haven't mentioned it to anyone, since it's easier to keep hidden until it can be fixed, but I feel I must show it to at least one person. Would you care to come and see?”

“Of course,” I reply, even though I think I've seen quite enough shocking sights for one day.

“Get it filled in as quickly as possible,” Father Curtis tells the workman who passes us as we head to the church. “I want to say a few words at the grave once you're done. It just seems like the right thing to do. That poor Mr. Cobham should be allowed to rest in peace.”

I hurry to catch up to the priest as he leads me across the bumpy, undulating grass.

“You must be going through a very trying time yourself,” he says after a moment. “I must say, Winifred, that the relief was palpable all through the village when we heard that young Katie had been found safe and well. We were all talking about her while you were away, and sending your our best wishes. We prayed for Katie to be delivered, and I'm just so thankful that those prayers were answered. Obviously she went through a terrible ordeal, but everybody is thrilled that you have her back home with you. Now the healing process can begin.”

“Absolutely,” I reply, preferring not to mention any of the difficulties that Katie and I have experienced since she came home. “And I'm sure -

Stopping suddenly, I see that a symbol has been daubed on the church's door. Painted in some kind of red shade that looks suspiciously like blood, the symbol is a rather complex and arcane-looking set of circles and triangles, along with what appears to be gibberish text underneath. I open my mouth to ask Father Curtis what it all means, but a strange sense of familiarity is starting to rumble in my chest, and I can't shake the feeling that I've seen this exact same symbol once before.

Katie's apartment.

This symbol was on the wall.

“It's painted in blood,” Father Curtis says after a moment, sounding rather depressed by the whole situation. “Don't worry, though. It's not human.”

“How do you know?” I ask, turning to him.

“I think the poor donor is down there.”

I look at the floor, and I'm shocked to see a dead crow with its head torn almost fully from its body. The size of the bird certainly seems to fit with the crow that was harassing Katie last night.

“Now I'm no expert,” Father Curtis continues with a sigh, “but I can't help thinking that this is the work of some low-rent wannabe satanists. I mean, really, it's amazing what these people get up to at night while they're trying to entertain themselves.” He sighs again. “I've tried looking for the symbol online, but I haven't had any luck at all. It probably means something to someone, but I can't even begin to figure it all out. I suppose I shall just have to paint over it and hope that the miscreants have moved on. If this is the start of some kind of campaign, it's going to become very tiring very quickly.”

He picks up a pot of paint from the ground and moves it closer to the door, before carefully removing the lid.

“I suppose it was due a new coat anyway,” he mutters, “but really, this is a most inauspicious start to the day. I feel almost as if we're under siege.”

“Did anyone see the person who did all this?” I ask, still shocked by the sight of the symbol. After a moment, I turn and look across the cemetery, and I see that the disturbed grave is slowly being refilled. “Surely someone must have spotted something?”

“Not as far as I can tell. There's a CCTV camera at the front of the bank, but it's not quite pointing in the right direction. And you know what Shropley is like, Winifred. After darkness and before sunrise, there's nary a soul out, especially once the Star and Garter has kicked out at eleven. Short of putting up cameras or sitting out all night myself, I honestly don't see what more I can do. And I certainly don't want to turn the church and its cemetery into Fort Knox. The church must be a welcoming place and a house of worship, not a fortress.”

I watch for a moment as he starts painting over the symbol on the door. I want to believe that I'm wrong, that the symbol is nothing like the symbols in Katie's London apartment, or even that the similarity is only casual. At the same time, deep down I know that this is
exactly
the same symbol, and that there's no point trying to persuade myself otherwise.

“I have to go,” I stammer suddenly, turning and hurrying along the path.

“I hope to see you in church on Sunday!” he calls after me.

“Of course!”

“And bring Katie, if you can!”

“I'll try,” I mutter, although by the time I reach the pavement I can't help feeling a sense of panic. I pause for a moment, trying to resettle my thoughts, before suddenly hearing a familiar laugh nearby.

Turning, I'm shocked to see Katie standing outside the pub, chatting and joking with two other girls. I watch them for a moment, before Katie happens to glance this way and we briefly make eye contact. She doesn't seem particularly troubled that I've seen her, and she quickly turns back to her friends. For the first time since she returned from London, she looks like my carefree, happy girl again.

I take a deep breath, while reminding myself that it's healthy for her to finally be out of the house, and then I cross the road.

“It's all any of them could talk about for days after,” one of the other girls is explaining as I reach them. She has the palest skin I've ever seen, along with reddish shades around her sore-looking eyes. “The car had to be washed down and everything, and there were little pieces of -”

She stops suddenly as she turns to me, and it's evident that my arrival has caused her to clam up. She mumbles something under her breath, but she seems rather shy.

“I didn't know you were coming out this morning, Katie,” I say with a smile, hoping not to disturb them too much. “You should have -”

“I'm just talking to some friends,” Katie says dourly, and now her smile has entirely faded. “It's nothing.”

Glancing at the other girls, I'm struck by the realization that they both seem unfamiliar. Shropley isn't exactly some stereotypical insular little town, but at the same time it's the kind of place where everybody knows everybody else, and I'm quite sure I would have heard by now if some new arrivals had moved to the area. Besides, it must be over a year since a house was last sold here, and that was when the Maybuttles moved in, and as far as I'm aware the Maybuttles have no young female grandchildren. In which case...

“Are you from the area?” I ask the closest girl.

She stares at me, but she makes no effort to answer.

I turn to the other girl. “Are you here on holiday?”

Again, I receive no reply.

“I'm sure you'll like Shropley a great deal,” I continue, still hoping to get a little conversation started. “I know we can seem like a sleepy little place when you first come here, but that impression belies our strong sense of community. We have our way of life here, and it can be quite lively once you get used to it.”

“We should go,” the closest girl says suddenly, keeping her eyes fixed on me as she steps back. “We should probably get some sleep. Last night was pretty intense.”

“I'll come with you,” Katie replies eagerly.

“No, you should stay here.”

“But -”

“We'll see you tonight,” the second girl adds, placing a hand on her arm, as if to reassure her. “Don't worry, everything's cool.”

“You have a very nice little village here,” the first girls tells me, perhaps a little
too
politely. “It's calm and peaceful. I can see why you prefer it to London. I bet nothing ever happens here at all!”

Giggling, they turn and hurry away, leaving me standing alone with Katie. For a moment, I feel rather discombobulated, and I can't shake the feeling that those two girls were making fun of me.

“I didn't know you'd made new friends,” I tell her, trying to look on the bright side. “Are they new to the area, or are they just visiting?”

“Visiting,” she murmurs, watching as they walk away, before turning to me with a dour, unimpressed expression on her face. “It's not a big deal. I was just talking to them, that's all. I think I'll go back to bed now. There's not really anything else to do and -”

She pauses, almost as if she's in pain.

“Are you alright?” I ask. “If you -”

“I'm fine,” she says quickly, perhaps even a little defensively.

“I thought I heard you talking to someone,” I continue. “Last night, after you'd gone to bed.”

She shakes her head.

“I'm quite sure, darling,” I add, forcing a smile. “I heard your voice and it seemed as if you were calling someone on your computer. There's no reason not to, I was just wondering whether -”

“You're wrong,” she replies, turning and walking away, heading back toward our house. She's limping slightly, more than before, and she seems a little weak. “I'm tired. I'm going back to bed.”

I open my mouth to ask if she wants to join me for lunch in the local pub, but it's rather clear that she'd never agree to such a thing. In fact, as she heads off along the street I can't help thinking that she seems almost petulant. Katie never went through one of those rebellious phases when she was a teenager, and I was very grateful for that small mercy; now, at the age of twenty-one, she suddenly seems sullen and annoyed, which I can only put down to the fact that she's still trying to recover from her ordeal in Tim Ashford-Clarke's basement.

As I get back to the house, I see that the postman is just arriving. When I take the mail from him, I'm shocked to see that one of the letters is addressed to me from an inmate at Kentonville Prison.

***

“What do you think I should do?” I ask Milly as she sets the last of her fuchsia pots down in the greenhouse. “Should I tell someone? I didn't think he'd even be
allowed
to write to us. I thought there'd be some kind of rule preventing it. I suppose this one must have slipped through the net.”

“Bin it,” she replies, taking a pair of clippers in her trembling hands. “You shouldn't even have opened it. Even better, burn it.”

“I couldn't
not
read it,” I mutter, looking down at the letter. Tim's handwritten message is short and to-the-point, imploring me to believe him when he says that he's innocent. At the end of the missive, he asks me to visit him at the prison before his trial date, and he promises he can make me see the truth. “I don't think I can go,” I continue. “I just can't face him, not after everything he did to Katie.”

“Of course you can't. Leave him to rot.”

“But what do you think he wants?”

“Does it matter?” Her hands stop trembling for a moment as she snips the head off a dead bud, and then the shakiness returns. “It's not your problem anymore. The wheels of justice are turning and that rotten scoundrel will get what he deserves.”

I read the letter again, and I can't help thinking of Tim sitting in some jail cell, desperately trying to reach out to me. Deep down, I feel an instinctive burst of concern, as if some part of me still believes he might be innocent. That feeling is quite wrong, of course, and I must push it to the back of my mind. I must focus on the fact that everyone else – Katie, the police, the journalists writing in the national papers – seems absolutely certain of his guilt. I mustn't betray Katie by letting myself be swayed. Tim is a monster.