Wrong Time, Wrong Place (6 page)

As she slowly sat up, Ash felt a rush of
sickness that immediately set off a bout of shivering. She was in a bad way. But at least she was alive. Somehow, against all the odds, she’d made it. And somehow they hadn’t found her, even though she must have been unconscious for hours.

Ash got to her feet, cold and sick but determined not to break down and cry over what had happened to Nick. Which was when she remembered that she’d killed one of them herself.
Killed him
. It was hard to accept that she, Ash, a primary school teacher by trade who hadn’t had a fight since she was thirteen years old (with Chloe Baxter about a boy in the dinner queue), had beaten a man so badly that his brains had come out. Jesus. It made her want to throw up.

Pulling a thick knot of matted hair out of her eyes, she staggered through the trees. How on earth was she ever going to explain what had happened the previous night to anyone? She still wasn’t sure why she, Nick and the others had been targeted. But at least now that it was daytime, she felt less scared. There was something about the sunshine that lifted her spirits.

The woods were empty and filled with the sound of birdsong. It was a real contrast to the previous night. No baying of hounds, or screams
of dying friends. She thought about Tracy then. Poor, frightened Tracy caught in a metal trap and left to die alone.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Ash told herself. ‘You did what you had to do.’

Even so, it didn’t make her feel any better.

The forest began to thin out, and the sunshine became brighter ahead. Ash sped up, telling herself that soon she’d be able to rest, that it wouldn’t be much longer before she found someone. Just one more big effort and this would all be over.

Suddenly the trees parted in front of her and she was standing on a narrow pot-holed road. On the other side was an overgrown field that stretched up towards another pine-covered hill.

She looked down, never so pleased to see tarmac in her life. It was a sign, however minor, of life – something she felt she’d left behind. It filled her with a renewed sense of hope.

She looked left and saw a stone cottage on the corner thirty metres away. Smoke rose from its chimney, and a battered old Land Rover sat on its dirt driveway.

A new emotion mixed with the hope, one she’d become used to in the last twelve hours. Fear. This could be where the men hunting her lived. They had to live somewhere, and it was
likely to be close by. Had the girl, the one who’d caused them so much trouble, escaped from here? If she had, it would explain why they’d been so keen to silence Ash and the others, to prevent them from reporting what they’d seen to the police and leading them back here.

She took a deep breath, trying to work out what to do. The problem was she had no idea where she was. She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her mobile, hoping for a reception, but it wouldn’t even turn on. The water had ruined it.

Standing in the road shivering, Ash felt utterly drained of energy. It could be miles to the next house, and she wasn’t at all sure how much longer she could keep going. She was sick. She was being hunted down. She needed help.

The front door to the cottage opened. Ash instinctively jumped out of sight behind a tree.

A well-built older lady with her silver hair in a bun stepped outside. She had a basket in her hands and was wearing a navy dress and an old-fashioned white pinafore. Even from a distance, Ash could see she had a kindly, round face.

But Ash had had her world torn apart these past few hours and the experience had made her very careful. The old lady hadn’t seen her so
Ash waited and watched as she walked round the side of the cottage and passed out of sight, singing softly to herself as she went.

Keeping inside the treeline, Ash crept towards the cottage, stopping when she saw the old lady bent over, feeding half a dozen chickens in a coop. She was cooing at them in a lilting Scottish accent as she threw the feed, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The sight of her made Ash’s eyes fill with tears.

Slowly, awkwardly, she stepped out from the trees. ‘Excuse me …’

The old lady jumped, then turned her way, putting a hand to her mouth, her bright blue eyes widening. ‘Gosh, my love. You scared me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Ash took another unsteady step forward, trying to stop herself from breaking down. ‘I’ve been hurt.’ The tears were streaming down her face now.

The old lady opened her two beefy arms and Ash fell into them, sobbing into her shoulder, breathing in comforting smells of lavender and baking.

‘There there, my love,’ the old lady whispered into her ear, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘You’re going to catch a death of cold out here. Let’s get you inside, into the warm.’

The old lady put down her basket, ignoring
the frantic clucking of the chickens, and led Ash into the cottage through a side door. Ash found herself in a surprisingly spacious, if tired-looking, kitchen.

‘You sit down there, young lady,’ she said, pointing at a wooden table with stools in one corner, ‘and I’ll get you a blanket.’

Ash leaned back against the stone wall, wrapping her arms round herself in an effort to stay warm. The kitchen was cluttered with pots and pans, cooking utensils and dog-eared recipe books, and there was a faint damp smell that was mixed with the smell of fresh bread. A tray containing a newly baked loaf sat on the ancient cooker. On the opposite wall, an equally old picture of the Cheshire Cat from
Alice in Wonderland
grinned at her. Ash even managed a small grin in return. For the first time since this nightmare had begun, she found herself able to relax.

‘What happened to you, my love?’ asked the old lady, returning with a thick spotted blanket.

Ash saw no reason not to tell her the truth. Wrapping herself in the blanket, she gave her a brief description of the previous night’s events, starting from when they’d run into the girl. She kept the drama down to a minimum but told
her that her husband and two friends had been killed.

The old lady looked shocked, which was no great surprise, and put a hand to her mouth. ‘And this all happened round here, you say? Here in these woods?’

Ash nodded numbly. ‘Yes.’

‘I’ve lived here all my life, my love, and I’ve never heard of anything like this. I don’t understand where this naked girl could have come from. There’s nothing here but national park and the shooting estate over near Wood End, but that’s owned by one of those banker types in London you never see. It all seems very strange. Men chasing this girl, then chasing you and your friends, trying to kill you. Whatever happened to the girl?’

‘I don’t know.’

The old lady was right. The whole thing was strange, like something out of a cheap horror film. For a moment, Ash wondered if she actually was going mad. But then she pulled herself together. It
had
happened. All of it. Just as she remembered.

‘I’m not lying, Mrs …’

‘Dora. Call me Dora.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not saying you are, my love. I can see you’ve had a terrible time of it.’

‘I need to call the police. My phone’s broken. Do you have a phone here?’

‘Course I do,’ said Dora with a laugh. ‘We might live out in the sticks, but we’re not in the nineteenth century.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Ash, wrapping herself even tighter in the blanket.

Dora put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘I know you didn’t, my love. Now you wait here while I call the police. Then I’ll come back and make you something to eat.’

Ash nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Dora left the room for a second time and Ash got to her feet, the effort making her wince. She could tell the old lady didn’t believe her story, but she wasn’t surprised. It was not an easy one to believe. Three murders, possibly four, as well as at least two killers, all in the same quiet forest in the middle of nowhere. Ash wouldn’t have believed it either. She’d think the person telling the story was high on some particularly intense drugs. But in the end it didn’t matter as long as she called the police. Then they could deal with it.

She could hear Dora’s voice in the next room talking on the phone and she walked slowly over to the door. As Ash stepped into the living room, Dora put the phone down and turned
round. ‘They’re on their way, my love, but they won’t be here for a good twenty minutes. We’re a long way from the station here.’ She wiped her hands on her pinafore. ‘Let me make you some hot breakfast.’

The thought of food made Ash feel sick. ‘It’s all right, Dora,’ she said with a weak smile, ‘I’m really not hungry.’

‘But you must eat something.’

‘Please, can I just have a cup of tea?’

Dora tried not to look disappointed. ‘As you wish, my love. I’ll get the kettle on.’

‘Do you have a toilet I could use?’

‘We certainly do, my love. It’s even an inside one.’ She winked and grinned playfully at Ash as she pointed to a door beside the staircase.

‘I really appreciate this,’ Ash told her. She thought about asking for a shower too but decided against it since she’d only have to get back into her wet clothes afterwards.

‘It’s the least I can do,’ said Dora, shuffling past her into the kitchen.

Something was wrong. Ash had no idea what it was but it was worrying her. Was Dora hiding something? Or was Ash just imagining it? Had the events of the previous night made her so paranoid that she was now suspicious of everything, including even a friendly old lady?

A friendly old lady who lived out in the woods near to where a mass murder had been committed, but who seemed unconcerned by what had happened
.

Ash locked the toilet door behind her and took a deep breath, telling herself to calm down. A mirror in dire need of a clean hung on the bare wall just above the sink. Ash wanted to weep when she saw herself in it. She looked exactly like she felt. Her face was puffy and bruised beneath smears of encrusted dirt, and there were scratches all across her cheeks and forehead. One eye was swollen and black, and her thick auburn hair, usually one of her best features, looked like it belonged on a scarecrow. But it was the haunted expression in her eyes that affected her the most. For a good ten seconds she stared at her reflection, finding it difficult to accept it.

Yet when she’d suddenly stepped out of nowhere in Dora’s garden, rather than run a mile the old lady had been kind enough to take her in. Ash was suddenly ashamed for suspecting Dora of meaning her harm.

That was until she turned and saw something on the floor, poking out from just behind the toilet, and her hand went to her mouth to stifle the gasp.

11

ASH BENT DOWN
, carefully picked up the heavily bloodstained ball of tissue, and touched it. The blood was dry, but from its colour she could tell it wasn’t very old.

She slipped the tissue back behind the toilet, and her hand brushed against something else. It felt like a picture frame. She pulled it out and stared at the faded photograph behind the glass.

It had been taken outside the front of the cottage. Dora was standing in the centre, wearing a bright floral dress and a big smile. She looked a good ten years younger. Flanking her were two unsmiling teenage boys with pale faces and red hair, one three or four years older than the other. It was obvious from their red hair and freckled faces that they were brothers.

It was also obvious that the younger of the two was the man she’d killed the previous night.

Ash swallowed, squinting at the photo. It might have been taken a long time back, and
Ash might have been sick and exhausted, but she was absolutely sure it was him. It wasn’t the kind of face she was ever going to forget.

She put the photo back where she’d found it and stood up, no longer able to think about going to the toilet. She had to get out of there. The man she’d killed was Dora’s son and she’d bet her life that the second man hunting them, the one who’d shot at her in the woods, was the other son. Did they live here? It would explain the bloody tissue. It might also explain the fact that the photo was shoved behind the toilet rather than hanging on the wall where it could be seen. The other son would have known that Ash had seen his brother’s face, so would want any evidence of his identity hidden just in case she, Ash, showed up.

Which almost certainly meant that Dora was a part of this too.

But why would an elderly woman be involved in murder, not to mention the possible kidnapping and rape of young foreign women? That’s what Ash simply couldn’t understand.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she got out of there, and fast.

After flushing the toilet, she slowly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She
could hear Dora singing to herself in soft, lilting tones in the kitchen. It set Ash’s teeth on edge, because the sound seemed so wrong coming from a woman who’d given birth to the two psychopaths who’d hunted her and her friends down. She looked over at the phone in the corner of the living room, wondering who it was Dora had been phoning. She was sure now that it hadn’t been the police.

Heart hammering in her chest, Ash crept over and picked up the phone, glancing over her shoulder to check that Dora was still busy before pressing the redial button.

The call went straight to a recorded message for a mobile phone.

Not the police.

Ash took a deep breath, put down the phone, and started towards the front door. As soon as she was outside she’d make a break for it, head back into the forest, try to find another house somewhere. There had to be someone round here who wasn’t involved in whatever the hell was going on.

She tried to turn the handle but it didn’t move. The door was locked and there was no sign of a key.

‘What’s wrong, my love? Where are you going? I’ve got your tea here.’

Ash turned round far too quickly, like a naughty schoolkid who’s been caught doing something wrong. She tried to look as casual as possible. ‘I was just going outside for some fresh air. I don’t feel too good.’

‘Sorry, I always keep that door double-locked.’

No, you don’t. I saw you walk out of it ten minutes ago
.