can look after myself.'
I didn't doubt it. But beneath the defiance I could see she'd been unnerved.
'I'll give you a lift,' I said.
When I got home I sat outside at the table in the back garden. The night was warm, without a breath of wind. I put my head back and stared up at the stars. The moon was approaching full, an asymmetrical, haloed white disc. I tried to appreciate its dappled contours, but my eyes were drawn lower until I was looking at the shadowed wood across the field. Normally it was a view I enjoyed, even at night. But now I felt uneasy as I looked at the impenetrable mass of trees.
I went into the house, poured myself a small whisky, and took it back outside. It was after midnight and I knew I'd be up early. But I grasped any excuse to put off sleep. Besides, for once I had too much to think about to be tired. I'd walked with Jenny to the small cottage she rented with another young woman. We hadn't bothered with my car after all. It was a warm, clear night, and she only lived a few hundred yards away. As we walked she'd told me a little about her job, and the children she taught. Only once had she spoken about her past life, mentioning working at a school in Norwich. But she'd quickly brushed past it, burying the lapse in a flurry of words. I'd pretended not to notice. Whatever it was she was avoiding, it was none of my business.
As we walked up the narrow lane towards her house a fox suddenly cried out nearby. Jenny grabbed my arm.
'Sorry,' she said, quickly letting go as if burned. She gave an embarrassed laugh. 'You'd think I'd be used to living out here by now.'
There'd been an awkwardness between us after that. When we reached her house she stopped by the gate.
'Well. Thanks.'
'No problem.'
With a last smile she'd hurried inside. I'd waited until I heard the snick of the lock before turning away. All the way back through the dark village I could feel the pressure of her hand on my bare arm.
I could still feel it now. I sipped my drink, wincing at the memory of how flustered I'd become just because a young woman had accidentally touched me. No wonder she'd gone quiet.
I finished the whisky and went inside. There was something else pricking my subconscious, a nagging sense of something I had to do. I thought for a moment before I remembered. Scott Brenner. I wasn't confident his brother would let him tell the police about the wire snare. It might be nothing, but Mackenzie needed to know about it. I found his card and dialled his mobile. It was almost one o'clock, but I could leave a voicemail message for him to get first thing.
He answered straight away. 'Yeah?'
'It's David Hunter,' I said, caught off-guard. 'Sorry, I know it's late. I just wanted to make sure Scott Brenner had got in touch.'
I could hear his irritation and fatigue in the pause. 'Scott who?'
I told him what had happened. When he spoke, the tiredness had gone. 'Where was this?'
'Near an old windmill a mile or so south of the village. You think it might be connected?'
There was a sound it took me a moment to identify -- the rasp of his whiskers as he rubbed his face.
'Ah, what the hell. We're going to have to go public with this tomorrow anyway,' he said. 'Two of my officers were injured tonight. One got caught by a wire snare, the other stepped in a hole someone had stuck a sharpened stick in.'
There was no mistaking the anger in his voice.
'So I think we've got to assume that whoever took Lyn Metcalf expected us to come looking for him.'
There was no shock of transition from the dream that night. I simply found myself awake, eyes open and staring at the spill of moonlight falling through the window. For once I was still in bed, my nocturnal wandering this time confined to the dream. But the memory of it remained with me, as vivid as if I'd just walked from one room into another.
It was always in the same setting. A house I'd never seen in my waking life, a place I knew didn't exist but that
I didn't doubt it. But beneath the defiance I could see she'd been unnerved.
'I'll give you a lift,' I said.
When I got home I sat outside at the table in the back garden. The night was warm, without a breath of wind. I put my head back and stared up at the stars. The moon was approaching full, an asymmetrical, haloed white disc. I tried to appreciate its dappled contours, but my eyes were drawn lower until I was looking at the shadowed wood across the field. Normally it was a view I enjoyed, even at night. But now I felt uneasy as I looked at the impenetrable mass of trees.
I went into the house, poured myself a small whisky, and took it back outside. It was after midnight and I knew I'd be up early. But I grasped any excuse to put off sleep. Besides, for once I had too much to think about to be tired. I'd walked with Jenny to the small cottage she rented with another young woman. We hadn't bothered with my car after all. It was a warm, clear night, and she only lived a few hundred yards away. As we walked she'd told me a little about her job, and the children she taught. Only once had she spoken about her past life, mentioning working at a school in Norwich. But she'd quickly brushed past it, burying the lapse in a flurry of words. I'd pretended not to notice. Whatever it was she was avoiding, it was none of my business.
As we walked up the narrow lane towards her house a fox suddenly cried out nearby. Jenny grabbed my arm.
'Sorry,' she said, quickly letting go as if burned. She gave an embarrassed laugh. 'You'd think I'd be used to living out here by now.'
There'd been an awkwardness between us after that. When we reached her house she stopped by the gate.
'Well. Thanks.'
'No problem.'
With a last smile she'd hurried inside. I'd waited until I heard the snick of the lock before turning away. All the way back through the dark village I could feel the pressure of her hand on my bare arm.
I could still feel it now. I sipped my drink, wincing at the memory of how flustered I'd become just because a young woman had accidentally touched me. No wonder she'd gone quiet.
I finished the whisky and went inside. There was something else pricking my subconscious, a nagging sense of something I had to do. I thought for a moment before I remembered. Scott Brenner. I wasn't confident his brother would let him tell the police about the wire snare. It might be nothing, but Mackenzie needed to know about it. I found his card and dialled his mobile. It was almost one o'clock, but I could leave a voicemail message for him to get first thing.
He answered straight away. 'Yeah?'
'It's David Hunter,' I said, caught off-guard. 'Sorry, I know it's late. I just wanted to make sure Scott Brenner had got in touch.'
I could hear his irritation and fatigue in the pause. 'Scott who?'
I told him what had happened. When he spoke, the tiredness had gone. 'Where was this?'
'Near an old windmill a mile or so south of the village. You think it might be connected?'
There was a sound it took me a moment to identify -- the rasp of his whiskers as he rubbed his face.
'Ah, what the hell. We're going to have to go public with this tomorrow anyway,' he said. 'Two of my officers were injured tonight. One got caught by a wire snare, the other stepped in a hole someone had stuck a sharpened stick in.'
There was no mistaking the anger in his voice.
'So I think we've got to assume that whoever took Lyn Metcalf expected us to come looking for him.'
There was no shock of transition from the dream that night. I simply found myself awake, eyes open and staring at the spill of moonlight falling through the window. For once I was still in bed, my nocturnal wandering this time confined to the dream. But the memory of it remained with me, as vivid as if I'd just walked from one room into another.
It was always in the same setting. A house I'd never seen in my waking life, a place I knew didn't exist but that
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