I grip the wall and go down the long dim corridor to the reddish glow at the end. The curtains are red in the boy’s room. I hate that colour and wanted to change it, but Dan said no. They’re perfectly good curtains, and why do we need to spend our money on things we don’t need?

  When I reach the door, I see flies hovering above the boy’s cot. And then, when I get close, a fly crawls over his left eye. I shoo it away, and when I look closer, I see it’s laid its filthy eggs in the crease between his eyelids.

  I take out a tissue to wipe it away, but his skin isn’t firm anymore, and the eyelid turns inside out horribly, making me squeamish. His eye underneath half-stares back at me through the slit.

  I see the cross above the door frame. The dark wood of Jesus on the cross tells me what I have to do.

  I didn’t take my medication this morning. And I haven’t taken it for a couple of weeks now. Dan doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand how bad it makes me feel, and now without it, my mind is crisp and clear, like a diamond. Dan texts me to say he has to go see the boss in Exeter, and he’ll be back late. My mind gets clearer as if it’s fate.

  I take the boy and wash him, then I find a clean sheet and wrap him carefully to keep him away from the filthy flies. I put the tiny bundle back in the cot and open the curtains and the windows to let his spirit free. Then I remember he was inside our bedroom when he died, so I go through there and open the windows too. A breeze flows in, and the room stops feeling stuffy and trapped.

  Go free, I say in a whisper, go free.

  I wait until the sun sets and the tall trees’ shadows are long. I take the boy in the bundle and wrap him in a beautiful blanket, which I can’t remember who I got it from. I strap it to my chest in the papoose and pack a spade in a backpack. I try not to notice it shifting across my shoulders as I walk up the yard. I go up to the forest at the top end of the land. The bit Dan told me will never be farmed.

  I don’t see anyone. At the top of the yard, I climb over the gate. All the way there, I tell him how much I love him and how sorry I am, but there’s something about how he feels strapped to my chest. He’s gone, and what’s left is just a husk, a shell.

  I look up and see the most beautiful setting sun, low and golden, and I think about how I let him out of the window, and I know that he flew up to the sky towards the sun, and he’s trapped in that golden piece of the horizon between the sky and the ground.

  The woods are cool and quiet, and it’s almost dark in there. I know the spot I want. The boulders next to the tree with the ear in its trunk. I manage to shift one of the boulders, the smallest one. It takes all my might, and at one point, I feel a muscle snap in my side, but I carry on. I dig a deep hole, clearing away the pine needles and weeds and chopping through roots.

  I stand back, sweaty and out of breath. And just then, a ray of the setting sun comes like a laser through the trees, and I feel it hot on my skin, dazzling my eyes.

  It’s a sign. It’s the boy, still trapped between the horizon and the ground. I put his husk deep in the hole, say a short prayer, and then start filling the soil back in.

  It takes me longer than I think, and by the time I’ve got it all packed down and the surrounding brush and scrub clear of the wet soil, it’s dark.

  I roll the boulder back over the hole, brush it with my hands, and then it’s done. I hope he’s free now and no longer trapped between the sky and the setting sun.

  I come back to the farmhouse, sit here, write this, and then it’s darkness. Darkness and nothing. I need to find a way for the boy to forgive me.

  * * *

  THE END

  38

  Kate sat for a long time after she finished reading. Was this short story a strange coincidence? How many trees had the shape of an ear growing in the centre of the trunk? She reread it. It was haunting and real. Did Maureen write this?

  Kate bought the ebook version of the anthology, and read through the rest of the short stories. They all dealt with different themes; comedy, drama, romance and even sci-fi, but none of them came close to being so good. This short story stuck out in the anthology and made the rest of the stories seem phoney and amateurish. Maureen captured the raw emotion and fear of a woman with psychological problems who’d had this terrible life-changing experience.

  A link in the back of the ebook version said the anthology had been typeset by a company called Abble Graphics, based in Exeter. Kate tried to call Maureen, but her phone number went to voicemail. She debated leaving a message but then hung up. She needed to think.

  She called Tristan, and when he answered, she could hear Leo screaming in the background.

  ‘Is this a bad time?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘No. It’s perfect timing, hang on,’ said Tristan. She heard him leave the flat and walk out onto the promenade. ‘Leo screams and screams and screams. I think Sarah came close to shoving a pillow over his face today... And if I complain about him again, I think she’ll shove a pillow over my face…’ He then picked up on Kate’s silence. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Something peculiar just happened,’ she said. Kate told him about the contents of Maureen’s short story, and the description of the child being buried by the tree with the shape of the ear growing in the bark.

  ‘That’s the description of the wood at Danvers Farm,’ said Tristan, his voice shaking.

  ‘I know. I just tried to call Maureen, but she’s not answering. I need you to read the story.’

  ‘Hang on. I’ll grab my Kindle and download a copy and read it. I’ll call you back.’

  ‘Okay, call me as soon as you’ve read it,’ said Kate. She hung up, went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of iced tea, and came out of the back door. It was now past 9pm, all was quiet, and the campsite shop was closed. Kate took her phone and her drink and walked down the cliff to a spot in the sand dunes where there were two ancient rusting deckchairs. She dusted the sand off one and sat down. Far down the beach, there was a group of people around a fire they’d lit on the sand. Kate felt cocooned in the dunes. She used to come down here with Myra, and even though her friend had died a few years ago, she hadn’t moved the other chair.

  Tristan rang back a few minutes later.

  ‘I read it. Jesus. It made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck,’ he said. ‘And the description is exactly where we were today; the tree, the three boulders. The shape of the ear growing out of the trunk.’

  ‘But what do you think Maureen has to do with it?’ asked Kate.

  ‘I don’t know. Does she have a connection to the farm? Has she been there?’

  Kate hesitated.

  ‘It’s very good for a short story. It’s the work of someone who can write. Do you believe that Maureen wrote it?’ There was a long pause on the end of the phone.

  ‘I don’t know. We only met her for a couple of hours. What if it’s real? I mean, autobiographical?’

  ‘Do you think she had a child, rolled on it in her sleep, and then buried it in the woods?’ asked Kate. ‘I don’t think that fits in with her life, organising local fetes and holidaying on cruise ships.’

  ‘It’s often the ones like her who judge everyone else and then have the dark secrets,’ said Tristan.

  ‘Good point. Maureen had a lot to say about bad mothers and bastard babies. That could be her deflecting her own experience. The guilt and shame. If she did write it, how did Danvers Farm become her inspiration?’

  ‘What if she grew up on that farm, and it’s based on the experience of her own mother?’ said Tristan. ‘She could be telling her mother’s story or another woman’s story.’

  Kate looked down at the sand and scrunched it between her toes.

  ‘We’ve been banging our heads against the wall with this case. There seems to be nothing to go on, and then this happens. It’s such a weird coincidence,’ Kate said.

  ‘Charlie was abducted. This is a short story about a boy who was buried. Where is the coincidence?’

  ‘I meant the co-incidence that we meet Maureen, visit the farm, and then read this short story all in a matter of a day. Even if it’s not to do with Charlie, it’s weird. Although, I feel like we’re so close to something that could link to Charlie.’

  ‘Okay. But what can we do about it?’

  She hesitated.

  ‘I’m just going to say this out loud—’

  ‘—you want to go back there and dig?’ said Tristan.

  ‘No —’

  ‘— Good,’ he said, sounding relieved.

  ‘I meant no, not exactly.’

  ‘You think there’s a real body buried there?’

  ‘Didn’t you say that guy, Lewis, was talking about methane probes and how he worked with forensics when he was in the police?’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘What if… What if we could borrow equipment to detect a body?’

  There was a long silence on the end of the phone, and the wind caught Kate’s hair, blowing it across her face.

  ‘Shouldn’t we contact the police?’ said Tristan.

  ‘And say what? We’ve read a short story about a child being buried, which features in a real place and based on that alone, we think you should mobilise a search team and obtain warrants to search the property?’

  ‘When you put it like that—’

  ‘We’re still waiting to hear back from Bernard Crenshaw about gaining access to the Anna Treadwell crime scene artefacts. Think how I had to persuade him of our credibility. If we go to the police with this, we’ll be laughed out the door, and we’d never be able to ask them for anything again.’

  Kate could feel her frustration mounting.

  ‘Which is precisely why we should think about this for a moment. We should talk to Maureen,’ said Tristan.

  ‘She’s said she was leaving for Southampton tonight, for her cruise. Do you think she’s going to tell me over the phone that yes, the story is real, and yes she buried the body of a dead child?’

  ‘What if we go back to Danvers Farm and asked for access to the wood?’

  ‘And what if they say no? If they have anything to do with this, they would be alerted to it...’ Kate sighed. ‘I know I sound crazy, but you must admit there’s something here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lewis told you that when they searched Danvers Farm a couple of days after Charlie went missing, the old tenants were acting weird, particularly the wife. He also said their “good” car was beaten up and muddy, as if it had been driven on rough ground. Lewis said that, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tristan, still sounding unsure.

  ‘And this is the nearest house to Devil’s Way. Where Charlie—’

  ‘—went missing, yes.’

  Kate felt her frustration bubbling over.

  ‘Why aren’t you with me on this, Tris? Where is your curiosity?’

  ‘I am with you, always. But what we have here is a short story, just that.’

  ‘No. What we have is a lot of questions. What if there is a body buried there? And Maureen knows about it, and she wrote this short story? What if there are other bodies buried on that farmland? We’ve been investigating Charlie’s disappearance for a couple of weeks now, and we have nothing. This could be something.’

  ‘You think if there’s a kid buried there, that it’s Charlie? The woman in the story accidentally killed her child. Charlie was three when he vanished.’

  ‘Tristan,’ said Kate, feeling exasperated.

  ‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’ said Tristan.

  ‘No! I spent years in the force, having to follow the rules, and look where it got me… I’ve worked hard to build up this agency, and now we’re in a position to do what we want. What if us taking this risk leads to a huge breakthrough?’

  ‘It would be trespassing.’

  ‘And?’

  Tristan was silent again on the end of the phone. Kate heard a yell on the beach and saw that a wave had rolled in and extinguished the fire. The young kids around it shrieked with laughter, and she could see the steam rising into the moonlight. ‘Tris. I understand how you feel. I’m not asking you to do anything I wouldn’t do myself. I’m sorry if I’ve been pushy. Let’s sleep on it and talk about it again tomorrow morning.’

  Tristan didn’t sound too enthusiastic when they ended the call, but Kate felt nervous excitement when she came off the phone. There was something about the experiences she’d had over the past couple of weeks that had renewed the rebel inside her.

  As long as it didn’t hurt anyone, she relished the thought of breaking the rules.

  39

  Kate woke from a night of disturbed sleep and went for her swim. When she came back up the cliff from the beach, she heard a car door slamming out front. A van was parked in the driveway with “DB Gas and Plumbing” written on the side.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked Kate, wrapping herself in the towel. When she came around to the back of the van, she saw Tristan with a tall, gangly guy with long black hair, wearing cut-off denim shorts and a faded Pink Floyd T-shirt.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. Hi, Tris,’ she said.

  ‘Kate, this is Lewis Tate,’ he said. Lewis held out his hand, and they shook.

  ‘Nice to meet you. What’s this all about?’ she asked as Lewis opened the van’s back doors, and Tristan helped him lift down a small box on wheels with a handle.

  ‘I’m here to help with your plumbing emergency,’ said Lewis. He slipped an elastic band off his wrist and tied his long hair back.

  ‘Do we have a plumbing emergency?’

  ‘That’s what Tristan told me. He said you want to put in a jacuzzi for your campsite guests, but you need to check there’s nothing important buried where you want to dig,’ he said, giving her a wink. Kate looked at Tristan.

  ‘I called him last night after we spoke,’ said Tristan.

  ‘And you told him about the—’

  ‘Hey, hey, hey,’ said Lewis. He put up his hand and glanced behind him. The nearest person was twenty metres away, an older man at the bottom of the campsite hill, walking to the toilet block with a towel over his shoulder. ‘All I need to know is that you asked to borrow this GPR unit to check for pipes in the ground where you want to put in your jacuzzi.’

  ‘Right,’ said Kate, catching on. ‘Are you a plumber?’

  ‘No. My mate is, and he’s on holiday. So this gear is available to hire.’

  ‘And can you come with us when we need to do the scan?’ asked Kate.

  ‘’Fraid not,’ Lewis said. ‘I’m here to demonstrate how you use it.’

  ‘I thought we’d use the dunes on the other side of the house,’ said Tristan.

  ‘Sweet,’ said Lewis. He got up into the van and retrieved a backpack. Tristan took Kate to one side.

  ‘Listen. You were right last night. We need to take risks. Lewis was keen to help.’

  ‘And Lewis is charging a fee of four hundred quid, and he needs the gear back tomorrow morning,’ said Lewis, closing the van’s doors. Tristan looked at Kate and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Tomorrow morning. That means we need to investigate our… Jacuzzi placement tonight?’ she said, slightly panicked at the thought.

  ‘You can have it for another day, but that will cost another four hundred quid,’ said Lewis. ‘Plus petrol to Plymouth and back.’

  Kate looked at the gear and tried to conjure back the feelings of confidence she had the previous evening.

  ‘No. That’s okay. Let me make us some tea, and you can show us how it all works.’

  They set up on the other side of the house, in the middle of the dunes. Lewis was very twitchy about Kate and Tristan discussing what they wanted to do, and he insisted on talking about using the ground penetrating radar to check for plumbing. He set to work with a spade and quickly dug two holes, spaced a few metres apart.

  ‘Can I ask you something about the Devil’s Way?’ said Kate. Lewis looked up from digging.

  ‘Yes?’ he replied cautiously.

  ‘It’s about the river near the gorge. There used to be a small wooden footbridge there?’

  Lewis stopped digging for a moment and leant on his spade, he pursed his lips and thought for a moment. He wiped his forehead.

  ‘Jeez. Yeah, there was a bridge,’ he said.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention this when we met before?’ asked Tristan.

  ‘I’d forgotten… Yeah. The footbridge. The water was very high. It was splashing over the walkway, making the wood wet… It’s the booze,’ he added in a mournful voice. ‘It makes things… Patchy in my head.’

  ‘You said that the scent dogs tracked Charlie’s scent but it stopped at the river?’ said Kate.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Is it possible that Charlie crossed the bridge, but because of the water level and the water running over it, the dogs weren’t able to detect him crossing?’

  Lewis dragged the spade through a pile of sand and blew out his cheeks.

  ‘It’s possible, but the dogs are usually able to detect the slightest scent.’

  ‘But there’s a chance the water running over the bridge could have thrown the dogs off?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Lewis. He was squinting and looked like he was struggling to remember.

  ‘Did the dogs pick up his scent on the other side of the river?’

  Lewis had to think about this.

  ‘No. I don’t think so. All I remember is that the dogs stopped at the edge of the river,’ he said. Kate looked at Tristan and he raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Okay. Thank you,’ she said. Lewis stared to dig again, and there was an awkward silence.

  When the holes were finished, one had a depth of one metre, and the other, two metres. Lewis produced an iPad and two objects from his backpack: a length of copper piping and a Tiny Tears doll wrapped in a blanket. He buried them both, and Kate helped fill the holes. When it was all smoothed over, Lewis set up the radar.

  Kate went over to the box on wheels. It was small but heavy. Lewis showed them how to switch the unit on, which was connected to an app on the iPad.