The Wood

Two

Andy Dark and his companions had abandoned their badger-watching project shortly after midnight. The creatures were reluctant to venture far from their sett on this wet, windy night. A couple had emerged, dispiritedly gone back inside again. A further wait of twenty minutes but no more had appeared

'We're wasting our time,' Andy had said. They'll probably come out to feed at intervals throughout the night but no way are we going to get anything worth filming.'

Try again tomorrow then?' The tall man in the full-length thorn proof coat was obviously reluctant to abandon the foray. 'If we keep on trying each night, surely by the law of averages we're going to get something worthwhile sooner or later.'

'You're welcome to come back tomorrow.' Andy Dark's reply was abrupt. 'I'm booked up every evening for the rest of the week, but I'm happy for you lot to keep on trying. On your own.'

He was tense, uneasy. Angry, too. Carol had had enough of these nocturnal vigils and he couldn't really blame her. A conservancy officer was at the beck and call of not just the public but virtually every organisation connected with wildlife and the environment. They wanted to see something so you had to go and show them. If it wasn't a success you kept on trying like Robert the Bruce's spider. You weren't expected to have any private life. You were everybody's twenty-four-hour-a-day servant.

'We'd prefer to stop on for a bit longer,' the other ' said. 'It seems a shame to throw the towel in just like that.'

'All right.' Andy nodded, sighed. 'We'll give it another hour then.'

In actual fact they had stayed another three hours. On a couple of occasions they had glimpsed a rather dejected badger coming out to feed and returning shortly afterwards, but as a cine-spectacular the night's operation had to be regarded as a failure.

It was 3.45 a.m. when Andy Dark parked the Land Rover in front of his small bungalow. Even as he switched off the engine he was aware of a telephone ringing somewhere, a muffled jangling, but you got the feeling that the caller was impatient, insistent, wouldn't ring off until you answered. At this time in the morning it had to be something pretty urgent. Andy struggled to turn the key in the Yale lock. Damn it, he had been meaning to oil it for weeks, now having to use brute strength until it clicked open. The phone on the hall table shrieked at him, screamed its urgency. A sudden sense of foreboding had him holding back, not wanting to answer it because you only got bad news at this hour. Like that night the hospital phoned him to tell him that his father had died. For months afterwards the echo of that call had plagued him in his sleep. Now he heard it again. It required a sudden physical effort to lift the receiver, hold it to his ear. A half-whisper: 'Hallo'. No longer was it 'Andy Dark. Chief Conservation Officer'. Because I don't want to know.

'Andy?' A worried voice which he recognised instantly as belonging to Bill Embleton, Carol's father.

'Yes. What's the matter, Bill?'

'Where's Carol?' If you've got her there with you you're a dirty lecherous bastard but I hope you have because then she'll be safe at least.

'Carol? I haven't seen her tonight. ' Andy Dark's voice tailed off and his whole stomach seemed to compress into a tight ball. A feeling that he might throw up. 'I've been out. filming badgers. haven't seen Carol. '

Both men were suddenly silenced by their own fears, a terror which they knew they must share, couldn't bring themselves to put into words, a fleeting futile hope that it would go away.

'I'll be right round,' Andy snapped, slammed the phone down and ran back out to the Land Rover. Trembling, fumbling, grating the gears. Oh Jesus Christ, please, she'll be all right. My fault, those fucking idiots demanding to film badgers. should have told 'em to fuck off or else left 'em to it. Driving recklessly, swaying on the bends, the droplets of rain reflecting the headlights, showering water up on all sides. Alongside Droy Wood, a Mini parked on that lay-by. It didn't register with him, didn't mean anything. Right now he wasn't interested in anybody else.

On through the deserted village street, houses that might have been empty, everybody gone away. Nobody lived in Droy any more, it was a place of the dead. Eerie. Braking, swinging into the small gravelled drive of a long narrow black-and-white timbered cottage, the downstairs windows lit up. Bill Embleton was waiting at the door, tall and grey-haired, scarlet braces holding up ill-fitting grey slacks, his features lined with anxiety.

'She. hasn't come home.' His voice was cracked, a pathetic whisper.

'Where in God's name can she have got to?'

'Don't let's start panicking yet.' Andy pushed past him, nodded to Joan Embleton who appeared at the top of the stairs. 'There's a dozen and one places she could be, quite safe. She was in a bit of a mood, you see, because I had to take out a party of badger-watchers tonight. We had a tiff, in fact.'

'Oh, I see.' Temporary relief on the other's face. 'Then maybe she's just gone off somewhere. She might even be staying overnight at Thelma Brown's. They were big mates once.' He glanced towards the telephone.

'Well, we can't very well ring at this time of night.' Andy pulled a wry face. It would put all our minds at rest, though. 'But I'll certainly check there first thing in the morning.'

'She didn't act strangely at all.' Joan Embleton descended a couple of steps.

*I thought she was going out with you, though it's funny, come to think of it, you didn't come and pick her up. She'd just gone, wasn't in the house any more.'

'I'll get checking first thing in the morning.' Andy Dark turned back towards the open door. There was nothing to be gained by staying here, putting forward all manner of theories. Carol had gone off in a huff, in all probability she was quite safe somewhere. A lot of girls did that sort of thing on the spur of the moment. 'I'll ring you the moment I know anything.'

A slower drive back to the bungalow, his mind still in a turmoil. Past Droy Wood, that Mini still parked there. Probably a courting couple. Andy envied them.

'But she was at the disco!' There was amazement on Thelma Brown's freckled features, still in the act of combing her long fair hair as she stood in the doorway of the semi-detached council house.

'At the disco!' Andy Dark's expression was one of sheer amazement. 'That's absolutely incredible!' A sudden nagging fear had him asking, 'Who was she with?'

'Nobody as far as I could see,' Thelma replied. 'I did think it was a bit strange myself, I must admit. I was with John, my boyfriend, otherwise I would have gone and talked to her. She was dancing all on her own, really seemed to be enjoying herself.' 'When did she leave?'

T couldn't be sure. John and I stopped on till the end and I know she wasn't there then because I looked for her when the lights went up. Good God, nothing's happened to her, has it?'

'I hope not.' Andy felt momentarily faint, leaned up against the doorpost.

'She might just be staying with somebody, I don't know.'

'Maybe you should tell the police.'

'I've got to check properly first, otherwise I could look a right fool.' He smiled weakly. 'I'll ask in the village first, see if anybody saw which way she went after the disco. After that, if nothing turns up. '

After that he didn't know, didn't even want to contemplate it. He just prayed that Carol would turn up safely and that everything would be all right. The usual small village on an autumn morning, conventional housewives of the older generation brushing front steps, younger women walking their children to school. A routine that nobody wanted to change because it was an integral part of the life they knew, their very own tiny world.

'Mornin', Mr Dark.' An elderly lady with her hair tied up in a bright yellow duster paused, leaned on the stail of her broom. 'I was only sayin' to our Bert this mornin' that we'd seen your young lady go walkin' by last night.'

Andy stiffened. Here in Droy the villagers missed nothing, noted virtually everybody who passed their houses. Some even habitually kept a note of the registration of strange cars. A kind of hobby to relieve their boredom.

'You saw Carol?'

'Oh yes. but maybe I 'adn't ought to say. She weren't up to nothin', Mr Dark, only just walkin' along on 'er own. I just 'appened to think it was a bit strange, that's all. None o' my business, though.'

'Which way was she going?' Andy Dark's expression was grim, his eyes narrowed into twin slits. Inside he felt physically sick.

'Look, I don't want to get tittle-tattling.' The woman was blushing now, embarrassed. 'As I said, it's none o' my business and I don't want to get causin' any bother between you two. I just 'appened to mention it. Wish I

'adn't.'

'Look.' Andy's voice was terse, a sudden feeling of anger towards this woman who might suddenly go back inside and slam the door, 'Carol Embleton is missing. Her folks are worried sick. I'm trying to find her.'

'Oh!' Surprise, shock, twirling the broom head between her hands. 'In that case. well I can't tell you much more'n I've already told you, Mr Dark. She was walkin' quite fast, goin' out of the village which struck me as strange because if she 'ad been walkin' 'ome she would've turned down Thorn Street. So I said to my Bert, it looks like Miss Carol's goin' to walk all the way up to Mr Dark's 'ouse. At that time o' night, too, and 'er 'avin' to go along by Droy Wood, if you know what I mean.' Along by Droy Wood. Andy's stomach seemed to heave up and he tasted bile, stared straight in front.of him, didn't see the street any more, just a winding country road, the tarmac glinting black in the faint moonlight, tall straggling unkempt hedges on either side. And Droy Wood, dark and forbidding, that permanent smell of decaying vegetation wafting from it…

'Are you all right, Mr Dark?'

'I'm fine,' he lied, revved the engine of the Land Rover. 'If she didn't get to your 'ouse. ' 'She probably changed her mind.' He revved the Land Rover's engine even harder, engaged first gear. 'Thank you for your help. I'm sure I'll find her OK.'

He roared off, mentally cursed some unknown car-owner for parking in the main street so that he had to pull in and wait for a slow-moving milk float to come by. Gripping the steering wheel as though it was his intention to snap it in half, following the snaking B-road out of Droy, eyes flicking from side to side, trying to inject some logic into the chance information which he had received. If Carol had walked this way then surely she was heading towards the bungalow. She knew he would be out so what was her reason? A make-up-and-be-friends-again mission? There hadn't been a note pushed through his door, he would have seen it if there had been. She could have cut back across the fields and gone home. She hadn't. Oh Christ Almighty!

Droy Wood loomed up ahead. That Mini was still parked there, nobody in sight. Perhaps it was an abandoned stolen vehicle. It might just have broken down. On impulse he swung the wheel over, bumped across the rough ground and pulled up alongside it. Some clothing was strewn over the seats; a suit, a pair of jeans, a blouse top. oh Jesus God!

He leaped down from the Land Rover, frantically tugged open the door of the Mini. A crumpled white handkerchief fell out but he ignored it. Reaching inside, grabbing that pale blue blouse, almost afraid to look at it. Carol's! It didn't have to be, they mass-manufactured these garments, you could buy them almost anywhere. A faint odour of musk. Carol always used musk. So did a lot of other girls. Trying to tell himself it wasn't hers, grasping at any reason why it should not be. Checking the bra, the red panties on the floor, those shoes. And finally he had to accept that they all belonged to Carol Embleton.

Shock. A numbing wave that knocked him down on to his haunches, just staring at the interior of that car. The evidence lay before his eyes, he could not dispute it. Carol had been in this car, she had been stripped naked. Now she was gone but the car was still here.

And then his trained naturalist's eyes noted something in the mud. Footprints, naked ones. Scrambling on his hands and knees, a pioneer tracker reading the signs as one might read a book. Carol's smaller footmarks, partly obliterated in places by larger, heavier ones. Heading towards Droy Wood!

He walked forward a few paces, saw the marshy bed of grass and reeds that stretched along the perimeter of the wood, how some of the tall seedy stems were crushed flat, a muddy trail that led on towards the trees. Andy Dark's brain was spinning. Carol and an unknown man had entered the wood, both of them walking; he hadn't killed her and dragged her in there to hide the body. Temporary relief. But why? You didn't go into a wet boggy place like Droy Wood to screw.

His mouth was dry, he felt himself trembling. This wood had a history of catastrophes, mysteries. All local rumours which he discounted, but nevertheless it wasn't a pleasant place, gave you the creeps just looking at it. Some of the bogs were dangerous, too. Only last year a couple of ewes had wandered in there and disappeared without trace and that was reality, not gossip.

Indecision. It would be cruel as well as pointless to alarm Bill and Joan Embleton at this stage. He could go back and tell PC Houliston but that would only result in the village constable returning with him to search for the girl, and the policeman would only be a hindrance; an old-fashioned village bobby on the point of retirement, slow-moving and phlegmatic. There was only one thing to do and that was to go in there and look for Carol himself. Even so he pondered on the wisdom of his decision. Droy Wood was a big area, five hundred acres at least, a veritable wooded marsh choked by thick reed-beds on the coastal side. An army could hide in there and not be discovered. The old-stagers in the Dun Cow related how in the last war a Luftwaffe pilot had parachuted down in it and had never been found. In all probability he had sneaked out before the search party began scouring the wood on the following day, Andy had always maintained.

Nevertheless, the prospect was a daunting one. The nature conservancy officer glanced up at the sky. The heavy overnight rain had passed on, leaving in its wake a dull misty morning. It was drizzling slightly, and it had the look of one of those calm early autumn days that could just bring the first seasonal fog later on.

Beware Droy Wood when the mist comes in from the sea!

Andy shivered, struck off across the soft marshy ground, his eyes fixed on the trail of trampled reed stalks ahead of him. Fortunately he wore his habitual Wellington boots, for the water in places came up almost to the tops. One thought he tried to blank out of his mind, that of Carol Embleton floundering in this mire in the pitch darkness. It did not bear thinking about. And if she was not still alive then he did not want to be the one to find her.