time on her mobile, she saw it was only six a.m. Who would
visit at this hour on a Sunday? Then she heard quick footsteps
promptly followed by a scream.
What the fuck? She launched herself from the bed, crashing against the doorframe in her rush to get out the bedroom.
‘Mum, Mum! What is it?’ Anna tore down the stairs, her pulse
pounding in her neck almost as loud as her feet were on the treads.
Red liquid, from what appeared to be a burst plastic bag,
pooled on the doormat.
‘Is it real? Is it real blood, Anna?’ Her mum was backing away
as she repeated the words over and over.
‘I – I’m not sure, Mum.’ Avoiding the mess, Anna unlocked
the front door, yanking it open quickly, hoping to catch the
culprits red-handed. Literally. She peered out. No one was in
sight, but as she drew her head back, she saw what had been
hammered to the door. She didn’t want to worry her mother
further, but she couldn’t exactly hide it either.
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‘What is it this time?’ Muriel asked. Anna looked at her, taking in the frail woman whose shoulders were hunched in fear. This
wasn’t on. Someone was taking joy in terrorising a vulnerable
woman and it angered her. This felt different from a kid’s game.
Personal.
‘It’s a doll’s arm,’ Anna said.
‘This is ridiculous. Stupid kids – bags of blood shoved through
the letterbox, things hammered to the door – what do they think
they’re playing at?’
‘Mum, listen,’ Anna said as she stepped back inside, over the
red-stained mat. ‘It’s six in the morning – on a Sunday. How
many kids do you know who’d be up this early? I don’t think
it’s kids, I really don’t.’
‘So you think it’s him?’
‘I’m not saying that either. I mean, why would he? To what
end? And why you? I haven’t heard of anyone else receiving
these doll’s parts, have you?’
‘No, no. But the timing . . .’ Muriel carried on mumbling to
herself, her thumbnail rammed in her mouth making the words
indecipherable.
Yes, the timing was odd, she had to admit that; these things
happening literally days after Billy Cawley’s release surely
couldn’t be coincidental.
‘Look, you go get a bucket of warm, soapy water and I’ll take
this outside.’ Anna pointed to the doormat. ‘See if I can salvage it.’ Opening the door, then lifting both ends of the mat together in attempt to prevent the liquid running off the edges, Anna
shuffled outside. It was runny, not gloopy or sticky-looking, so she was hopeful it wasn’t real blood. She carefully walked with
it down the side of the house to the back garden and laid it
down on the lawn. Then she tilted it to let the liquid drain off.
She watched as the red mess trickled into the green grass, staining it. Some had got on her hand; she wiped it in the grass too, but
a pinky tinge remained. It was dye. Possibly just food colouring.
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She deposited the now-empty plastic bag in the wheelie bin as she went back to the front door and pulled at the doll’s arm.
The nail had been driven through the upper part of the plastic
arm. She had to twist it several times before it loosened. She
pulled at it harder. It gave a pop as it came away and Anna
stumbled backwards with the arm in her hand. The nail must’ve
been hammered in with some force.
Anna turned the arm over in her hands, then frowned. There
was something inside it, stuffed in the hollow. The opening was
too small to get her fingers inside. She ran into the kitchen,
almost knocking Muriel over, the water slopping out of the
bucket she was carrying.
‘Anna! Be careful,’ she scolded, putting it down on the floor.
‘Sorry,’ Anna said. With the arm held on the worktop, she
poked a metal skewer inside. After a few failed attempts at
grabbing it, Anna finally pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper.
Under her mother’s watchful, and – she sensed – fearful gaze,
Anna unravelled the paper, revealing bold red lettering.
SOMEONE HAS BLOOD ON THEIR HANDS
What was that supposed to mean?
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Chapter Twenty-Six
2019
Lizzie
Lizzie hadn’t attempted sleep until gone three a.m. After eating
the meal provided by Gwen, she’d soaked in the beautiful claw-
footed bathtub. Then, wrapped in the fluffy white bathrobe that
had been hanging on the back of the door, she’d sat at the desk
overlooking the garden and set about researching Mapledon and
some of its residents. She’d found nothing on Anna. There was
plenty of information about William Cawley, though: news arti-
cles about his conviction and the fact he’d put in a late plea
bargain to the charge of the abduction and murder of Jonie
Hayes, other articles about the evidence found in his truck, and
the devastation felt within the ‘small, tight-knit community of
Mapledon’.
Lizzie struggled to read them. It was too close – too raw, even
now. But she knew she had to. She’d compartmentalised all of
it for years, pretending it had happened to other people – people she didn’t know or care about. If she tried hard enough, she
could detach herself again now, read it all as an outsider, someone with no involvement or investment.
Having had a stern word with herself, she’d continued
scouring the articles for names and had noted down those that
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mother of the victim; a source close to the family, Nell Andrews; family friend Muriel Fisher and local vicar, Reverend Christopher Farnley. She’d also been surprised to learn that a key piece of evidence was from a witness to the abduction – Jonie Hayes’
ten-year-old friend, named only as ‘ Girl B’ for legal reasons. She hadn’t remembered this. But then, she’d avoided this kind of
search before, not feeling the need or desire to delve into the
past.
Now, having woken with a headache and dry mouth, Lizzie
reluctantly peeled herself from the comfortable double bed,
stumbled to the tea tray on the unit in the corner and popped
the kettle on. The names from the articles still swirled in her
mind. Muriel Fisher’s had come as no surprise. Hers was one
Lizzie did remember. And once she’d seen Reverend Farnley’s name, that too had sparked recall. But Nell Andrews wasn’t one
she remembered. The problem was that Lizzie could never be
sure if any of the memories she recalled were truly her memories, or ones she’d taken on and remembered from what other
people had told her over the years. She wondered if she’d ever
really know which were hers.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Lizzie called Dom. He’d only
sent one text ye
sterday to which she’d replied a brief ‘all’s fine’, and she got the impression he was pissed off. She had upped and left at short notice. While he did understand her job might
take her somewhere abruptly, usually she’d have at least spoken
to him before leaving rather than merely leaving a brief note.
‘Hey, babe – so sorry for leaving in a rush.’ She got her
apology in quickly, before he’d even said hello.
‘Well, I was disappointed when I got home to find you gone,
and without a call, or even a text . . .’ His voice was distant, and it immediately set Lizzie on edge. She hated to think she’d upset him; hated the thought he was mad at her even more.
‘I know, I know. I didn’t have much time, sorry – once the
decision was made, I didn’t want to hang around—’
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‘Really, Lizzie? You took a few minutes at least to find the paper and write a note, but didn’t have time to hit your speed
dial and call me? You know there’s a little button on your phone
that means you can be hands free and everything, so you could
have packed your bag whilst speaking to me or even called from
the car.’ Sarcasm dripped from his words. Lizzie had no argu-
ment, so she said nothing. The silence stretched. She heard him
sigh.
‘So, what was so urgent you had to rush off without so much
as a by-your-leave?’
Lizzie took a moment to consider her choice of words. If
she’d managed to carry out her plan to come clean about
everything, Dom would now have been in possession of the
facts and she wouldn’t feel the need to play this down. Or lie.
But she hadn’t, and now – over the phone – was definitely not
the right time.
‘It was a breaking news story, time-sensitive, and it
sounded . . .’ She hesitated. ‘Beefy. I wanted it, that’s all, so had to rush to get here. It’s near Dartmoor, in Devon—’
‘Bloody hell, that’s a long way away – why on earth do you
want to cover a story there?’
She felt she owed him some element of truth here. She took
a deep breath.
‘Because once, a really long time ago . . . I lived here.’ Before Dom could question her on this statement, she added, ‘I can’t
remember any of it, I was only little and it was for a very brief time. But it intrigued me enough to make me want to come
back and look into it.’
Even to her, it sounded weak. But Dom didn’t press further,
just asked exactly where she was. Lizzie gave him the name of
the B&B and after a few minutes of general chat, she hung up.
After breakfast she was going to drive back into Mapledon
and go to Brook Cottage Store to buy a few items. Stranger or
not, if she wanted to make any headway, she had to speak to
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other villagers. She’d ask about Muriel Fisher – she might get away with saying she was a friend of the family. It was risky
though, as, if she gave her name as Lizzie Brenfield – as she’d
done to Anna yesterday – and they then spoke to Muriel, she
would immediately say Lizzie was an imposter, a liar.
On the other hand, giving her real name would only open a
big-arsed can of worms . . .
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Chapter Twenty-Seven
1989
Hayes residence
Wednesday 12th July – 1 week before
Auntie Tina made the best banana cake. It was one of the high-
lights of going over to Jonie’s after school.
‘You’re lucky there’s still some left – Miss Gannet Guts over
there had almost half of it for breakfast!’ Tina said.
Bella laughed as she shovelled the slab of cake into her mouth,
causing her to cough and send crumbs flying, making them all
laugh harder.
‘Careful, don’t choke. How would I explain that to your mum?’
Jonie gave Bella a hard slap on the back even though she
wasn’t coughing anymore. She moved away from her, saying she
was fine. There had been no need for that. Bella thought it was
just an excuse to whack her. She thought Auntie Tina noticed
too, because she stopped laughing and stood in between them
both, draping one arm over each of their shoulders.
‘You looking forward to the school holidays?’ Tina asked in
a falsely bright way.
‘Um, hell yeah,’ Jonie said.
‘Watch your language,’ Tina said. But Jonie just rolled her
eyes.
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‘I’m not that bothered, really.’ Bella’s words drew a shocked glance from Tina and Jonie.
‘What? Are you for real?’ Jonie’s frown made her eyes go dark.
‘I don’t mind school – I like learning stuff.’
‘You’re such a square, Bella!’
‘No she isn’t, Jonie – don’t say things like that.’ Auntie Tina
gave Bella a big smile. ‘It’s good to want to learn. Don’t let
anyone put you off, love. Knowledge is power,’ she said, adding
more quietly as she released her arms from them, ‘and your
ticket out of this place.’
Before Bella could ask what she meant, the back door opened
and a man’s head popped around.
‘Hello, ladies. How are you all on this fine afternoon?’
The girls giggled, as did Tina. ‘We’re good, Pat – what brings
you here?’
Bella watched as the policeman emerged from behind the
door, closed it and wiped his feet on the doormat. Everyone
knew Officer Vern. He ‘kept an eye’ on Mapledon because he
had lived in the village all his life; the place was too small to have its own police station. Bella thought it must be a boring
job because nothing interesting ever happened. It seemed the
most he’d ever had to do was tell kids off. And if she heard her
dad say: ‘In my day, coppers could give you a clip around the
ear and you’d behave yourself,’ one more time she’d puke.
As he leant back against the kitchen sink, she noted his tummy
bulged slightly over the top of his black trousers. Bella concluded he hadn’t ever run after any baddies; he didn’t look like he got
much exercise at all. He smiled, then glanced at Auntie Tina; he
hadn’t answered her question, but he seemed to be waiting for
something.
‘Girls, why don’t you both go and watch some TV, or play
outside for a bit?’ Tina said, her smile vanishing.
Jonie grabbed Bella’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s go have some fun.
See you later, Mum.’
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Bella eyed Auntie Tina as she was being dragged out the back door. She thought she looked worried. What did the policeman
want? Her tummy lurched. What if it was to do with Creepy
Cawley? Had he called the police about the Knock, Knock games
the kids were always playing? She’d only been to his bungalow
a few times after school with Jonie, but if he’d seen them, would he have known
who they were? Her mum would kill her if she
found out they’d been ‘terrorising’ him.
Bella wished she could hear what was being said in Auntie
Tina’s kitchen right now . . .
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Chapter Twenty-Eight
2019
Anna
Sunday 14th July
Anna wanted to go back home. She’d only agreed to stay the
weekend out of a sense of duty; there’d been no plan to stay
beyond Sunday. But now, with the latest development, she
wondered how she could merely up and leave Muriel alone to
face whatever danger was lurking. If it was danger that she’d be facing. Anna’s optimism it was only a prank had taken a battering after the fake blood, doll’s arm and the message contained within it, but there was a sliver of hope remaining.
She couldn’t very well leave her mother now. What kind of
daughter would that make her?
Anna called James, explaining briefly what was going on.
‘Why don’t you get Muriel to pack a suitcase and you bring
her back to Bristol? At least then you’ll be out of harm’s way
and after a week or so maybe it’ll all have blown over. Or they’ll be targeting someone else.’
‘Yes, getting her away from here would be one option.’ Anna
chewed a fingernail while mulling it over.
‘And you’ve called the police, I take it?’
‘Not yet, no. Mum’s keen not to involve them at the moment,
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until we know more. She doesn’t want to make the situation worse, especially if it’s just kids.’
‘Would kids be taking it this far, though, Anna? Look, come
back here with Muriel. Carrie would enjoy spending some of
the holidays with her Nanna, and you wouldn’t have to feel
guilty about being away from her. It makes sense.’
It did make sense. It was the niggling feeling creeping beneath
her skin that prevented her from immediately packing and
getting out of there with Muriel in tow. She couldn’t pinpoint
why, but she felt she had to stay, find out who was doing it.
More importantly, she wanted to know why.
‘I can’t explain, James, but I think I have to stay for a bit
longer. Put Carrie on. I’ll talk to her, tell her I need to be with Nanna for longer. She’ll understand.’
‘She probably won’t . . .’ he said. Anna heard rustling as James