The Girls In The Woods. Helen Phifer
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She jumped back away from the window, grabbing a tea towel to dry herself. Her heart was racing. What were the police doing in the woods? She had no idea why she felt so nervous but she did. In all the years she’d lived in the village she could count the number of times she’d seen a police officer on one hand – and now there were at least six of them at the back of her house. Her first thoughts were that he’d done something really bad, but then she scolded herself. He only did the bad stuff to her, didn’t he? He was a perfect gentleman to everyone else, especially his clients. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise what he thought was his perfect life – why would he? But still she felt uneasy.
She made him a mug of tea, checking in the mirror to make sure she didn’t look a complete mess as she walked towards his workshop and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so she knocked again a little louder and this time she heard him swear. The door was thrown open and he looked her up and down in disgust.
‘What are the rules, Jo?’
Before she could answer his left hand had slapped her across the cheek, jolting her arm so she spilt steaming hot tea all down herself.
‘Never to disturb you when you’re working… but I think you should know there are a lot of police officers in the woods out the back. What do you think they are doing there?’
His normally ruddy complexion paled, far too quickly for her liking – making her wonder what it was he was hiding, or what it was he did in there when he locked himself away. He pushed past her and ran to the kitchen to take a look outside. She followed him and he leant forward to get a better view of what they were doing. Picking up the tea towel she dabbed at the now tea-stained white shirt she was wearing.
‘I don’t know what they are doing – what am I, psychic all of a sudden?’
His voice was much quieter and it wavered, just a notch. He kicked his slippers off and pulled on a pair of black wellington boots, grabbing his jacket off the coat peg by the back door. He opened it and went outside. She watched him, intrigued as to why he was so worried. He headed towards the nearest officer and she felt sick. He would be so polite to the policewoman who was standing there. He wouldn’t dare to be disrespectful towards her, let alone raise his hand and slap her.
He went out of the back door knowing fine well what they were doing – somehow, after all this time, they had found the grave. He needed to know if they knew much or were just as shocked as he was. He approached them as if he had every right to be there; never show your fear, he told himself over and over.
‘Excuse me, officer, I live in that cottage there. I was wondering if everything is okay?’
The officer held up her hand to stop him from going any further.
‘Sorry, sir, I can’t really say – and this whole area is now a crime scene so you’ll have to go back inside.’
‘No, of course you can’t, but can you tell me if I should be worried – is it bad? I don’t want to leave my wife alone in the house if it’s anything we should be worried about.’
She looked around to see who was in hearing distance and lowered her voice.
‘Well, I’m not supposed to say anything but you’ll hear soon enough and officers will want to come and speak to you both anyway. A group of school kids out hiking found a skeleton this morning, buried in the woods. We’re just waiting for the bosses and crime scene investigators to get here.’
His hand flew to his mouth in what he hoped was a convincing attempt at shock.
‘Oh, dear God, that’s awful. I can’t believe it. Is there anything I can do?’
‘Not really. The best thing you can do is to go back inside until one of the detectives comes to see you for a chat.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I can’t believe it. If any of you need anything just give us a knock; my wife will be in all day. I might have to go into Barrow on an errand.’
He didn’t know whether he wanted to be there when the police came knocking, in case they could pick something up from his body language – like how guilty he was. But he supposed that they would want to talk to him at some point and it might be better to just get it over with and hope that they’d think he was just shocked at their discovery. After what seemed like forever he turned and walked back to the house. Kicking off his boots he shut the door and turned the key in the lock, shrugging off his jacket at the same time.
‘What did she say. Is it bad?’
‘She wouldn’t say – just said there was a serious incident and they were sealing off the area until CID got there. She said the police will want to come and speak to us at some point.’
‘Well, as long as no one has been hurt.’
He looked at her and frowned, staring at the fading red mark on her cheek. She knew he was hoping it would disappear before the police came knocking on their door wanting to speak to them both. He went back into the workshop, locking the door, and she sat down at the kitchen table relieved that whatever he was doing meant he was out of her way.
Thirty minutes later he was back; she inhaled and caught a whiff of strong lemon cleaning fluid. She was sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine and jumped as he walked in, expecting him to shout at her for sitting there wasting time, but he never said a word. He locked up the workshop and went out of the back door to make sure the windows and outside door which led to it were also locked. He came back in and smiled at her.
‘Why don’t you make us a nice cup of coffee and we’ll put a film on? We haven’t watched that one with that man you like out of that women’s film yet.’
He meant The King’s Speech and the women’s film he was referring to was Bridget Jones. She nodded, knowing fine well what his game was. He was playing happy families so that when the police came they wouldn’t think anything strange of the married couple who lived in the house near the edge of the woods. If only they knew the truth – but she’d never say anything. She daren’t. She hadn’t when he’d pushed her down the four steps into the garden; that had cost him a trip to the accident and emergency department whilst her ankle was x-rayed then put into plaster. He’d never left her side the whole time but he needn’t have worried; she had nowhere to go if she had asked them for help. She couldn’t leave him if she wanted to.
It was almost two hours later that the knock finally came on their front door, and it was Jo who stood up to go and answer it. She could see two men through the small glass pane in the front door. Opening it, she looked at the two men, both wearing suits with ID badges around their necks. She felt drawn to the older, much better looking one and smiled.
‘Hello, sorry to bother you. I’m Detective Sergeant Will Ashworth and this is Detective Constable Stuart Miles. Would you mind if we came in to talk to you?’
She smiled at him. He had such nice, kind blue eyes… in fact he had nice everything.
‘Of course. This way.’
As he followed her in she got a whiff of his aftershave, which was lovely. It reminded her of Dr Miller. He always smelt good when they’d been dating and whenever she’d gone for an appointment. She led them into the living room, where Heath was in the process of building up the wood burner, even though it wasn’t particularly cold. Her eyes looked at the coal dust which now covered his hands. He never got them so dirty, ever. He was very particular about his hands and always wore gloves when he did anything that might involve getting them dirty.
‘This is my husband, Heath.’
Will nodded at the man, and lifted his hand to shake Heath’s but then looked at them and smiled. Heath looked down at his hands too.
‘Sorry, I’m a bit dirty.’
Will repeated his introduction.
‘I suppose you wouldn’t be able to help but notice all the police activity out the back. I’m afraid to say there’s been a bit of a gruesome discovery in the woods this morning. A