Written In Blood

Chapter Six

Barefoot, his soiled trainers in a carrier bag found in the boot of Mitchell's car, Zack followed the two police officers up the stairs at the front of the police station. He felt eyes on him as he did so and looking around he found himself an object of interest for those villages who were out and about.

Based on the suspicion and anger in the looks being directed at him, he could only conclude that news of his discovery had already made it around the village, and that he was being fitted for the role of murderer in the eyes of the villagers. He supposed he couldn't blame them, a village wasn't like a town or city, where it was rare for a person to know more than two or three of their neighbours; in Oakhurst, everyone was likely to be related to, or at least know, everyone else. The only person for whom that wasn't true was him.

The anger and suspicion of his fellow residents disappeared from Zack's mind the moment he entered the police station. His feet were knocked out from under him by an elderly woman who was energetically mopping the reception area. "Sorry," she apologised unconvincingly, without even a pause in her mopping for a pretence at helping him to his feet.

"That's alright," Zack dismissed the apology, while thinking that perhaps he had been wrong and angry looks were not all he could expect. He got quickly to his feet, and bent to retrieve the carrier bag holding his trainers.

"Are you alright, Mr Wild?" Melissa asked, coming back to help him, though he was already back on his feet by the time she reached his side.

"It's through here, Mr Wild," Mitchell said, speaking before the author could answer his colleague's question. He made no effort to conceal his dislike of the friendly air that seemed to be developing between Melissa and Zack Wild.

"Thank you, sergeant," Zack said, ignoring the obvious lack of concern over his tumble. "I'm fine," he said to Melissa. "It's nothing paying more attention to my surroundings won't help."

With an unpleasant wet feeling on his feet, Zack followed Sergeant Mitchell through to the station's sole interview room, which didn't look big enough for the four people it was supposed to accommodate.

"We'll begin the interview just as soon as I've taken care of a few things, Mr Wild," Mitchell said before disappearing from the doorway without giving his interviewee a chance to say anything.

"Can I get you a drink?" Melissa asked. Unlike her sergeant, she hadn't taken an instant dislike to Zack Wild – if anything, she had taken an instant liking to him, in part, mostly, because he was attractive.

Zack nodded. "Thanks, my water bottle's just about out."

"Tea, coffee?"

"Tea, white, no sugar."

"Be right back."

"How bad is it?" Inspector Stevens asked of his sergeant, the moment Mitchell entered his office.

Mitchell didn't answer straight away, he waited until he had taken a seat across from his superior. "Bad," he said finally. "You remember how bad James Goode looked after his tractor rolled on him?"

Stevens nodded, it wasn't something he was likely to forget; it had surprised everyone who was there at the scene, that the farmer survived the accident, let alone that he had made an almost complete recovery.

"Worse than that. She looked like a victim from one of those horror movies you see on TV late at night. Whoever killed her, he must have really hated her, or been really angry with her, because he beat the hell out of her. I mean he just beat the hell out of her. She had cuts and bruises just about everywhere I could see: arms, legs, body, face. God knows how many of her bones must have been broken." Mitchell had to take a moment to try and force away the memory of what he had seen. "I'm no expert, and Kelly's out of his depth with this, but it looks as though she was kicked and punched repeatedly; her face...it's just unrecognisable. It's so badly damaged it's almost impossible to tell whether it's a girl or a boy from the face. If she wasn't naked, I think it would have taken me a while to figure it out, especially if she'd been in trousers or something boyish.