The Long Call (Two Rivers #1) - Ann Cleeves Page 0,75

and everything was glistening and strange; the sunlight through the holes in the cloud seemed brighter than usual, more focussed, features of the landscape seemed spot-lit. They climbed a five-bar gate and walked down an avenue of trees to the pool. Once this would have been parkland, an artificial setting to provide a bucolic view from a grand house. Now, it seemed pointless, a bit crazy. Surreal.

Jen thought as soon as they’d pulled up that this would be a wild goose chase. How would a woman like Christine Shapland make her way all the way out here? It was miles from her home. And if she’d been brought out here, no good would have come of it. There were people who took pleasure in humiliating those who were different, trusting. They were easy prey. If Christine had been targeted by a man who needed to dominate, who got off on cruelty, they could be looking for a body not the woman, alive and hungry and grateful to be found. Jen realized with a jolt that this search was personal for her too. It had been hard enough for her to fight back against a controlling man with such a pathetic ego that he needed to hit a woman to prove his strength. It’d be worse for a woman like Christine, confused and already accustomed to being diminished and patronized.

Matthew was striding ahead and had already reached the pool. The avenue continued into an area of untended woodland and a blanket of celandines, startling, almost unpleasant, in the yellow light. The pool had been created to please the eye, though. At one end there was a stone bridge across the narrowest stretch of water. It served no purpose. The lake was fringed with iris and there was a small wooden jetty, with a rowing boat still attached. It was only as they got closer that they saw that the planks of the jetty were rotting and that the water itself was clogged with weed, green with algae.

‘Christine was seen by the bridge,’ Matthew said. ‘I can’t see how the witness could have made it up. He described it perfectly. I came past on the bus myself on Tuesday and there was a good enough view.’

Jen could tell he was trying to convince himself, not her. ‘Let’s walk round there then, shall we?’ she suggested. ‘Even if she’s not still here, there might be some trace of her.’

‘Well, someone’s certainly been here recently.’ Once there’d been a path around the water, but it was overgrown, grass pushing through the paving stones. In places the grass had been crushed.

‘Could be anyone. It is a bit special here. You can see how it would attract walkers, locals.’ She didn’t want him to build up his hopes, then be disappointed.

Jen saw her first. There was a bench just beyond the bridge, hidden by the stone walls that flanked it. The bench was wrought-iron; it had once been black, but it was rusting now and the paint was flaking off. The woman was lying back in the seat, her face turned towards the sun, as if she was enjoying its heat. She was wearing the clothes that had appeared in all the descriptions that had been sent to the press: navy blue trousers, purple knitted cardigan, black anorak. On her feet, blue socks and white trainers. The trousers were a little short for her and they could see six inches of white leg. Everything wet, the shoes and the trousers spattered with mud.

Matthew had run ahead and was crouching beside her, holding her hand, feeling for a pulse. ‘She’s still alive.’ He stroked the damp hair away from her face. ‘Christine. It’s Matthew Venn. Do you remember me? We used to go to meetings together.’

Jen got out her phone and punched in 999 to call an ambulance. ‘No reception. I’ll go back to the road, see if there’s anything there.’

Christine opened her eyes and slowly pushed herself up into an upright position. Not frightened at all, it seemed, but frail, shaky.

‘You came,’ she said. ‘They said that you would.’ Then she shut her eyes again and they couldn’t tell if she was asleep or unconscious.

In the end Jen stayed where she was and they carried Christine to the car between them. She seemed so cold and confused and the pulse was so weak that Matthew was worried she wouldn’t survive the wait for an ambulance. ‘There’s no guarantee that you’ll get phone reception even at the