‘Wait.’ Stephen holds up his hand like he’s at school answering a question, even though it’s too dark to see. ‘You’re no longer a detective, Detective.’
‘I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you’re insinuating, Mr Mallow.’
Stephen glances up at the tree. ‘Give me a boost?’
‘Absolutely not. I am not going to allow you to contaminate a crime scene.Again.’
‘Sounds to me like you already did that when you brought the body down the other day.’
‘It wasn’t a dead body then.’
‘You’re quite sure?’
Detective Williams stares at him, his eyes unblinking.
‘Fine. You’re sure. It might not even be a dead body, but there’s only one way to be certain. Don’t you want to double check before you call in a possible crime? I reckon the police in this area aren’t exactly waiting by the phone for emergency calls. I’m sure they’d love to be called out late at night to what’s probably more than likely a prank of some kind.’ Stephen sucks in a deep breath after his long speech,winded. He’s sweating, dizzy, nauseous.Damn, that hill had been steep.
The detective takes a moment before he answers. ‘There’s blood and it certainly wasn’t there the last time I checked, which means someone has come back and done something to it.’
‘Blood can be faked. Hence why I need a boost to double check before we start blabbing to the whole village that there’s a dead body hanging in a tree. Rather poetic though, considering the name.’
Detective Williams sighs, relaxing his shoulders. ‘Climbing a tree in the dark is suicide, Mr Mallow. Plus, no offence, but you look as if a stiff breeze could blow you over. Are you sure you’re feeling well?’
‘Never better. Here, hold this.’ Stephen pulls off his thick wool hat and hands it to the detective, who takes it with a defeated look upon his face. ‘Hold the torch so I can see what I’m doing.’
Detective Williams does what Stephen asks, directing the beam onto the trunk of the tree. ‘It would be easier with a ladder, Mr Mallow. That’s how I got up there.’
‘Let’s not waste time with ladders,’ says Stephen, wedging his left foot into a knarred knot on the trunk. Luckily, the tree is old and disfigured enough to not have a perfectly straight trunk. There are enough broken sections, knots, other large branches and even old nails and pieces of wood toclamber up, probably put there by the locals to make it accessible to climb over the years. The detective gives him a boost by pushing on the bottom of his right foot. He grunts with the effort.
Stephen is looking forward to researching the name associated with the tree. He has a feeling that the detective hasn’t told him the whole story yet.
Stephen gets halfway up the trunk before his arms start to burn, and his lungs protest. His mind casts back to the phone call from the hospital and his results that are waiting for him tomorrow morning, at an appointment he has no intention of attending. Maybe he should call and cancel, but then the doctor might try and tell him the results over the phone; results he doesn’t want to know. Perhaps there really is something wrong with him, but whether there is or not, it isn’t going to stop him from climbing the tree and finding out exactly what’s hanging ominously above.
The higher he goes, the further his heartrate climbs with him. High and higher. He has to stop, his head swimming.
‘Everything okay there, Mr Mallow?’ the detective calls from the ground.
Stephen leans against a thick branch and glances down. ‘Never better!’ The ground zooms in and out of focus.
Now he is high in the branches, the torch beam isn’t as strong, and it’s getting more and more difficult to see which route he has to take to climb higher. He slips and catches hishand on a sharp branch, slicing through the skin on his left palm. A sting of pain electrifies his arm, but nothing he can’t handle. The headache that’s pounding behind his eyes is worse.
A couple of minutes later, he arrives at the bottom of the scarecrow. The top of his head is level with its dangling feet. One thing is for certain; it’snota dead body after all. It’s a momentary relief, but where is all the blood coming from?
Doing his best to use the dwindling light from below, he cranes his head this way and that, trying to find the source of the blood that’s dripping down the old coat. It isn’t a lot. It isn’t like there’s rivers of the stuff running down into the branches below, but it’s enough to stand out. In fact, the blood seems to glow against the faded jacket.
‘Not a body!’ Stephen calls out. ‘Just a very creepy-looking scarecrow that’s bleeding.’
‘Good, but where’s the blood coming from?’
‘Hard to say! But I think … wait …’ Stephen pulls on the legs of the scarecrow to get a better look at the front. The coat is done up with old-fashioned buttons, but not all the way. Twigs, leaves and dried mud make up the body and are sticking out of the top of the coat, but that’s not what he’s staring at.
‘Um … it might not be a dead body, but …’ Stephen pauses again, holding his breath. ‘It’s like something out of theWizard of Oz.’
‘What?’ comes the gruff response from below.
‘This scarecrow … he may not have a brain, but he does have a heart; a real heart.’
Chapter 17
