I explain what’s happened and he gently takes the knife from my trembling hand and helps me back through the garden and into the house, sitting me at the table and making me a cup of tea with heaps of sugar. ‘For the shock,’ he says quietly as the dogs lie at my feet. He takes off his coat and flat cap and he looks weirdly naked without the hat. Dennis exudes a grandfatherly presence and I’m relieved when he joins me at the table. I could see for myself how much he seemed to care for Dorothea and I can’t imagine this elderly man would want to hurt her. ‘You shouldn’t have chased him,’ he admonishes, raking his hands through his white hair. ‘He could have been dangerous, and you must get a new lock for that gate. It looks broken.’
It wasn’t broken yesterday.
He clears his throat. ‘I think I should call the police, dear. It was devastating to hear what happened to Dotty, and it could all be connected. The man might come back.’ He gets out his glasses and an ancient iPhone from his coat pocket and begins punching in a number. ‘And you should have a dog about the place. A big house like this.’
I glance at Solly, at his massive fluffy head resting on his massive fluffy paws. I’d love a dog. I’m tempted to askDennis if I can have Solly. Josh won’t like it, of course, but what’s the alternative? I doubt he’s going to want to move back to the flat.
Dennis stands up, phone to his ear. ‘Did he steal anything?’ he asks me.
‘I don’t know. I should go and check …’
‘Yes, you go, dear. Oh hello, yes …’ he says loudly into his phone. ‘I need to report a crime.’ I leave the kitchen and head back up to Dorothea’s study. Something niggles. It’s not until I’m in the study that I realize why. The house is full of valuable antiques and yet the man had been rummaging through a box, the only one left in the study that still held papers. In his haste he dropped it and the newspaper cuttings are spread all over the wooden floor. I pick them up and start to put them back in the box. The man had been wearing gloves so there will be no fingerprints left behind. I notice the old Zippo lighter is missing. Surely the man didn’t break in here just to steal that?
And then I remember the key with the Post-it Note. Was this what the man had been looking for? I run to my bedroom and fetch the jeans I was wearing yesterday from where I’d slung them over a chair. The key is still in the front pocket. Then I dart back downstairs to get my purse from my bag in the hallway. I retrieve the Post-it Note and unfold it. I look at the three words scribbled on the yellow square:weld sheet faster.
‘The police are on their way,’ Dennis says when I enter the kitchen.
I hand him the Post-it Note. ‘Do you have any idea what this means?’
He squints. ‘There’s just three words here. They make no sense.’
‘Why would Dorothea write three random words down …’ I trail off as it clicks.
Of course. Three words. I was so stupid not to realize earlier.
‘What three words!’ I cry.
He reads them out and I laugh. ‘No, I mean, it’s co-ordinates.’ I take out my phone and open up the what3words app and type in the words from the Post-it Note. Instantly the blue dot highlights an area in Dorothea’s woods. I head out the patio doors, with Dennis and the two dogs following close behind, a familiar fire in my belly. I’m on to something, I just know it.
It doesn’t take me long to find the spot with the help of the app.
‘Here,’ I say to a befuddled-looking Dennis who still doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. We both glance around the small clearing surrounded by trees. I bend down and examine the ground. This must mean something. It has to.
And then, partially covered in soil and leaves, I notice a piece of metal protruding from the ground. ‘This looks like a handle,’ I say, dusting away the debris surrounding it to reveal a hatch door.
Dennis exhales in surprise. ‘Well I never. It’s one of those old bunkers.’
‘What? Like a World War Two air-raid shelter?’
‘It looks like it. I never knew that was here.’
Solly starts to sniff the hatch and then barks twice. I try the key in the lock on the original hatch door. It fits perfectly. Every nerve feels charged with excitement as I inch closer to knowing more about Dorothea.
Dennis helps me lift the metal door but it’s much lighter than either of us was expecting and it opens easily, crashing back against the ground. I use the torch on my phone to shine a light into the dark void, illuminating a set of stone steps that leads down into a large room.
‘You’re not going down there, are you?’ Dennis asks, his bushy brows furrowed.
‘Of course,’ I say, wielding my phone. I shiver – in anticipation or fear, I can’t decide – and wrap my cardigan further around me, wishing I’d brought my coat.
‘Be careful,’ he says from behind me as I slowly descend the steps. The air smells of acrylics and something strong like turps.
And then I let out a shriek of horror.
A pale face looms out of the darkness.
13
At first I think it’s a person until I step forward and see it’s a life-sized papier-mâché sculpture of a woman, about my height with her arms out wide like a scarecrow. Magpies sit on each arm, and one more on the left shoulder. I blanch, remembering the gruesome find at the weekend. I already guess before I’ve even counted them that there are seven magpies.
