Retribution Read online

  He had to think fast. He couldn’t come in last yet again and face the humiliation from those gathered at the finish line. He slowed to a walking pace, familiarising himself with the landscape. He had no choice; he’d have to find a shortcut. He looked in all directions desperate to find the fastest way back to school. He leant forward, his hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath. Sweat beaded on his forehead, stinging his eyes, causing him to squint.

  He knew that if he had any chance of making it back in time, he would need to cut across the fields, climb the brow of the hill, and then head down in through the forest that surrounded the school on three sides. Urgency hastened his thoughts, coupled with doubt as to whether his body would carry him that far. He turned off the road and fought his way through the hedgerow. Sharp bramble bushes tore into his body. Stinging red scratches criss-crossed his legs. His shorts snagged as he fought his way through. In places, the hedgerow was as tall as Matthew and certainly not designed for easy transit through.

  He pushed on, calling on every ounce of energy to carry him over the hill. He gritted his teeth. His mouth was parched. His feet barely able to trudge over the brow. The force of downward momentum carried him swiftly downhill and into the dense woodland that surrounded the perimeter of the school. The forest had an identity of its own, a thick tall canopy created a darkness that added to it ghostly, unwelcoming atmosphere.

  There were a few paths that criss-crossed the forest, well-trodden ramblers routes. For Matthew, they offered him little relief. He had never ventured into this part of the woodland in the time that had been at the school. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, his eyes darting in all directions. But it all looked the same, brown, natural barriers that rose from the ground blocking his line of sight. Birdsong high up in the trees was drowned out by the sound of his heavy breathing. From the direction in which he had just travelled, he figured that if he continued to run forward, he was sure to find his way out.

  Small beams of light broke through the heavy curtain of darkness above him. They looked like tiny glimmering stars in the night sky. It was enough to create small patches of illumination in the dense undergrowth. In the distance through the trees, he could see what appeared to be the edge of the forest, and the first signs that he was close to the school. A mixture of adolescent shouting, whistles and clapping heralded the finish line.

  He struggled; his ribs tight, crushing the air out of him. His rasping breath was evidence of the asthma that caused his chest to heave violently. He had to stop; he couldn’t carry on. He knew he was only just a few hundred yards away from safety, but the shortness of breath gripped him, cold fear spread through him, as the lining of his lungs burnt. Stopping for just a few seconds wouldn’t harm his efforts, he decided.

  He came to a grinding halt, falling to his knees, his hands reaching out in front of him, making contact with the ground to steady himself. His stomach heaved as he fought to take in oxygen. A whistle of breath and phlegm rattling in his throat, warned of an imminent asthma attack. He needed his Ventolin inhaler but he’d left it back in his room foolishly thinking he wouldn’t need it. Oh shit, I can’t breathe. I need to move on. I have to move on. Each exhale was accompanied by an eerie howling cry.

  A foreign sound snapped his head to attention. His mind whirled as he tried to identify it. It was coming from behind him. He realised it was a sound of a branch creaking. A slow, hypnotic and rhythmic creaking. He turned to look over his shoulder. The sight that greeted his eyes caused him to spin around on his knees and recoil. His eyes widened in fear, on his lips a gasp, unable to comprehend what he’d found. He desperately hoped his mind played tricks on him, a hallucination, a consequence of the fatigue that racked his body. This can’t be. My mind is creating this horrible scene to scare my body so I can get up and run again, even faster than before. But as the seconds passed, reality hit him straight between the eyes. It wasn’t a dream. He was in a living nightmare.

  In front of him was the outline of a man hanging from a rope, his face larger than it should be, with bulging eyeballs that stared off into the distance. The body slowly rotated like a musical ballerina in a jewellery box, the taut rope repeatedly rubbing on the branch.

  Matthew fought the bile that crawled up the back of his throat, his breathing coming in shocked pants as cold fear raced through his veins sending shock waves through his body. He trembled violently as he clambered backwards, desperate to get away from the hideous scene in front of him. He glanced around, terror contorted his face, frightened whimpering screams escaping from him. He tried to get back up on his feet, but his mind moved faster than his body, causing him to stumble back several times on to the uneven, overgrown forest floor.

  Each step increased his acceleration, providing him with enough momentum to spin on his heels and run. His feet caught exposed tree roots that were discreetly hidden by overgrown mosses and lichens that offered his trainers little grip. Stumbling once again, his arms took the full brunt of the impact, small trails of blood seeping from the multiple deep scratches.

  As he cleared the forest and entered the grounds of the school, he was met with a cacophony of whistles, boos and the inevitable cries of “loser.” He didn’t care on this occasion, he needed to get away fast, as far as he could from the scene he’d just witnessed.

  “Edrington, get a bloody move on,” rang in his ears, as his housemaster screamed at him.

  He knew the welcoming party was going to be hostile. Some of his co-pupils glared at him with hate-filled eyes. Others leant on each other’s shoulders, pointing at him, the spectacle giving them plenty to laugh at. He fell to his knees by his housemaster, who looked down at him in displeasure as he shook his head slowly, his brows pulled down in a stern stare.

  A mixture of pain and fear plugged the words in his dry throat. He raised one arm jabbing in the direction of the forest. “Body,” he mouthed, his slight voice drowned out by the barrage of abuse coming his way.

  Drawing on all his reserves and taking one huge breath, his voice was just loud enough to be heard by those within a few feet of him. He shouted once more. “Body.” Poking hard now in the direction of the forest he tried again. “There’s a body in the forest.”

  2

  Scott and Abby swept through the imposing black wrought-iron gates that fronted the school. It seemed inadequate to merely call this a school. A luxury hotel or retreat seemed more befitting, judging by what greeted them. A long sweeping drive took them along the left flank of this sprawling estate. To the left, a long line of tall, established oak trees offered a natural boundary.

  Scott noticed how every twenty yards or so, the border of oaks was broken by ornate weeping willows, with long flowing branches that drooped and gently grazed across the grass. A light breeze rustled through the branches, breaking the silence. To the right, a row of small wooden stumps poked out of the ground at evenly spaced intervals. Thick boundary rope was draped in perfect symmetry from one stump to the next. Scott guessed that the lawns beyond them stretched for some distance as he couldn’t make out the right-hand boundary.

  A uniformed officer waved them off to the left of the main building, gesturing towards the rear. Coming around the back, they again were presented with even more open land that stretched off into the distance a few hundred yards where it met the edge of the forest that surrounded the school.

  “Shit, this is a big place,” Abby remarked as she whistled through her teeth. “Can you imagine how much it costs to send a child here?”

  “I hate to imagine, way more than our salaries…combined…including overtime,” Scott suggested.

  “And the rest,” Abby replied pointing ahead of them.

  The presence of two white scientific services vans, several police cars, Cara’s silver Ford Focus and an ambulance loomed up in the distance.

  Scott looked back as they kitted up in the white paper overalls and couldn’t help but admire how the main school building looked just as imposing and elegantly
impressive from the back as it did from the front.

  This was a completely different type of schooling. It wasn’t your average comprehensive school found in the sprawling suburbs of every town and city across the country. This was a fine example of an institution, a way of life, a privileged, discreet educational system reserved for the elite and wealthy dating back generations. Pupils who attended would have had their lives mapped out long before they were out of nappies.

  You wouldn’t find kids here from poor backgrounds, or unruly disruptive teenagers looking to start a fight at every opportunity. Places like this offered an honoured education and guaranteed route to success. Many would head to Oxbridge and then go on to be leaders and CEOs in industry, or one day be future politicians or ambassadors in far-flung countries, or upholders of justice in the courts of law.

  “Why do I always end up in forests?” Abby said with a grimace as once again she found herself trampling through dense undergrowth in shoes far from appropriate, whilst adjusting her body cam to begin relaying footage back to the station. “You would have thought I’d learnt my lesson after the Newland’s murder a few weeks ago. Lack of preparation on my part…again,” she fumed.

  “Stop whining. You’re starting to sound like an old bag as each day passes. Seriously, what’s up with you?” Scott asked.

  “Nothing, I hate getting messy, and Lord knows what’s beneath this undergrowth. I could be treading in animal shite or dead, decaying rodents and I’d never know,” she said scrunching her features as if she’d sucked down a lemon.

  “You need to lighten up, Abs, otherwise, your face will get stuck like that,” he teased.

  “Ha ha, very droll.”

  The forest offered a cooling shade from the heat that was building from the midday sun. July was shaping up to be a warm month, with temperatures regularly jumping into the mid-twenties. The crime scene was much deeper into the forest than Scott had anticipated. Scott wondered if this was deliberate, an attempt to hide the scene and the body for as long as possible from prying eyes. If that was the case, then that strategy had failed.

  The officers puffed a bit by the time they reached the blue and white police cordon tape. Scott could clearly see the suspended body still in place whilst forensic officers logged and photographed the scene. Having signed in to the crime scene log earlier, Scott headed in the direction of the crime scene manager.

  “Matt, how’s things going?”

  “We should be ready to cut him down any minute now. We don’t want the poor sod up there any longer than is necessary. Cara can then get stuck in. Looks like a suicide on the face of it. It’s going to be a lengthy job mapping out the scene, and gathering any evidence.”

  “Have we got an ID?”

  “We understand he’s the assistant principal of the school from what staff have told us,” he said nodding over towards where they’d just come. “Poor lad in the ambulance found him. Gave the kid an asthma attack.”

  Scott glanced around trying to get a feel for the geography. It was a dense secluded spot, not the easiest to get to, but the spot where they stood offered a clearing of some sorts. He assumed that it had been chosen deliberately rather than randomly because of its inaccessibility.

  “Okay, mate, keep me informed,” Scott said as he headed off to track down Cara who was now engrossed in yet another cosy conversation with Abby, which left him decidedly nervous.

  “Inspector,” Cara called as he approached, a glint of affection in her eyes, as both Cara and Abby stopped to stare at him.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, my dear, just making sure you’re all right,” she replied, a hint of mischief in her tone.

  “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Just thought you might be tired from all these late nights you’ve been having?” Cara winked knowing Scott would be squirming from her loaded question.

  Amusement danced across Abby’s face as she watched the natural banter between them. She raised a questioning brow in Scott’s direction.

  Scott ignored her question. “Guess you’ve not had a chance to do much yet?”

  “No, I’m on shortly. I can give you an initial assessment not long after. On first impression though, it does appear as if he’s taken his own life. There’s no evidence of other injuries other than a small nick on his cheek from what I could see, but then again, he’s hanging from a rope at the moment.”

  “Abby and I will go and have a chat with the lad, there’s nothing much for us to do around here at the moment.”

  Abby breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped out into the warm sun once again. A smile returned to her face as she wrapped her golden blonde hair behind her ears, closed her eyes and raised her face upwards towards the blue sky, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face.

  “What do you make of that then?” Scott asked, breaking her moment of indulgence as he stepped out of his suit.

  She remained motionless, enjoying the moment as she pondered the scene.

  “Sounds like Cara keeps you busy at night!” She laughed.

  “You know what I mean, you cheeky mare.”

  “It does look like he took his own life, and the fact that it’s out here and not indoors suggests it was premeditated.”

  Scott nodded as he entertained his own theories, but Abby had a point. He certainly didn’t want to be discovered.

  Matthew Edrington sat in the back of the ambulance shaking, wrapped in a red hospital blanket. He sucked hard on a nebuliser as his chest heaved, his shoulders hunched tight on each inhale. His ginger hair was matted with sweat, his dirty arms and legs heavily scratched, scabbed with blood. His frightened eyes glared at the officers as they peered in the back. Whatever he’d witnessed had certainly shaken the boy to his core.

  A woman in a two-piece matching grey check suit and white blouse comforted the boy. She had one arm around Matthew’s shoulders, pulling him closer to her. She lightly dabbed her moist eyes with a tissue.

  “I’m Mary Harrison the deputy principal,” she announced.

  Scott gave her a nod of acknowledgement, before turning his attention to the boy. “Hello, Matthew, I’m Scott, a police officer,” Scott said gently as he held up his warrant card. “This is my colleague Abby,” he offered nodding in her direction as Abby smiled. “How are you feeling?”

  Matthew shrugged, his little frame looked helpless and weak beneath his red shroud.

  “Can we ask you a few questions?”

  The boy hesitated for a moment, unsure of his surroundings, before nodding once.

  “Did you see anyone else when you found…erm, when you found the body?” Scott struggled to find the right words without upsetting or alarming the boy any further.

  Matthew shook his head once.

  “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary or odd as you approached the forest?”

  Matthew shook his head again.

  “How about when you came out of the forest, anything odd?”

  “No,” came a crackling, muffled reply from behind his plastic oxygen mask.

  “Well, you’ve been very brave, and I know what you saw was very upsetting. We’ll make sure you’re looked after and that your parents are notified. I understand that it’s the assistant principal of the school. Is that correct?” Scott asked looking at Mary Harrison.

  “Yes,” she replied with a weak nod.

  “And his name is?…”

  “Mr Johnson, Christopher Johnson,” she replied.

  “I’ve let the house down. I came in last again,” Matthew interrupted through deep gasps, glancing apprehensively in the direction of the officers.

  Mary Harrison gave him a sympathetic hug, as her red bloodshot eyes looked over the top of Matthew’s head towards the police officers. She opened her mouth in readiness to say something, but then stopped herself, perhaps deciding that now was not the time to be talking about the tragic death of her colleague in front of the boy.

  “You’ll find Mr Collier, the principal, over
in the main building.”

  Scott gave Matthew a reassuring smile. Despite discovering a body, the fact he’d come last in their cross-country run seemed to play on the boy’s mind more than anything else, and that troubled Scott.

  “Poor bugger, he’s as white as a ghost.” Abby sighed.

  “That’s going to stick with him for a long time; poor lad will need some counselling.”

  Matt Allen, the crime scene manager, pulled Scott and Abby to one side as they headed back to their car. “We’ve taken down the victim, there are no further visible injuries that we can see, other than some swelling to his face, and so cause of death looks like strangulation by hanging. We’re still sweeping the floor for evidence. The ground has been disturbed quite a bit, so we’re not sure if that’s as a result of the boy, foxes or those who investigated it before calling it in. Cara will know more; I think the PM is for tomorrow.

  “He had his school ID card on a lanyard in his trouser pocket. It says Christopher Johnson, and the photo looks like him.”

  “Well, at least we know who he is.”

  “There’s something worth noting here, Scott. In one of his pockets, was a folded piece of paper with something that looks like a Latin inscription on it…and a white feather,” Matt said raising a brow as he held up as clear plastic evidence bag.

  Scott and Abby exchanged a look of curiosity, not sure what to make of it.

  “Despite my many talents, I can’t admit to being a professor of Latin, so the inscription would mean nothing to me,” Scott said looking perplexed.

  Abby looked equally blank. “Me neither.”

  “We’ll look at that later. Let’s head over to the main building to see what’s what with the principal.”