Back at the Inn, I invited Luke up to my room. Closing the door behind us, Luke sat on the chair by the desk and I went to the bathroom. Removing the makeshift bandage from my wrist, I pulled off my sweatshirt and ran my arm under the cold tap. The icy water made the cut sting and I winced in pain.
Luke appeared in the doorway and asked, "Is everything alright?" Seeing that I was standing there in my bra, the colour suddenly returned to his cheeks. Although he looked embarrassed walking in on me like that, he didn't immediately turn away, but lingered in the doorway and looked at me. I didn't move either and for the longest seconds of my life we just stood and looked at each other. Then slowly, I covered my chest with my good arm and said, "You couldn't get me a fresh top from the wardrobe, could you?"
There was another pause as if it took a moment for my request to register with Luke. Then looking away and almost colliding with the doorframe, he said, "Sure. Give me a minute."
Placing my wrist back under the running water, I cleaned the cut with a piece of tissue paper. To my relief, I could see that it wasn't deep and thankfully wouldn't need stitches.
"Here you go," I heard Luke say, and I looked up to see his arm poking around the doorframe with a T-shirt hanging from his fist. This time around, he hadn't barged straight in on me. Smiling to myself, I turned off the running water, patted the cut dry with the tissue, then snatched the T-shirt from him.
Pulling it over my head, I went back into the bedroom to find him sitting back in the chair by the desk.
"Are you okay?" he asked me.
"I'll live," I told him.
"I'm glad," he said, and flashed me one of his smiles.
Taking some plasters that I had buried at the bottom of my make-up bag, I covered the cut. When I had finished, Luke asked, "Had you seen the guy on the bike before?"
"Last night, in the bar downstairs," I told him.
"Then again leaving the crucifix outside your room?" he asked.
"No, I didn't see him do that," I said.
"Then how did you know it was him who left it?"
Pointing to the envelope on the desk, I said to Luke, "That was the envelope that he left. Look at it. What can you see?"
Picking up the envelope, Luke turned it over in his hands. After several moments, he looked at me and said, "It's got your name on the front."
"But what else can you see?" I pushed him.
With a blank expression on his face, he said, "Nothing.'
"Give it to me," I said, holding out my hand.
Coming to sit next to me on the bed, Luke handed me the envelope. "The guy I saw in the Inn last night was wearing a hoodie and he wore it in such a way so as to mask his face," I told him.
"So if you didn't see his face, how do you know it was him?" Luke asked.
"I'm getting to that," I said. "The guy in the hoodie was sitting at a table in the corner. He was sitting away from the rest of the other people in the bar. The corner of the room was dark and I noticed that there was a candle on the table. He was holding a glass of whiskey in his left hand."
"So?" Luke said.
"Well take a closer look at the envelope," I told him, holding it up. "The writing on the front has been written by a man. See the way the writing leans to the right? That suggests it has been written by a left-handed person."
"But that still doesn't mean..." Luke started and leaned in closer to me.
"Now look here and here," I said pointing to the top right-hand corner of the envelope. "See those spots of wax? He used the candle so he could see to write my name on the front, and in doing so, some of the wax spattered onto the envelope."
"But..." Luke tried again.
"Then there's this," I said, lifting the flap of the envelope and running the seal against the tip of my nose. "The unmistakable smell of whiskey. The man probably took a swig to moisten his tongue so as to seal the envelope securely."
"And the crucifix?" Luke asked, and he sounded somewhat in awe.
"Easy-peasy," I smiled. "They sell them in the bar."
"But..." Luke mumbled.
"I know, it's all subjective, but I was convinced I was right after my tussle with the man on his bike this morning," I said.
"But how?"
"As I gripped his handlebars, again I noticed several spots of white wax on the sleeve of his black-coloured hoodie. You would've had to been blind not to have seen them." Then looking Luke straight in the eye, I added, "I know this town is somewhat remote but they do have such a thing as electricity. It seems doubtful then that he would have got the wax on his sleeve anywhere other than the bar downstairs."
Luke sat in silence for a moment, then said, "That's brilliant Kiera. That was bloody awesome!"
Blushing, I said, "See I told you it wasn't magic. It's just that I have this ability of seeing things that other people don't."
"Is that how you knew so much about what had happened at the crime scene in the woods last night?" Luke asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I still reckon you guessed some of it?"
"I never guess," I told him.
"But how did you know how many killers there were? How did you know what sex they were, the fact that one had arrived before the others and had waited more than an hour for them? And that one of them dyed their hair?" Luke asked, never taking his eyes from mine.
Breaking his stare I explained. "Firstly there were three different sets of footprints around the body. Two sets were too big to have belonged to females. The third set was much smaller. Too big to be a child's and too small to be a man's. So that only left a female. By the size of the gait between each footstep, I could roughly work out each person's height. One of the males, the one that was about five-foot-ten tall, was the smoker. His footprints were clearly visible by the tree next to the body of the dead boy. Several cigarette butts, Marlboro in brand, had been ground out by the base of the tree, by the same boot that had left the footprints, which meant they could have only been left by him and not by anyone else. The fact that there were several, suggests that he waited some time for the others, and while he did, he smoked to pass the time. Depending on how heavy a smoker he is depends on how long he waited there. Let's say he smoked four to five in an hour, then he waited about an hour and a half, but no more than two.
"Wrapped around one of the boy's fingers was a long blonde hair. It could have come from the head of a male, but after quickly examining it in the torchlight, I could see that the first half inch of the hair leading from the root was black. Therefore the hair was more than likely to have come from the female. It's not often that a male would have dyed his hair peroxide blonde. And that's about it," I finished.
"That's about it?" Luke whistled through his teeth. "You noticed all of that in the short space of time that you were there?"
"It just happens," I told him. "I just see stuff."
"That's spooky," Luke said.
"No, it's good police work," and I smiled. "I haven't told you anything that forensics wouldn't find."
"Forensics," Luke said, and his voice sounded kind of flat.
"I know this town is like at the end of the Earth, but you must have forensic officers?" I asked him.
"Yeah, we do have a forensic officer," he said, sounding as if he were trying to hide something from me.
"Who?" I asked.
"Potter," he said and looked away as if he were ashamed.
"That cretin?"' I exclaimed. "He couldn't find his way out of an elevator!"
"He's been on a course and everything," Luke tried to assure me.
"A course?" I said in disbelief. "No wonder the killers haven't been caught, if he's responsible for examining the crime scenes."
"He seems to do a thorough job," Luke tried to assure me. "I've seen him gathering up evidence and bagging and tagging it for forensics to examine."
"You have forensic officers posted out here?" I asked, hoping that he would say yes.
"No," he said. "But Potter puts the stuff in the freezer back at the station and they either come and collect or he sends it to them via post."
"And what have been the results so far?" I asked him.
"Not much I guess, or we would have the killers locked up by now," Luke said.
"What about those teeth marks you told me about?"
"They're not even sure what type of creature they belong to. The teeth don't appear to be that of a human, more like some kind of wild dog," Luke said.
"There wasn't any dog or any other type of wild animal involved in the death of Henry Blake," I insisted.
"But even with your great powers of observation," Luke said, "you still don't know how the killers got to and from the crime scene?"
He looked at me and I pictured the broken branches in the trees above the boy's mutilated body.
"Well?" he asked, sounding impatient.
"I don't know," I admitted, the only possibility left after examining the scene was that the killers had entered the scene from above. But I didn't want to say that - because it would have been impossible.
"Look Kiera, we've lived with these murders for the last few years - and yeah we might not be super-cops from headquarters - but we've done our best with the limited resources that we have," he said, getting up from the edge of the bed.
Holding out my good hand towards him, I said, "Luke, I wasn't trying to knock you or your team - it's just..."
"Just what?" he asked. "None of us are as switched on as you? Is that it?"
I shook my head and looked away from him.
"You've been in The Ragged Cove five minutes and you think you know this case better than us," he said. "Well let me tell you something for nothing, this ain't a normal town and the murders ain't normal either. Whoever or whatever is carrying out these killings will be caught - one way or another - we'll catch them."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to offend anyone."
"Just take some time to get to know this town and its people before you go jumping to any conclusions," he said and his voice had softened. Then coming towards me and taking me by the hand, he looked into my eyes and said, "I hope you last longer than the other recruits they sent."
"Why?" I said, looking into his pale green eyes.
"Cos' I like having you around," he smiled, then headed towards the door.
"Is that all?" I called after him.
"And you seem like a pretty good cop," he said.
"Just good?" I grinned.
"If you really want to impress me," he said, "tell me the name of the hooded guy who's been following you and then explain how those killers got to and from that crime scene. Do that and you won't just be good - you'll be amazing!" Snatching up his sweatshirt covered in my blood, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
I went to the window and looked out. After a few moments, he appeared below and made his way to his car. Unaware that I was watching him, he climbed into the front seat. Then he did something so strange and unexpected, I gasped aloud. Taking the sweatshirt he'd wrapped around my wrist, he raised it to his face and sniffed the bloodstains that I'd left on it.
Starting the engine of his car, he sped off down the country lane and disappeared from view.