Daisy in Chains(17)

The police investigation had one bit of luck. A small piece of Sellotape, just short of an inch long, was found clinging to Jessie’s hair. Speculation is that it was lying on the floor of the killer’s home. Jessie’s hair was long and thick. The killer didn’t see it.

It held carpet fibres and two short, white hairs that were subsequently found to be canine. The fibres were identified and the police now knew they were looking for someone with a white dog and a BMW 6 series.





Chapter 11


MAGGIE STANDS AT the mouth of Rill Cavern, listening to the sound of running water and the steady drip, drip of a stalactite forming. It is cold here, at the cave entrance, because the December sun is low in the sky. Already shadows are lengthening, and the pale, weak beams can no longer reach the north cliff. It will be warmer inside.

There is plant life in this cave, strange though it may seem. Spongy clumps cling to vertical rock faces, fungus-like ferns peek out through cracks, the damper walls have the green sheen of algae. Some light squeezes in here, through cracks in the rock, through chimneys that lead right up to the world outside, allowing these alien, distorted growths to survive.

Another step and her foot slides. She pushes the switch on her torch and lets the beam move around the walls. There is something disturbingly, flesh-crawlingly organic about the limestone mass around her. A curve of rock to her left could be the haunch of an animal. To her right hang formations that have the appearance of drying skins. Directly ahead, the roof of the cave lowers and she will have to bend low if she is to reach the chamber she knows to be beyond.

Maggie steps into the narrow, low passageway, conscious of the massive press of rock above her, but turning around in this cramped space will feel worse than going straight on and so she makes herself take the final few paces.

Suddenly, the low rock ceiling is gone and in its place is a vast emptiness. Maggie shines her torch up and around, but its beam is hardly strong enough to reach the highest or furthest points. This chamber is huge, as though the entire cliff is hollow, and still the rocks around her have the appearance of living flesh. She might almost imagine herself in the belly of some giant creature, that were she to reach out and touch the walls they would be warm, would yield to her fingers, be pulsating with blood.

A fluttering sounds high above her head and instinctively she lowers her torch because disturbing the resident bats is against the law. She moves towards the river, past a raised pool on a rock shelf, with limestone fingers reaching down into its depths. The rocks below the water’s surface gleam in jewel colours and patterns.

The underground watercourse is flowing in an easterly direction, linking this chamber with others near by, creating a network of caves and passageways. Eventually, it will make its way out from the Mendip hills and flow across the Somerset levels to the Bristol Channel.

A sound behind, louder than the trickling and dripping and scuttling that is the noise of the caves. Without thinking, Maggie switches off her torch and the cave is plunged into darkness.

She waits, hearing the gentle murmur of the water, the constant dripping. In the darkness of this cave, she can hide for ever. Whoever is coming will never find her.

‘Maggie?’

A light appears and she stands up quickly, ashamed of the instinct that made her fearful. With her torch back on, she sees feet, a pair of legs in dark suit trousers and a head, with short brown hair. He reaches the end of the overhang and stands upright. His light is much weaker than hers, just the beam from a mobile phone.

‘This can’t be coincidence,’ she says.

Pete shakes his head, a little like a dog trying to dislodge drops of water. ‘I saw you come in. And I couldn’t help but wonder why.’

She feels guilty, and not just at being caught trespassing. He will know she’s here out of interest in the Wolfe case and Pete Weston does not want her to become involved in the Wolfe case.

‘Curiosity, I suppose,’ she says. ‘Wolfe has been forced on to my radar screen. When that happens, I just have to dig a bit deeper.’

‘Did you find anything?’ He’s looking around, into blackness that his tiny torch beam can’t penetrate.

‘What would you expect me to find? I assume you’ve checked already. You’d know if Zoe were here.’

‘She isn’t.’ He steps carefully past her. ‘Police divers, assisted by very experienced local cavers, searched every inch of it. We even had divers search the river. Or as much of it as we could access.’

Maggie joins him at the water’s edge. ‘She could have been swept out of reach.’ She shines her torch to where the water disappears below rock. ‘Be stuck on something.’

‘Quite likely she is. Either in this cave or one of the dozen others in the area. But until Wolfe tells us where to look, we haven’t a hope of finding her.’

‘Where was Myrtle?’ she asks him.

He nods towards where a narrow strip of rubble pretends to be a beach. ‘Half in, half out of the water,’ he tells her. ‘Probably washed up, because this cave gets a lot of visits and if she’d been there since she went missing, she’d have been found a lot sooner. So, Maggie, are you staying down here long, or would you like to get a coffee?’

Maggie opens her mouth to say that she has to get home, that she has a dozen things to do. Instead, she finds herself taking one last look around. ‘I’m done here,’ she says. ‘Coffee sounds good.’