Force of Nature (Aaron Falk #2)(64)

As Beth made her way back towards the cabin, she could hear voices coming from inside.

‘I’ve already said, the answer’s no.’ Stress clipped Jill’s words short.

‘I’m not asking your permission.’

‘Hey, you need to remember your place, lady.’

‘No, Jill. You need to open your eyes and take a good look around. We’re not at work now.’

A pause. ‘I am always at work.’

Beth took a step closer and all of a sudden felt herself stumbling as the ground disappeared beneath her boot. She landed heavily on her palms, her ankle twisting under her. She looked down, the groan in her chest rising to a shriek when she saw what she had landed on.

The sound cut through the air, silencing the birdcall. There was a shocked stillness from the cabin, then two faces appeared in the window. Beth heard footsteps running up behind her as she scrambled away, her twisted ankle throbbing in protest as it bumped along the ground.

‘Are you okay?’ Lauren was first to reach her, with Bree close behind. The faces vanished from the window and a moment later, Jill and Alice were outside. Beth hauled herself to her feet. Her fall had scattered a pile of dead leaves and forest debris, exposing a shallow but distinct dip in the ground.

‘There’s something in there.’ Beth heard her voice crack.

‘What?’ Alice said.

‘I don’t know.’

With an impatient noise, Alice stepped forward and skimmed her boot across the dip, sweeping the leaves aside. Collectively, the women leaned forward, then almost instantly back. Only Alice remained in place, staring down. Small and yellow and partly covered by mud, even to an untrained eye they were unmistakable. Bones.

‘What is that?’ Bree whispered. ‘Please tell me it’s not a child.’

Beth reached out and took her twin’s hand. It felt surprisingly unfamiliar. She was relieved when Bree didn’t pull away.

Alice swept her foot across the hole again, clearing more leaves from the space. She was more hesitant this time, Beth noticed. Alice’s toe caught something hard, sending it skittering a short way through the leaves. Her shoulders visibly tensed, then slowly she bent and picked it up. Her face froze, then she made a small noise of relief.

‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘It’s okay. It’s only a dog.’

She held up a small rotten cross, clumsily fashioned from two uneven pieces of wood nailed together. Across the centre, in letters so old they were barely legible, someone had carved: Butch.

‘How can you be sure it’s a dog?’ Beth’s voice didn’t quite sound like her own.

‘Would you call your child Butch?’ Alice glanced at Beth. ‘Or maybe you would. Either way, this doesn’t look exactly human.’ She pointed her toe at what appeared to be a partly exposed skull. Beth looked. It did look a bit like a dog. She supposed. She wondered how it died but didn’t ask the question out loud.

‘Why isn’t it properly buried?’ she said instead.

Alice crouched next to the hole. ‘The soil probably eroded away. It looks shallow.’

Beth itched for a cigarette. Her eyes darted across the tree line. It all looked exactly the same as it had minutes ago. Still, her skin prickled with the unsettling sensation of being observed. She dragged her eyes away from the trees and tried to focus on something else. On the movement of the blowing leaves, on the cabin, on the clearing –

‘What is that?’

Beth pointed beyond the shallow hole containing the lonely dog. The others followed her gaze and Alice slowly stood up.

The depression sank into the earth beside the cabin wall in an apologetic curve. The hollow was so gentle, it was almost like it wasn’t there at all. The grass covering it was damp and windswept and a shade different from the growth on the other side. The difference was just enough, Beth felt instantly sure, to suggest that the earth had once been disturbed. There was no cross this time.

‘It’s bigger.’ Bree sounded ready to cry. ‘Why is it bigger?’

‘It’s not bigger. It’s nothing.’ Beth’s thoughts were scrambling to backtrack. It was nothing but a natural dip, probably erosion or soil shift, or something to do with some sort of science. What did she know about grass regrowth? Absolutely bugger-all.

Alice was still holding the wooden cross. She had a strange look on her face.

‘I’m not trying to cause trouble,’ she said, her voice oddly subdued, ‘but what was the name of Martin Kovac’s dog?’

Beth sucked in a breath. ‘Don’t bloody joke –’

‘I’m not – no, Beth, shut up, I’m not – everyone try to think. Do you remember? Years ago when it was all happening. He had that dog that he used to lure hikers and –’

‘Shut up! That’s enough!’ Jill’s voice was shrill.

‘But –’ Alice turned to Lauren. ‘You remember, don’t you? On the news? When we were at school. What was the dog’s name? Was it Butch?’

Lauren was looking at Alice like she’d never seen her before. ‘I don’t remember. He might have had a dog. Lots of people have dogs. I don’t remember.’ Her face was white.

Beth, still holding her sister’s hand, felt a warm tear fall onto her wrist. She turned to Alice and felt a wave of emotion. Fury, not fear, she told herself.