Chapter 6
THE GRAVEDIGGER
He sees the trail of her escape in the flattening of moor grass and heather.
The torchlight picks up her path, heading away from the coast. But as he takes a step in that direction, he hears a rustling sound behind him.
Heart beating faster, he turns, moving the torch with his body.
Clumps of heather shiver under the weak moonlight but there is no one standing behind him.
He curses. It could be anything. Another fox, a grouse, some sort of rodent.
Whatever it is, it has cost him precious seconds.
Picking up the shovel by his feet, he stomps through the grass, tracing his prey’s footsteps.
Sweat trickles down his forehead and he wipes a mix of sweat and dirt from his eyes.
This is turning into a nightmare. Why didn’t he slit her throat or cave her skull in?
He’d tried to do this the least messy way.
But now it was becoming messier than ever.
He hits a muddy patch and skids, almost ending up on the ground until he manages to use the shovel to stop his fall. For the first time, he’s out of his depth. His heart pounds. His fingers tighten around the torch as he continues, searching for signs of the woman.
He quickens his pace and his chest begins to heave. Panting and panicked, he’s running now. There’s no sight of her at all. How can this be? How can she have managed to hide in such an open area?
The torchlight finds a mound in the distance. It is little more than an irregular shape at first, but as he runs towards it, he realises it is a group of large rocks. The perfect hiding place. There’s nowhere else for her to be. He laughs quietly to himself as he heads over to the rocks.
“Would you like to finish digging your own grave?” he says, dipping the light across the stones.
“Because I would be happy to let you. I thought I was doing you a favour by taking on the heavy lifting but now I understand that you feel left out. You’d like to do it yourself.
Feminism, am I right? Equal opportunities!
” He laughs, this time as loud as he likes.
He wants to enjoy this moment, to relish it, to know that he has outwitted her yet again.
He steps around the rock and shines the flashlight into the blackness beyond.
“There you are.”
She is curled in a ball, with her knees up to her chin. The torch reveals the whites of her eyes, terrified and bulging like they’re being squeezed out of her skull. He almost feels sorry for her but then he remembers what she’s done. He knows what he has to do, and he’ll enjoy every minute of it.
He drops the torch to his feet and grabs the shovel with both hands.
Taking a step closer, he raises his weapon, ready to bring it down on her skull.
It’s time for the messy solution to his problem.
But to his surprise, instead of the satisfying thwack against flesh and bone, the shovel connects with a dull thud on the soil.
He scrabbles to find her with his hands, but can only feel the cold, hard ground.
He reaches for the torch. The place is deserted.
Somehow, she has dashed forward, disappearing into the dark.
It’s time for another chase.