Chapter 35
GRAHAM
Graham takes a deep breath as he places a hand on his heart, feeling it beat under his palm. It’s racing. He feels it, inside him, gathering momentum. He’s close to the answers. He can feel it.
He walks out of the garage and raises his eyes to the tree at the top of the hill – The Hanging Tree; a morbid nickname by the locals or a literal representation of what happened there a hundred years ago?
There is no local library in the village, so who will hold records of the area from that far back? Is there some sort of logbook?
Small, rural villages like this are often set in their ways, preferring old-school physical ways of storing information rather than digital options.
Something tells him that Frank would know.
He hopes Mr Mallow has some form of success tonight at the pub.
It’s all riding on him and his unique ability to read what people are saying beneath the surface.
Graham thought he was good at that, after his many years on the force, but Mr Mallow has an exceptional talent for it.
Mr Mallow is standing in the yard, staring up at the tree, having walked down from the hill.
The man looks as if he’s on his last legs.
Should Graham talk him into going to the hospital?
It’s not like him to forget words either, like they dropped out of his head.
He knows the man is stubborn, but would he really put his own health at risk just to solve the case of Sophia Hammel?
He notices Mr Mallow is holding several items. Two planks of wood and a book.
‘Found something, then?’ he asks.
Mr Mallow snaps his attention towards him. ‘It appears so. What do you make of this?’ Mr Mallow hands him the book.
Graham flicks through it. ‘A talented girl.’
‘Yes.’
‘Somewhat familiar in style to the drawing I found in the scarecrow’s pockets. Seems like it was a prized possession of hers. I doubt she would have left town without it.’
‘My thoughts exactly. You know, Detective, you and I are scarily similar.’
‘Scarily similar?’
‘Yes.’
Graham doesn’t press further for what that may mean, but he’s inclined to agree. Who knew that two people at opposite ends of the spectrum could share so many similarities?
‘By the way, Detective, it appears your car has a flat tyre.’ Stephen points towards it, parked next to the garage.
Graham frowns, walking over there. He reaches the car and stops dead in his tracks. Mr Mallow is mistaken. It isn’t one tyre that’s flat, but all four. In fact, they aren’t just flat, but slashed, mostly likely with a very sharp, very big knife.
A message is also scratched into the paintwork along the driver’s side.
Stop. Looking. For. Her.
Mr Mallow joins him and they stare at the message. ‘When the threatening messages start, you know you’re on the right track.’
‘Indeed,’ replies Graham, scratching his rough beard. Perhaps whoever did this was the same person who’d crawled through the tiny window into the garage and propped the scarecrow into a sitting position to scare him. Someone is having fun at his expense.
Graham books a callout from the local garage to come and change all the tyres, but they won’t arrive until tomorrow. It’s too late in the day to visit now, apparently. He has one tyre spare, but not four. Strangely, Mr Mallow’s car is untouched.
‘Will you be driving to meet Mr Hammel later?’ Graham asks.
‘Yes. I don’t know how late I’ll be, so I don’t want to walk back in the dark.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘So … about your boarded up window,’ says Mr Mallow, pointing.
Graham frowns. ‘Ah, yes. I’d forgotten about that.’
‘It doesn’t belong there.’
‘Yes, you said that before. I’m inclined to agree.’
‘I have another hunch.’
Graham grumbles about what Mr Mallow can do with his hunches. Graham knows there are two bedrooms; one at the back and one at the front, as well as a bathroom upstairs and a small window on the main landing at the top of the stairs.
‘Come on then, Mr Mallow. It seems we can’t rest until we’ve figured out this next mystery.’
He heads inside and climbs the stairs two at a time, regretting his decision by the time he reaches the top one.
He desperately needs to join a gym or an exercise class or something.
Walking a few miles each day isn’t cutting it.
Not that there are any gyms around here, but he’s always liked the idea of joining one.
It’s the thought that counts, after all, right?
He heads to the dead-end hallway; the area that has never made sense in his head. Footsteps sound on the stairs behind him, followed by a breathless Mr Mallow.
‘As you can see, Detective, there doesn’t appear to be a room up here which leads to the boarded-up window,’ says Mr Mallow, gesturing at the hallway that leads nowhere.
Graham nods. ‘It’s certainly odd, I’ll give you that.’
‘Odd, yes.’
‘A secret room, perhaps, that’s also been boarded up?’ Graham asks.
‘An intriguing suggestion,’ replies Mr Mallow. ‘Do you have the title deeds to the property?’
‘Somewhere, yes, but I’ve never looked at them.’
Five minutes later, Graham returns with the papers, all of which are dog-eared, faded and crumpled.
They stand side by side in silence while he flips through the pages until he finds the design layout of the cottage.
There it is, in black and white. An extra window with a room that Graham has never stepped foot in before.
‘This makes no sense,’ says Graham, flipping back a few pages in case he’s missed something. ‘Someone has blocked a whole room off.’
Graham watches, transfixed, as Mr Mallow bends to investigate the fuse box, which appears to be dead.
Graham has never used it before as a brand new one has been installed downstairs underneath the stairs.
Mr Mallow manages to get the small door open, revealing a bunch of twisted wires covered in dust, along with an array of switches.
Mr Mallow slowly moves his fingers around the area, pulls at a few wires, which come loose in his hand. He then knocks on the wall. A hollow thud sounds.
‘I believe this is plasterboard,’ says Mr Mallow. ‘Might you fetch me a sledgehammer?’
Graham doesn’t own a sledgehammer, but he does have a crowbar, which he keeps stashed under his bed in case of emergencies; a habit he’s had from his time in the police force.
Mr Mallow takes it from him, then wedges the pointed edge into the nearest corner of the wall.
He yanks it out, pulling with it a chunk of plasterboard.
Graham steps forwards and peers through the hole in the wall. ‘Mr Mallow, I do believe you are a certified genius.’