November Lake: Teenage Detective (The November Lake Mysteries) Book 1 (5 page)

“
Get a torch from the boot,” Kale wheezed, pushing open the
door and climbing out. The engine continued to purr and the keys
swung from the ignition. Leaning against my door, I stumbled out
into the ditch, my boots slopping down into the nearest puddle.
With my hands placed against the side of the car for support, I
made my way to the boot. I popped it open and snatched up the
torch. Switching it on, I shone the cone of light into the fog.
Screwing up my eyes, I could just make out Kale disappearing like a
ghost into the distance.

“
Hey, Kale!” I hollered. “Wait for me.”

I raced
into the writhing fog after him. The sound of his footsteps grew
muffled as he ran ahead of me. The light from the torch bounced off
the fog as if being reflected back. Then, just ahead, I could see
two orange lights flashing on and off like a heartbeat. The car
loomed out of the fog, hazard lights blazing. The front of it
looked as if a tree trunk had taken root in the middle of the
engine. Stepping closer, I could see the 4X4 had crashed into a
tree. Smoke billowed from the crunched-up bonnet. The driver’s door
was open, as was the back passenger door. Kale was standing beside
the car, back bent as he peered inside.

“
Is the driver okay?” I asked, rushing forward.

“
What driver?” Kale breathed, standing straight.

I shone
the torch into the car. I didn’t need it to see that the driver’s
seat was empty. I glanced left and right into the fog. “Where’s the
driver gone?”

“
Beats the hell out of me.”

Brushing
past Kale, I leant into the car. I shone the torchlight over the
seat, the foot-well, steering wheel, and dashboard. Once I had seen
enough, I turned to look back at Kale.

“
He went that way,” I said, pointing back in the direction we
had come.

“
He?” Kale raised his eyebrows. “Could have been a female
driver.”

“
No,” I said, shaking my head. “The driver was male, at least
six feet tall, has blonde hair, smoked, right handed, likes to
listen to classical music…”

“
Are you making all this stuff up, November?” Kale
sighed.

“
No,” I said, looking at him through the fog. “Why would
I?”

“
I dunno,” Kale shrugged. “How could you know all this stuff
about the driver? You only stuck your head in the car for a couple
of seconds.”

“
Look,” I said, shining the torch back into the car. “See how
far the driver’s seat is pushed back from the pedals? The driver
had real long legs and I’m guessing he would have to be over six
feet in height. Very few women are ever
that
tall. He is blonde, because
there are strands of blonde hair against the headrest. I know he
smokes because there are traces of old cigarette ash over the
driver’s wing mirror. This is from where he flicks the ash from the
tip of his cigarette end. As the ash is all over the wing mirror,
it suggests he holds the cigarette in his right hand, therefore,
making him right handed.”

“
And the classical music?” Kale said. “No, don’t tell me, he’s
got a stack of classical CDs on the dashboard?”

“
I haven’t seen any CDs,” I said with a shake of my head. “But
I did see that his radio was tuned into Classic FM.”

“
So how do you know he headed back in the direction we came
from?” Kale asked.

I
pointed the torch down at the spots of blood that led from the car,
leaving a bloody trail to be followed. Kale looked down, then back
at me.

“
He would’ve had to pass by us. We would’ve seen him,” Kale
said.

“
In this fog?” I said, setting off back in the direction we had
come from. I followed the trail of blood. Kale walked alongside
me.

“
He couldn’t have got far if he’s bleeding,” Kale
said.

“
But not badly,” I said, following the spots of blood that were
now growing smaller and fainter. “I knew he was a
weirdo.”

“
Who?”

“
The guy who was staring at me back at the petrol station,” I
reminded him.

“
So you think that’s who this is?” Kale asked.

“
He was filling up a 4x4 the exact same colour as the one
wrapped around that tree. And besides, the petrol gage indicated
the car had only just been filled up,” I told him.

“
Hang on,” Kale said, slowing down, a smile creeping across his
face.

I looked
at him. “What?”

“
That’s how you knew so much stuff about the driver,” he
smirked. “You were just remembering what you had seen back at the
petrol station. You had seen him before.”

“
Not so,” I said, turning away and following the bloody trail
again.

“
Well, however you came across that information, you can’t
explain why he would want to drive us off the road,” Kale said, as
if teasing me.

“
I’ve already told you why,” I said, stopping to look at him.
“The guy was a creep. There wasn’t something quite right about
him.”

“
What…because he was looking at you?” Kale quizzed, hands
thrust into his jacket pockets, keeping his fingers warm against
the chill wind.

“
It was more than that,” I said, turning away and catching a
glimpse of Kale’s car in the fog. I headed toward it.

Reaching
the car together, Kale said, “Why did you shut the doors? I hope
you’ve got the car key.”

“
I never shut the car doors,” I said back, remembering how they
had been left open, the key swinging from the ignition.

“
Great,” Kale sighed, combing his messy fringe from his brow
with his fingers. “The key is locked inside the car.”

Bending
down, I lit the inside of the car up by shinning the torch through
the window. Then standing straight, and with my heart starting to
quicken, I looked at Kale and said, “The key isn’t there anymore.
Someone has taken it.”

“
What?” Kale said, easing me aside and peering into the car.
“Why would someone want to take the car key?”

“
So we can’t drive away from here,” I said, my skin turning
cold. Shivering, I pulled my coat tight about me.

“
But who would do that?” Kale said.

“
The same guy who was staring at me back at the petrol station,
the same guy who drove us off the road, the same guy who has now
disappeared,” I whispered, my eyes darting left, then right as I
glanced nervously into the thickening fog.

“
But why would he want to do any of those things?” Kale
whispered back, his face now looking as if it had drained of all
colour.

“
I guess there is only one way of finding out,” I said, setting
off in the direction that the spots of blood led.

The
trail soon petered out or became invisible amongst the wild thorny
shrubs and bushes that covered the slate walls on either side of
the country road. The fog was still dense and surrounded us like
smoky cloud. It muffled any sound, drowning our world in silence.
The whole effect was disorientating, and it wasn’t long before I
had lost all sense of direction. I rummaged through my coat pocket
for my phone, fingertips brushing over the mints Kale had given me
earlier that night. I plucked my phone from my pocket. There was no
signal.

“
I haven’t got a signal either,” Kale said, standing beside me,
phone in hand.

“
I’m not surprised,” I smiled, looking at the brick he held in
his hands. “Where did you get that thing? A museum?”

“
It’s cheap,” he said, shoving it into his pocket. “I like
cheap and so does my overdraft.”

I shone
my torch along the wall for any signs of blood. A few steps away,
almost hidden by the fog was a stile. “This way,” I said over my
shoulder at Kale. I spotted the bloody handprint on the wooden post
almost at once. Shining the light on it, I said, “Looks like our
man went this way.”

Gripping
the torch in one hand, I climbed over the stile and into the field
on the other side. Mud squelched about my boots. I waited for Kale
to climb over, then together we set off into the fog once again. We
hadn’t gone very far when I heard the sound of murmuring. It was
very faint. Cocking my head to one side, I strained to locate the
direction it was coming from.

“
Ahead,” Kale said, pointing into the wall of fog and setting
off.

I went
after him. The murmuring grew louder. And with every step it
sounded as if someone was crying out in pain. I gripped Kale’s arm
to slow him. “Be careful.”

“
Always.” Kale gave a nervous smile.

Then,
turning, we almost tripped over the body lying in the field. Both
of us cried out in surprise and the body at our feet cried out in
pain.

“
Watch where you’re going, can’t you?” a voice
groaned.

I shone
my torch down into the upturned face peering out of the churning
fog at us. I flinched backwards at his stare. It was the man who
had been watching me back at the petrol station. But now his eyes
were clouded over with pain as he pressed the palm of one hand to
his side. He wore a wax coat, and the blue checked shirt beneath it
was stained black with his blood. It seeped through his fingers. My
first instinct was to kneel down and tend to his wound, as I had
learnt advanced first aid at training school, but I fought the urge
and stood back. This was the man who had creeped me out. This was
the man who had driven us off the road and stolen the keys to our
car. I placed my hand in my coat pocket and let my fingers brush
over my police badge.

“
Help me,” the man groaned.

“
Give me back the keys to my car,” Kale said, holding out his
hand.

“
I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said through
gritted teeth as he fought the pain.

I was
starting to wonder if we should give the guy some first aid. If he
bled to death and we had done nothing to save him, then what sort
of police officers were we?

“
You drove us off the road, then took the keys to our car,”
Kale came again. He didn’t seem to share the same concerns I
did.

“
I never drove you off the road,” the injured man groaned. “I
was just trying to get past you. You were driving so
slow.”

Kale
glanced at me, then back down at the bleeding man. “Why the
rush?”

“
My sister is in danger,” he said, sounding out of breath. “She
has been kidnapped, and if I don’t get to her, she will
die.”

“
Kidnapped?” I breathed. Was this guy for real?

“
Sarah is being held against her will in a farmhouse just on
the other side of this field,” the man panted, pressing his hand
flat against the wound in his side. “You’ve got to help
me.”

“
Car keys?” Kale said, holding out his hand again.

“
I haven’t got your keys,” the man winced, looking up out of
the fog at us.

“
Who else would have taken them?” I asked.

“
Morris Cook,” the man said.

“
And who is Morris Cook?” Kale asked, raising an
eyebrow.

“
The man who is going to murder my sister if I don’t save her,”
he said. “Please help me.”

I
pointed my torch into the fog. Just ahead I could see what looked
like the outline of a small building. It sat in the fog like a
shadow. Still not knowing if we should believe this stranger, how
could we not help him? We were police officers after all, albeit
probationers and still at training school. Bending at the knees, I
slipped one arm around the injured man. I looked back at
Kale.

“
I don’t like this one little bit,” Kale said.

“
Neither do I,” I told him. “But what are we meant to
do?”

Drawing
a deep breath, Kale crouched down, slipped his arm around the
shoulders of the stranger, and together we hoisted him to his feet.
He cried out in pain as we led him to the small building hidden in
the fog.

As we
drew closer to it, I could see that the building was in fact a
small barn. Supporting the stranger between us, I pulled open the
door. The hinges made a grinding noise that sent shivers down my
spine. I cast the torchlight inside and could see that the ground
was scattered with hay. There were several bales in one corner, and
some old oily tractor parts in another. We led the man inside,
settling him down against the bales of hay. I looked out in the fog
just for any sign that we might have been followed by this Morris
Cook, the stranger who had been mentioned. Not being able to see
any more than just a few feet in front of me, I slowly closed the
barn door.

“
Do you want me to take a look at that cut?” Kale asked the
man.

“
No,” he breathed deeply. “It’s painful, but not too
deep.”

“
Look, we both know a bit about first aid,” Kale started.
“We’re both…”

I
reached out and placed my hand on Kale’s arm. Without saying a
word, I looked into his eyes and shook my head. Something told me
not to tell this guy just yet that we were both cops. He had
mentioned that his sister was being held captive close by. He might
clam up if he knew we were police officers, fearing that we might
scare this Morris Cook into taking some rash action and hurting his
sister.