Page 10 of The Girl in the Woods

‘So, why don’t you do something?’

‘I assure you we’re doing our best. Unfortunately, this isn’t a very clear photograph. Until we know who the bike belongs to, there isn’t much we can do. Catching them in the act isn’t easy.’

Beth handed Will a card with the station’s number on it. ‘Contact the station if you have any more trouble with them.’

‘You’re going to do something, aren’t you? Because if not, we’ll take things into our own hands,’ said Will determinedly. ‘If the law doesn’t do something, we’ll have to. Too many yobs are getting away with things.’

‘Well, I didn’t ask you, Mr Moulson. The police handle matters of the law, not the public. So I wouldn’t advise that. Leave these matters to those trained to deal with them. If there is any more trouble, phone us right away.’

‘You mean like when those joy riders race through the village every year when they have the car rally? I don’t see you doing much about that.’

Beth sighed. ‘I know it’s a problem, and we do try to catch them–’

‘Huh, try is the operative word,’ said Will scathingly.

‘What will you do in the meantime?’ asked Hale. ‘About this biker?’

Beth forwarded the photo to her phone. ‘We’ll get some work done on this photograph and see if we can get a clearer picture of this rider. Meanwhile, we’ll visit Ludbrook Grove and see if anyone there has a trail bike.’ She nodded to Matt, and they headed for the front door.

‘If the police can’t catch a kid on a bike, it comes to something,’ said Will sarcastically.

‘Leave it with us,’ she said calmly, walking from the house.

‘Wanker,’ muttered Matt.

‘Probably pissed off. Let’s visit Ludbrook Grove.’

Matt gave her a sideways glance and said carefully, ‘You look a bit rough.’

‘I don’t do my Jennifer Aniston look at one in the morning, and you don’t exactly look like Brad Pitt, yourself.’

‘Point taken.’ He smiled, climbing into the panda.

‘See you there,’ he said

CHAPTER EIGHT

PRESENT DAY: EARLY HOURS OF SUNDAY MORNING

Needles gently eased the trail bike onto the concrete floor of the darkened garage. He didn’t want to turn on the light and draw attention to himself. Fortunately, he didn’t need any extra light. The street lamp was enough, and Needles knew the dilapidated building like the back of his hand. The smell of oil and grease calmed him slightly, but not enough to extinguish the roaring anger burning within him.

He’d needed that burn-up. What was the world coming to? A Paki wearing a Chelsea top and some vigilante standing up for him. It’s a fucking disgrace; that’s what it is. Whose bloody country is this, anyway?

Now he had some burnt-out old farts trying to be clever with their ladder. They’d be sorry soon enough. He gently ran a finger along his neck and grimaced. It stung like hell. ‘Shit,’ he groaned.

Carefully locking the garage door behind him, he looked around to ensure no one had seen him. After all, you never knew what nosy parker might question why he was using Jim Carter’s garage.

Jim would be fast asleep by now. Poor sod, thought Needles, losing your mind and with no one to care for you. Life is a bugger. Still, dementia had its bonuses. It meant Needles could use Joe’s garage as much as he liked. The poor old sod had forgotten he even had a garage, and no one would ever suspect an old bloke with dementia would be housing a trail bike in his garage.

He would pop in tomorrow and check that Meals on Wheels had delivered Jim’s food.

His parents’ house was quiet when he went in, and he crept up the stairs, avoiding the creaky one at the top. One of these days, his useless father would fix that. Still, Needles wouldn’t have to worry about that much longer. Richie had said he could rent the rooms above the garage. All he needed was the deposit. Needles only had to save another hundred, and he could move out of this dump.

‘I heard you on that bike.’

He turned with a start to see his sister, a loose jumper covering her nightgown.

‘That weren’t me.’

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