I do lots of walking; it's always been one of my favourite pastimes, and It's amazing some of the things that you can come across when you're out on a hike. For instance, I've spent many hours just wandering around Skerrington Forest over the years, it's almost like a second home to me. I never get lost in there, either, and I don't really know why… there's always been a familiarity with that forest in particular that I've never quite been able to put my finger on. I suppose that most people, when they're out in the forest and off the main walking trails, see only trees everywhere. I'm different, because I see so much more, and I remember everything, right down to the smallest detail too.
One day, I was mooching around Skerrington Forest, when I noticed, through some gaps in the trees, some vegetation that was growing in an odd manner. Instead of being more 'free-flowing', if that's the right phrase, this vegetation seemed to be clinging to something, which caused it to appear completely mishapen. I walked through the trees until I reached the anomalous bushes, and sure enough, the vegetation was actually growing all over a pretty large object, and looked like it had been for many years. Excited at my discovery, I began to pull at the vegetation to see what was underneath, and was surprised to find an old, half-rotten, wooden shed, right there, out in the middle of the forest, and for no apparent reason, either.
After an hour or two, I managed to completely uncover the door to the shed. It wasn't locked, but access to the inside was difficult, as I soon discovered that the tin roof to the old shed had completely fallen in, and was partially blocking the door. It took a lot of time to get that roof dislodged, so that I could actually get into the structure. The layman would have found nothing of interest inside the shed at all; whoever its owner had been, they'd long since stripped everything from the inside of it. But for me, it was a place of wonder; a small, decaying sanctuary, right out in the middle of nowhere. Just like the other place… the one that I'm not going to tell you about, the one where I hid two b0dies… oh, and Alfie Whitehouse's stupid cat, too.
So, mister policeman, you're probably wondering why I'm telling you all about that little shed that I found somewhere in Skerrington Forest. Well, I'm just trying to do my civic duty, I suppose, you know, 'assisting the police with their enquiries' and all of that shit. You see, when I catch up with Mary, I might, just might, take her back to that little forest pad of mine, and have a bit of a party with her, if you know what I mean… reckon you do, eh? Nudge nudge, wink wink… so, I've given you a clue as to where I could be hiding out, assuming you find this journal in time. And the reason that I've done that for you boys in blue, civic duties aside, is because, believe it or not, I'm actually not all bad. Or at least, I don't think that I am. No, there's definitely a tiny little slither of goodness deep down inside me, and that much I do know. Hopefully, I've proven that, what with this little clue that I've written down for you, but if you still don't believe me, well… that's your look-out. Honestly, I really couldn’t give a shit.
***
Detective Kevin Burrows walked slowly around Howard Trenton’s car.
“Looks like he never went to Ruthley then.” Stated Tom Grogan.
“Unless he caught a bus.” Replied Kevin.
“There’s no bus service to Ruthley from Coldsleet on a Saturday. Only on weekdays. I’ve already checked.” Pointed out Tom.
“Then he must be somewhere in Coldsleet. Perhaps he’s gone to buy supplies before carrying on to…”
“Kevin… it’s almost mid-day. Surely Howard Trenton would have come back to his car by now?” Interrupted the detective. “Trust me, Howard’s abandoned his vehicle and gone to ground.” He said.
“Which doesn’t make any sense.” Argued Kevin.
“Why doesn’t it make any sense?” Asked Tom.
“Let me put it this way… if you decided to try and disappear, and you had access to a vehicle, then wouldn’t you attempt to get as far away as possible in it? I know that I would. Why just drive your car half a mile down the road, and then abandon it? Then there’s the problem of Howard not even knowing that we’re going to arrest him.” Said Kevin, pointing out the flaws in his colleague’s logic.
“Oh, I think Howard knew that it was only a matter of time before we came knocking on his front door. Let me tell you something, Kevin… do you know what I thought, the first time I spoke to him?” Asked Tom.
“Go on.” Urged Kevin.
“I thought that he was a sneaky little fucker.” Observed Tom Grogan. “A clever, sneaky, shit-head.”
The ageing detective yawned to himself as he looked out from the car-park towards Coldsleet promenade.
“Let me tell you what else I think.” Said Tom.
“What?” Replied his colleague.
“I think that you’re partly right, in that Howard dumped his car here, and then caught a bus out of town, though, obviously, not up to Ruthley. That’s good for us, because it limits the places that he could actually run to… there’s buses running to Elman and Knighton over the weekend, but nowhere else. I’ve already been in touch with the lads up at Elman, so they’ll be on the lookout for Howard up in those two locations. Maybe we’ll hear from them soon.” Said Tom, hopefully. At that moment, his phone rang. He answered the call. Detective Kevin Burrows lit a cigarette whilst his colleague chatted on the mobile. After a few minutes, Tom Grogan had finished the call. He was wearing an extremely grave expression as he quickly walked over to Kevin.
“Bloody hell, Tom, what is it?” He asked.
“We’ve gotta get back to the Trenton’s house. Now.” Tom replied.
“Why? What’s up?” Kevin said.
“Some of the boys who’ve been searching there… they’ve found something, and we need to go back and see it for ourselves, urgently.” Tom advised.
“What is it?” Kevin wanted to know.
“It’s a journal that Howard Trenton has been keeping… this is bigger than any of us thought, Kev.” Tom informed him.
“Why? What’s in the journal?”
“From what Don just told me… I think that we’ve got a serial killer on our hands.” Answered Tom.
***
Alex Crennell's explanation to his girlfriend, Mary Broderick, as to the origin of Shark's nickname, wasn't exactly the truth. This was not to say that Alex was deliberately lying to Mary; as far as he was aware, that was the reason why the large, athletic girl with the long blonde flat-top had been bestowed her title, and he had gleaned this from various pub conversations over the past couple of years. Shark was aware of the false story, and happily went along with it; she quite enjoyed being thought of as 'a biter', makes me sound pretty ferocious, not to mention a bit pervy… and it's never a bad thing to have a reputation precede you, well, as long as it's nothing too horrible, considered Shark. She was only one of two people who knew the true origin of the 'Shark' moniker, the other being her ex-boyfriend, Mike Gudden, and he was no longer living in Coldsleet, or anywhere else, come to that, so her secret was safe.
The true reason behind Shark's unusual title lay in the young woman's heritage; born to an English mother and a Hungarian father, Shark's real name was actually Ellen Mako, the latter of which was a common surname in Hungary. It wasn't until Ellen was thirteen years old, and during an English Literature lesson at school, that a fellow pupil and all-round smart-arse called Eric Haynes pointed out the existence of a type of marine animal called the 'Mako Shark', much to the delight of some of the other students in the classroom at that time. For a while afterwards, Ellen's nickname was 'Mako Shark', but this was whittled down to just 'Shark' after a few weeks. Even Ellen's parents and siblings, upon learning of the nickname, began to use it. By the time that Shark left her home, to go and live in Coldsleet with Mike Gudden, she was rarely addressed by her real name.