The Listeners by Anthony J. Quinn

Author:Anthony J. Quinn [Quinn, Anthony J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786696052
Publisher: Head of Zeus

21

Herron drove Reichmann to Dr Pochard’s house in the forest. The psychotherapist had never visited her home before; their meetings had usually taken place at his lakeside home in Switzerland. The road meandered along the bottom of a lonely river valley dotted with sheep, and then it began to climb through the pine trees. Reichmann sensed the change in the landscape and stared through his passenger window, his twisted mouth slightly open, his face expressionless. The road was completely immersed in the forest’s shadow, the trees forming a high rampart against the wind and sun, the same fixed view of pine trunks and densely needled branches travelling alongside them, like a single image stuck in a broken projector.

‘You know that Jung believed the forest was an archetype,’ said Reichmann as the car laboured up a steep turn. ‘That it exists in our collective unconscious.’

Herron kept her concentration on the narrow road. She knew Pochard’s house was not far away, yet it seemed inaccessible amid the encroaching trees.

‘Look at all these trees rising up to the sky,’ said the professor, ‘trying to connect us to heaven and the sun. Yet nothing can compete with a forest for signalling our darkest, most earthly fears.’ He turned to her and spoke more softly. ‘What do you feel, Sergeant Herron? Do the forests give you a sense of terror or ecstasy?’

She shrugged and frowned, staring at the road ahead. She glanced at Reichmann and saw that he was smiling at her in a friendly, inviting way, but his eyes looked perplexed by her lack of interest, disappointed even that she was not prepared to share his enthusiasm for their surroundings.

Through the side window, the view of trees unspooled, glimmering with sunlight refracted through the pine needles. She remembered the track through the forest leading to the stone chamber, and Pochard’s eyes staring up at her. She felt a physical sensation, a tightness in her throat at the thought of returning to the forest’s strange depths.

‘Jane told me that the forest calmed and inspired her,’ said Reichmann. He took a measure of Herron’s silence. ‘What was the scene in the forest like?’ he asked.

She knew that he was referring to the murder scene, but she could not express her feelings. She kept watching the road, impatient to get to her destination. For a while, she thought they were lost, and then the road curved and she saw a chimney pot rising above the treetops. She turned up a gravelled lane and found the house, its front turned discreetly away from the road, its windows blank and empty. Already an air of dereliction hung over the building, which was still surrounded by police tape. The clapboard walls on the north side were green with algae. Ivy had crept along the guttering and poked through cracks in the eaves.

Herron and Reichmann got out of the car and simultaneously turned to take in the view. There was a slight breeze wafting up from the valley, and the pine

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