Scott’s eyes fixed on the rows of sharp, steel teeth. They were stained and rusted, as if they had been used many times.
“Left, or right?” Grady repeated, this time with a raised eyebrow and a casual tone, as if he were asking Scott to choose between coffee or tea.
Something in Scott’s mind snapped. He began screaming and thrashing on the table. Hot tears shot from his eyes. Grady Spencer stood and watched. His shoulders heaved with a sigh.
His energy spent, Scott slumped to a standstill. He stared at Grady Spencer, realising he was staring into the eyes of a killer. He should never have knocked on the old man’s door. He should have climbed into his car, started the engine, and driven back to Truro with half a story.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” he said. “You took the Killigrew boy. You’ve been keeping him here all this time.”
Grady Spencer flipped the hacksaw over in his hand. His expression grew sour.
Scott twisted his head to peer around the basement. “Did you take Noah, too? Is he here?”
Beside him, the old man shook his head. “Once a journalist, always a journalist. You can’t stop asking questions, can you?”
Scott turned away from him.
“Noah!” he screamed. “Noah Pengelly, are you here?”
His voice echoed around the basement. He turned back to Grady Spencer.
“Listen to me, you sick bastard, someone will find out. Someone will notice me gone. And when they come searching, they will find you and they’ll lock you up.” He pulled against the restraints. “Let me go. If Noah is here, I can take him with me. I’ll say I found him wandering somewhere.”
The old man paused, staring down at the hacksaw. Slowly, he placed it back in the tray. “I’ve changed my mind, You’re giving me a headache.”
Picking up the forceps with one hand, he thrust them into Scott’s mouth. Metal scraped against his teeth. He felt a terrible pressure as his jaw was forced open. Scott tried to scream then began to choke. He tried to pull away, but the old man had a surprising amount of strength.
In that instant, he knew he was going to die. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn’t even beg for his life.
“That boy is mine,” Grady Spencer said, picking up the shears and snapping them open. “I found him. Finders keepers. He belongs to me.”
He moved the shears toward Scott’s tongue.
“You shouldn’t have put your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Grady said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Maybe I’ll take that, too.”
Scott squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for a quick death. But after the first few cuts, it was clear Grady Spencer had other ideas.
21
THE ROOM WAS RECTANGULAR and bland-looking, replete with beige carpet, white walls, and a sad looking cheese plant in the corner. Carrie was glad to be away from the house. The press had returned early that morning. A few had even camped out in the street, sleeping in their cars. They were fewer in number than yesterday, but there were still enough to cause a scene when she and Detective Turner had bundled Cal into the back of her car and driven to the police station in Truro.
Now they sat around a table in this characterless room; Carrie and Cal on one side, Detective Turner and a woman named Carla Vincenti on the other. A video camera on a tripod stood in the centre of the room, recording them.
Detective Turner had already introduced Carla, explaining that she was a registered intermediary. Today she would be evaluating Cal’s abilities and needs so she could then advise investigating officers on how best to proceed with their questioning.
Carrie had initially been reluctant to subject Cal to any sort of assessment so early on, but yesterday’s visit from Tess Pengelly had weighed heavily on her conscience.
“We’ll keep this simple, today,” Carla had assured her before sitting down. “Strictly no questions from the detective, just a few simple get-to-know-you exercises that will help me ascertain Cal’s level of understanding.”
Even with the intermediary’s assurance, Carrie was still reluctant. But she sat and she watched as Carla introduced herself to Cal and then began her evaluation, asking him a series of simple yes or no questions.
So, your mum tells me you like dinosaurs,” she said, smiling. “Do you like dinosaurs, Cal?”
Cal stared at her with blank eyes. Beneath the table, he fiddled with his plastic T-Rex. Carla moved on, asking more questions and jotting down notes. Cal continued to stare without responding.
Next, Carla produced a set of picture cards and asked Cal to make choices by pointing to the appropriate card.
His hands remained under the table.
“It’s too early,” Carrie interrupted. “He’s not ready for this.”
Detective Turner frowned. Carla held up two more cards. One was an image of a house, the other a cave.
“Which one do you live in, Cal?” she asked. She gave no more verbal prompts but held out the cards and nodded encouragement.
Beneath the table, Cal’s hands grew very still. His head turned as he stared at the picture of the cave. His nostrils flared. His eyes grew dark and narrow.
“What is it, Cal?” Carrie said, glancing at the cards then back at her son.
“Mrs. Killigrew, if you could just—” the intermediary began.
Carrie held up a hand, silencing her, then placed it on her son’s shoulder. “What do you see?”
Cal pulled away, staggering to his feet and knocking back his chair. Carla glanced nervously at the detective, who remained seated and calm. All three watched as Cal backed away, until he had trapped himself in a corner. He slid down to a crouched position and wrapped his arms around his shins.
Carrie was on her feet and moving toward him. She stopped a metre just in front.
“It’s okay,” she soothed. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
Cal stared at her, his eyes burning into her skin. For a moment, he looked as if he might launch himself at her. Then he lowered his head and began to rock.
“We’re done here,” Carrie said, glaring at Detective Turner. “I’m taking him home.”
It took five minutes to coax Cal out of the room and through the building. As they reached the car, Turner caught up with them. When Cal was safely in the passenger seat, Carrie turned to the detective.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But we have to try.”
“You saw what happened in there,” Carrie said, trying to keep her voice level. “He needs more time.”
Turner nodded as he glanced back at the station. “I agree. But his reaction was interesting, don’t you think? Those pictures triggered something. I think we need to go back in there and try again.”
“No.”
“The longer we wait, the harder it could become to find out what happened to your son.”
Carrie bit down on her lip. Whatever those pictures had triggered in Cal—a memory, a feeling—it was nothing good. She was desperate to know but she was also afraid. To push him again so soon could succeed in doing more damage than good.
“A few more days,” she said, feeling suddenly tired. “Give us that at least. Jesus, the press is still outside our house.”
Detective Turner glanced through the window at Cal. “I’ll talk to the boss, see what she says. But remember, we’re on the same side here, Carrie. We want to help Cal, not hurt him.”
He walked away. Carrie stared after him.
Feeling miserable, she slipped inside the car. Cal was sitting with his head bowed and Rex the dinosaur clutched in his hands.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go home. Hopefully Dylan hasn’t killed anyone.”
She started the engine and drove away from the station, anxiety mounting as she wondered what had happened to her son.
22
TREVITHICK ROW WAS situated halfway down the east side of the cove. Unlike the rest of the town’s architecture, this street was made up of fifties style housing, built to replace a terrace of cottages that had been r
avaged by a fire. When viewing the town from the beach, Trevithick Row stuck out like a hangnail.
Carrie liked these houses, with their clean lines and spacious rooms. She peered up at them as Dylan pulled the car into the kerb.
It was a short journey from their home. A five-minute walk, maybe eight with Melissa. But Carrie hadn’t wanted to subject Cal to prying eyes.
Now, as the car engine puttered into silence, she checked the street. It was empty. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she hopped out of the car. She knocked on the back-passenger window. Cal looked up and she smiled at him, then beckoned for him to get out. He did so, slowly, cautiously, as Dylan helped Melissa onto the pavement.
Up ahead, the front door of a whitewashed house opened.
“Nana Joy!” Melissa cried, and went stampeding into the small but meticulously-kept garden.
Carrie had always thought it strange that Melissa insisted on calling Dylan’s mother Nana Joy. It wasn’t as if she’d met her other grandmother to need to differentiate between the two. Surely just Nana would do.
“Well, hello my sweet angel,” Joy said, planting a kiss on Melissa’s forehead. She was a small, birdlike woman with a nest of short, greying hair and bundles of nervous energy. “No school on a Wednesday?”
Melissa threw her arms around her grandmother’s neck and scrambled into her arms.
“Don’t worry, she’ll be going back soon,” Dylan said, peeling Melissa from Joy and setting her back on the ground. “And go easy on your Nana. Her bones are old, you don’t want to break them.”
He kissed his mother on the cheek as she slapped him playfully on the arm.
“I’m not dead yet,” she laughed. “And you’re not too old for a good spanking.”
Her eyes moved beyond Dylan, resting on Carrie and Cal, who were still hanging back by the garden gate.
“Hello, Carrie,” she said, smiling.
Carrie turned and gave Cal an encouraging nod. He hovered outside for a second more, then gradually moved up beside her.
“This is Dylan’s mother, Joy,” Carrie explained, nodding to the woman in the doorway.
Cal glanced in Joy’s direction for the briefest of moments before returning his gaze to the garden path.
Carrie hooked her arm in his and gave him a gentle tug. “Come on. Let’s go say hello.”
She could feel the tension in his muscles as they walked toward the house. When they reached the door, she gave Joy a brief hug.
“Well,” Joy said, her voice trembling with nerves as she gazed at the boy on the path. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Cal.”
Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
“Oh, my boy!” she cried. “What a miracle!”
Carrie watched as Cal grew rigid with his arms planted by his sides, his eyes growing large and round. She smiled to herself. Only ten days ago he wouldn’t have entertained a stranger being within a metre of him.
Joy released him from her embrace.
“Sorry,” she said, smiling at Carrie.
“It’s fine.” Carrie nudged Cal’s shoulder. “Nana Joy can get emotional.”
Dylan’s mother laughed. “Come on, then. Let’s see if I have something nice to eat.”
The interior of the house was light and airy, the furnishings simple yet comfortable. Melissa had already positioned herself on the living room floor with her toys, while Dylan spoke to his father, Gary. The two looked very much alike, one an older, greyer version of the other. As always, the topic of conversation had already moved onto the current state of the fishing industry, and both men were shaking their heads.
Cal’s introduction to Gary was slightly more reserved.
“Hello, young man,” Gary said, extending a hand, his eyes everywhere but the boy in front of him.
“Shake his hand,” Carrie said, when all she wanted to do was tell Gary to give his step-grandson a big hug.
Cal was motionless, staring at Gary’s open hand. After what seemed like minutes, Gary retracted his hand and slid it into his pocket. They were quiet then. The air in the room felt thick and gloopy.
“I’ll make some tea,” Joy said.
Carrie nodded. “I’ll give you a hand if you like.”
“Nonsense, you sit down and get comfortable.” Joy paused, linking and interlinking her fingers. “Cal, would you like some tea?”
Cal didn’t answer. His attention was focused on a corner of the room, where a fluffy white cat sat in a green armchair.
“Cal? Joy asked you a question,” Carrie said.
Ignoring her, Cal padded across the room. He crouched down, until his face was square with the animal’s. The cat glared at him through wary, yellow eyes.
“Cal, please answer your grandmother.” Dylan watched him, a frown wrinkling his forehead.
Joy flapped a hand. “He doesn’t have to call me that.”
It was as if Cal couldn’t hear them. He cocked his head, watching the cat. To Carrie’s surprise, he reached out a hand and began stroking its head. It was the first physical contact she’d seen him offer. The cat began to purr loudly. It pushed its head against his hand.
“Cal,” Dylan said. “Please, don’t ignore me.”
“He’ll have juice,” Carrie said to Joy.
“Her name is Daisy,” Joy said, watching Cal. “You must have a gift because usually, she hates strangers.”
Cal continued to stroke the cat’s head.
Carrie glanced at Dylan, who returned her stare with annoyance, as if Cal’s obliviousness was somehow her fault.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Joy said.
“I want to help!” Melissa jumped up from the floor, where she’d already begun drawing in her sketchbook, and ran over to her grandmother.
Joy’s shoulder’s loosened. “You do? Well then, you’d better come with me.”
Taking Melissa’s hand, Joy headed out of the living room toward the kitchen. More silence fell. The only sounds were the rolling vibrations of Daisy’s purrs.
“When are you off to sea, then?” Gary asked Dylan, breaking the quiet.
“Tomorrow.”
“You’ll be glad to get back on the boat. It’s been a while.”
Their conversation resumed.
Carrie stood in the middle of the living room, her heart skipping with excitement as she watched Cal. This was good progress; Cal was voluntarily reaching out and showing emotion.
She had been worried about today. But except from ignoring everyone in the room, Cal was doing okay. It would be a strange experience for Gary and Joy, too. Usually, grandparents got to know their grandchildren from birth. But there were plenty of loving step-grandparents out there. This was no different. Except that Cal had vanished from the world for seven years.
AN HOUR LATER, THE atmosphere had become more relaxed. As usual, Melissa was taking up much of the attention.
Cal remained seated in the armchair, his arms folded across his chest. Carrie tried to involve him in Melissa’s games, but each time he shook his head and returned his gaze to the cat, who was now curled into a ball on the carpet and dozing in the afternoon sunlight.
Melissa was making quite a show, singing songs she’d learned at school, before getting her parents and grandparents involved in a game in which they had to guess the animal she was pretending to be.
Every so often, as the adults laughed and clapped at her antics, Carrie noticed her glancing in Cal’s direction, a slight, triumphant smile on her lips.
“Now, guess this one,” Melissa said, her head swivelling from adult to adult. Carrie was convinced that one day, her daughter would either become a movie star or would be running the country.
Bringing her hands up to her chest, Melissa began to flap her arms and skip around the room.
“A chicken?” Nana Joy suggested, The girl shook her head.
Carrie smiled. “An emu?”
Melissa came to a standstill and beamed at her captive audience. “That’s right! Now, tr
y this one.”
She hunched her shoulders and raised her hands to chest height, then curled her fingers into claws. She scrunched up her face, wrinkling her nose and brow. Her lips curled back, revealing her teeth, and she let out an almighty roar.
“Goodness!” Joy said, laughing. “Aren’t we the little actress?”
Melissa stomped around the room, roaring and snarling.
“I’ve got it, you’re a bear,” Dylan said, grinning at his daughter, his eyes sparkling with pride.
Melissa shook her head as she snarled and stamped her feet.
Gary raised a finger. “An angry kangaroo?”
Laughter rippled around the room. Melissa threw her arms in the air. “No, silly Grandpa,” she said, staring at the adults as if they were incomprehensibly stupid. “I’m a dinosaurus-rex!”
“I think you mean Tyrannosaurus rex,” Grandpa Gary said.
Melissa shook her head from side to side. “No, dinosaurus-rex! Like this one.”
She deliberately stared at Cal, who was watching her with narrowed eyes. Carrie drew in a sharp breath as Melissa pulled out Cal’s toy dinosaur.
Before she could stop him, Cal was on his feet, his eyes as dark as thunder. He lunged forward. Melissa shrieked as he twisted her wrist with one hand and took back the dinosaur with the other.
Dylan flew toward them. “Cal, no!”
Cal retreated, his dinosaur clutched in his fist as Melissa wailed in pain.
Carrie jumped up. “Dylan, take it easy.”
Dylan ignored her. He stabbed a finger in Cal’s face. Cal flinched and began to tremble.
“Don’t you ever do that again!” Veins popped at the centre of Dylan’s forehead. “You want to pick on someone, you pick on me.”
Carrie felt the anger unleash inside her. “That’s enough, Dylan!”
Nana Joy moved to the middle of the room, where Melissa was slumped and weeping.
“Now, let’s all calm down,” she said, wrapping an arm around her granddaughter. “What’s done is done. Perhaps you could say sorry to your sister, Cal?”
The Cove: a shocking thriller you won't be able to put down (The Devil's Cove Book 1) Page 13