by Paula Wynne
Now, with the burger stand quiet, Mrs Cowden had told him to make a start on the clearing up so they wouldn’t all be there far into the night.
Clearing the rubbish people dropped wasn’t a glamourous job, but at least Ben and Josh had left and so he wouldn’t be seen doing the shitty work.
He’d lost count of how many buckets of trash had already been thrown out. Thank goodness this was almost the last dump. It felt as though dirt and grime lined his nose and throat. The burger grease had even managed to get inside his ears, making them squidgy. He kept pressing his lobes and tugging on them. Tonight would be the best shower he’d ever had.
The nearest skip to the airfield was now overflowing with the day’s rubbish, so he sighed and trudged on to the one tucked a little way down the lane. As Matt neared it a loud buzzing startled him. He looked closer and saw a black cloud of flies swarming over the skip. They circled so frantically they sounded like bees in a disturbed hive.
He edged closer with the bag. The skip had been in the hot afternoon sun and it radiated warmth. The flies crawled over the lid in a desperate urge to get inside. Ready to throw the bag in and then run, Matt lifted up the corner of the lid. Right away he was hit by a disgusting smell that made him retch and gag.
Like rotting meat, only somehow worse.
‘Urrrgggh!’ He dropped the rubbish bag and clutched his nose and mouth. ‘What the hell!’ He cautiously stepped closer, expecting to see a dead rat lying near the bin.
The stench became overpowering and nauseating.
Matt held his breath and reached out to open the lid, but hesitated. Flies crawled over his hands and up his arms, trying to devour him. He swatted them off and flapped his arms over the top of the skip. The flies rose into the air, like an air force of small, black, stealth craft, lifting off the ground and hovering a foot above their landing platform. They waited in anticipation, for him to open it up to whatever stench lay inside so they could descend on it.
Yet more flies landed on his head and crawled down his neck. He shook his head and yelled at them, ‘Bugger off!’
In an angry burst, he stepped forward, grabbed hold of the lid and flung it open. It creaked on its hinges and then fell open with a metallic crash.
Grabbing his nose again, Matt grimaced and peered inside.
The flies were streaming in to land on something that was already crawling with tiny white maggots and flies that had managed to squeeze past the lid.
A dead body.
53
The crowd of people went mad as news of the dead body spread. Chaos took over, the atmosphere filled with screaming and shouting as the airfield became a blur. People ran to their cars as if a monster were on their tails. The car park became jammed with cars revving engines and beeping horns, each determined to get away the fastest. Car drivers shouted and cursed. A lucky few in four wheel drives made beelines for the bumpy tracks, zooming away into the forest, ignoring people who tried to flag them down and all the private property signs.
Matt, meanwhile, could only slump down in Bomber’s cabin in a daze.
The dead body was Allan.
Matt ran his hand through his hair.
Allan dead! It’s not true! It can’t be true.
Folding his arms over his stomach, he wondered if this had anything to do with his cousin’s documentary. The missing Nazi? Or even Allan’s secret source of information.
The coppers had already been at the show, pretending to keep order whilst actually watching the planes and shovelling down burgers. Within minutes more had arrived and they were questioning everyone who worked at the airfield, starting with Bomber who was shocked but also livid about this kind of end to the show. Who could blame him for being pissed off? He had planned the Air Fest for months, possibly years. It had been such a great success, but now all anyone would remember it for was a murder.
Bomber’s anger hadn’t lasted, and when he’d found out that the body was Allan, his face had gone grey with shock, and his eyes were filled with a desperate sadness.
Matt expected he looked much the same. It was the sheer unreality of it that jarred him the most. In his mind, he kept seeing Allan at the protest, in The Fairground, talking to people and sitting at their dining table. He kept expecting someone to tell him it was a mistake and it wasn’t his cousin, after all. He smacked his head, something he did in a bad dream sometimes to tell his body to wake up. It didn’t work. He was already awake.
The smell came back to him again, and a sudden nausea gripped Matt. Hobbling out of the cabin to the back of the hangar, he leaned over the bank and vomited, again and again. Finally, wiping his mouth with the cuff of his overall, he slumped back against the hangar wall and shook his head to try and clear the various stenches that hung around him, both real and imagined.
Then, the tears came. They choked him and a sore lump grew in his throat.
Why? Why Allan? He hadn’t done anything to hurt anyone. Okay, he’d caused an uproar with his slightly sensationalist filming of the rumour in the village, but that surely wasn’t reason enough to be murdered, to be dumped in a rubbish skip.
Matt swallowed hard. Mum would have to be told. She’d be distraught. Before Allan’s visit, they hadn’t seen him for a long time, but during his stay it had actually been great to be a larger family again.
She would want answers, and there could only be one.
Only one person could have had a motive to murder his cousin: the hidden Nazi. Allan must have got too close, and this man, this monster, had snuffed out the danger. The way they had taught him in the Third Reich: brutally.
Even as he thought it, it seemed far-fetched and ridiculous. This wasn’t the movies, a James Bond film. This was real life.
Things like that didn’t happen here in Little Hollow.
And another thing that was going to make Mum even more distressed: where the hell was Luke? He had disappeared as the show was reaching its finale and hadn’t been seen since. Aside from anything else, Matt could really do with someone to talk to about this, and Luke was the only one he could open up to on this scale.
With the confusion swirling around in his mind and causing a froth of misery and mystery, Matt returned to the pilot’s cabin, where a bunch of coppers were interrogating everyone, from pilots to volunteers. Matt waited his turn, dreading having to speak about Allan, knowing he would never see his cousin again.
Some senior detective had already got the details of how he’d found the body from him right after the police had arrived en masse, so this time he was only answering the same general questions as everyone else. Matt told them how he’d seen a stranger walking a dog around the airfield a few days ago and asking questions, but he couldn’t say for sure who the man was. He also explained, like everyone else, that he had seen nothing suspicious. Not at the show nor anyone else near the skip.
Two hours later, Matt watched the police car driving up the lane and heading off towards Reading. Forensics had been and gone with the body, and the coppers had all their statements and would plod away with their investigation, but Matt found he was filled with a diamond hard resolve. He’d found his cousin. Now he had to find out for himself why someone had killed Allan.
A stream of local pilots converged on the pilot’s cabin as if following some unspoken instruction. They all stood around in silence. No one could think of anything to say. There had been no obvious sign of what had taken Allan’s life. No gunshot wound or jagged hole left by a knife, but everyone knew that he hadn’t died from natural causes. His body being dumped in that skip had been the last action in a sequence. There had been no dignity or respect for life in what had gone before it, only a malice that now stained the very air everyone in the cabin breathed.
Finally, Bomber entered and kicked the door with his foot, slamming it shut. There was a long silence.
Eventually Bomber stepped up to Matt and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Where’s Luke?’
‘Dunno. Haven’t seen him in a while.’
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‘Maybe he got caught up in the chaos,’ one of the pilots ventured. ‘Maybe he went home to escape the mess.’
Matt rounded on him, breathing hard. ‘Luke wouldn’t do that. He’s not a coward! He’s the one who’s been cleaning up your hangar and getting this place ready for your show!’
‘I didn’t mean―’
‘Hey, chaps,‘ Bomber interrupted, ‘will you give us a minute.’
The pilots shuffled out in single file, like scolded kids. Matt watched them with venom in his heart.
No one said anything bad about his brother. No one!
When the cabin was empty, Bomber said in a soft voice, ‘Matt, there’s not much more to do here today, why don’t you go home.’
‘I have to tell Mum.’
‘Let me do it. Please, I know you can do it, but I want to help. Besides, one of us needs to look for Luke. Like you, I know he wouldn’t bolt. But…if someone could do that to your cousin…’
‘What?’ Matt straightened, suddenly sober from the chill that prickled its way down his neck. ‘You think Luke’s in danger?’
‘I don’t know. Let’s just be sure, okay? You find him, while I go and tell your Mum about Allan. She may already know. You know what the village is like. Someone may go around to The Cinnamon Stick and blurt it out.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. Better she hears from you…from us than them.’
Matt still struggled with how quickly he had come to like Bomber. If there had ever been any calculated keeping quiet so he might get the chance to fly it was long gone. Half of him still fought against the camaraderie, but the other half, the half that Matt knew was going to win in the end, was pleased to have him on their side.
‘Good man,’ Bomber patted Matt on the shoulder. ‘Try to think where else Luke could have gone. Maybe he’s with that friend of his, um what’s his name…Eric?’
‘I’ll go round and check, but I don’t think―’
‘Me neither, me neither,’ Bomber broke in, ‘but let’s just be sure.’
‘It’s strange. It’s not like Luke to go off without telling anyone, but then again, he’s been hiding that he works here. You know, from Mum.’
‘I understand,’ Bomber sounded resigned.
Ever since Dad’s accident they had become such a tight family unit. They always knew where each other was.
‘Let’s meet back here at twenty-one-hundred…er, nine-o-clock.’
A chill ran through Matt. Should he mention that the last time he’d seen Luke had been with Cami? Probably not. It surely wasn’t relevant, and he didn’t want Bomber to detect any jealousy in his voice. ‘I’ll go look for him.’
Last seen with the beautiful yet mysterious girl who used to live down the road and had suddenly just come back into their lives, full on and bubbling with life. Captivating hearts in her wake.
Another creeping vine of envy tugged at Matt. Was Luke with Cami? Maybe he’d beaten his cripple brother to it and they were having a thing together. The thought repulsed him. He pulled a face and yanked off his overall. Luke had already taken his dreams once, was he trying to do the same again?
Then suddenly, another thought struck him. He had Cami’s telephone number.
As soon as Bomber had driven out of the airfield gate, leaving him alone at the airfield, Matt picked up the office telephone and dialled Cami’s number. It rang and rang. He waited and then tried again. Still no answer. Slumping down in a chair, he dropped his head onto the desk.
God, what a day!
Where did he start searching for Luke?
Again, he wondered if Luke had gone off with Cami, but this time his thoughts were more resigned and stoic. So what if he had? If Luke scored the girl, he wasn’t going to be jealous. Well, he was, but he had to curb that and give Luke his dues.
He’d already wasted a whole lot of resentment on Luke. First the grudge about the accident. Luke had dared him, but he’d been the one stupid enough to climb up to that rope bridge. And to fall. So much pointless hostility. And Luke getting the air field job, when all the time his brother had only been doing it to try and make Matt’s dreams of flying come true.
Matt found his head was reeling. It was as though the continents that made up his world had broken apart and were shifting to a new pattern. It wasn’t Luke’s fault, none of it. Most of it had no fault…it was just “the ride” like in the Zen Dog verse Bomber was so fond of. All the bitterness was just destructive negativity, and it was time for it to end.
After he had fallen it had been Luke who had run to call an ambulance.
In the hospital, after the bad infection, the surgeon had laid the scans on the bed and said that they had done all they could and that the only route forward now was amputation below the knee. Mum had cried. Dad’s chin had tightened, but they had both been ready to accept that fate. Then Luke’s voice had come from the chair in the corner, where he’d been sitting and sniffing. ‘What about my foot? He can have my foot.’ Dad had stood up, his whole face trembling. ‘No!’ he had said. Just that word, three or four times. Later he had sworn he would find a way, and he had. He’d sold the car he loved without batting an eyelid. Even so, the private specialist had said there were no guarantees and that this was uncharted medical territory. So he had a limp. So what? He still had two feet, could still walk.
Could still fly, even. Maybe not for the RAF, but Bomber had bet he would fly before the end of the year, and when a man who owned an airfield made a bet like that you knew he would win. And it had all been because of Luke. Obstinate, good hearted Luke. His brother.
If he and Cami had fallen for each other…well, then Matt would be happy for Luke. First, though, he had to find him. Matt hammered his fist onto the table and leapt up.
He grabbed the torch on Bomber’s desk. It would be getting dark soon.
54
Silence engulfed the hot, sticky space, broken only by the muffled rasp of Luke’s breath. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the airtight boot to keep him going for more than a few hours. Being gagged made it worse. He’d already passed out once. Or was it twice? The stuffy cramped space bore down on him now as he wriggled to get comfortable. His legs were numb from lying folded up like a rag doll for hours. His hands were aching from the tight loops of rope strangling his wrists as they held them pinned behind his back.
She’d been way older, but even as a tiny kid he’d never trusted her at school when they were younger. She’d come on to him with a smile he could tell was a clever fake and a supposed shared history that he knew was a lie. I mean, come on! He and Matt had been, like, what, five or six years younger than her. Since when did pretty, older than their years, eleven-year-old girls have anything to do with six-year-old boys who were mostly interested in dinosaurs? He’d only played along with whatever her game was because Matt was so infatuated, and he wanted to find out what her plans were so he could try and protect his brother.
So, that plan didn’t work out so well!
Matt could be such a douchebag at times. He really couldn’t work out what girls like Cami had up their sleeves.
A sudden thought occurred to him. What were Cami and whoever she was involved with planning? To kill him? It certainly seemed that way, and the annoying thing was, he had not the slightest idea why.
If he lasted till morning, he could wait until he heard someone passing and raise their attention with a few thumps on the boot.
How, though? His arms were tied too tight to move much, and his legs were squashed in, bent at the knees. He tried to lift them up so he could shove the heavy work boots against the lid, but he couldn’t straighten his legs to raise them up.
Luke shuffled around for a few minutes. Aware that he was using up precious oxygen, he tried to shift himself into a position to get more leverage. As he raised himself up, his head hit a ridge in the boot.
‘Mmmphh!’
A shaft of pain sent him slumping back down. He lay still, the crown of his head aching where he’d banged it.
Suddenly, there was a little light, and he noticed his watch lying in front of him. He must have broken the strap with his struggling and also pressed the light button. He glanced at the digital numbers in the pale neon glow and grunted. 11:30. It must’ve been around six-thirty or near seven that he’d helped Cami to her car, so he’d been here for around four hours. The Air Fest had been pretty much over at that point. He’d already cleared up most of the litter on the stands and around the picnic arena when he’d spotted her lugging an armful of books and teddies and seen his chance.
Mum would be beside herself with worry. They had insisted she shouldn’t do any dinner, as she normally did, but still she’d wonder why he hadn’t come home to shower and crash after the long day.
Worse than that, the bitch could be back any minute.
He couldn’t even come up with a theory as to why she’d clobbered him and stuck him in here but, sure as hell, he knew she wouldn’t have done that without an evil motive. Without doubt, when she was finished with whatever she was doing out there, she’d dispose of him.
His fingers touched something rough and prickly. He yelped and shrunk away from it, but it rolled into him. In a panic, his fingertips ran over the thing and he realised it was a coconut. Of course! Cami had won some at the fair, and that must have been what she’d used to knock him out.
He almost laughed, but the air was too heavy and oppressive, so he pushed it down as far as he could, managed to get it between his feet, and then used all the space he could get to hammer it up against the boot’s lid.
It whacked into the metal with a resounding echo, and then suddenly liquid splattered around him and the coconut had broken into shards.
‘Huh,’ he muttered as he felt around for the pieces in the dim, cramped area, ‘at least I won’t starve.’
Suddenly the facts chose this moment to start falling into place in his mind. Cami turning up at almost the same time as Allan. His cousin filming a documentary about a missing Nazi hiding in the village. Mum complaining that Matt was infatuated by the girl whose father was a German with a strange mysterious past. It meant Allan must be at risk, and probably Matt, too.