by Penny Kline
‘No?’ His hand was on my hair. He twisted it a little, then smoothed it back.
‘Why Paula?’ I said. ‘Why not just kill Luke?’
‘And put him out of his misery? I want him locked up in one of those nuthouses for the criminally insane.’
‘Yes, I see,’ I said quietly.
‘Oh, new tactics,’ he sneered. ‘Very clever. Humour me, lull me into a false sense of security.’
‘Why did Luke run off?’ I said. ‘Last week when he was staying in my flat.’
‘Who knows? Could have had something to do with my phone call, I suppose. I thought I ought to warn him a witness had come forward. So much for Luke the wonderboy.’
I stared at the row of bungalows on the road leading down to Severn Beach. Severn Beach, but there was no beach, just shingle and thick, sludgy mud. A new road leading to the second Severn crossing had been constructed but was not yet open to the public. ‘Luke the wonderboy.’ Frustrated, unhappy, with a husband who had retreated into his grief at the loss of his daughter, Brigid Jesty must have turned to her younger son. As a substitute lover? I pictured them together. Brigid with one of her headaches, lying down, resting. Luke sitting on the bed, stroking her hair, soothing …
‘Straight on to the roundabout,’ said Michael, ‘then take the M5 to London but leave it almost immediately. I’ll show you when we reach the turning.’
The petrol gauge was registering nearly half-full. Michael leaned towards me.
‘Want me to drive?’
I shook my head.
‘Up to you.’ He felt in his pocket and took out a couple of sweets. ‘Oh, come on, you’re a psychologist not a bloody saint. I’ve only done what hundreds of others dream about only they haven’t the guts to make their fantasies come true.’ He sat up straight. ‘There, look, the turning to Thornbury. Now! There’s a maze of roads leading all the way to Sharpness and beyond. Don’t worry, I know the route like the back of my hand. Half an hour, bit less maybe, and you and your favourite client will be reunited.’
He didn’t say what would happen after that.
18
The road ended in a rough pot-holed space with room to park three or four cars. For the last half-hour we had travelled in silence, although now and again Michael had invited me to ask if I needed him to fill me in on any particular points. I had declined his offer.
I pulled up, switched off the engine and sat staring straight ahead. Michael snapped his fingers in front of my face.
‘Out you get. Place is completely deserted, I doubt if we’ll see another living creature.’ He pointed to the grass where a dead crow lay on its side. ‘Funny, I wonder what happened. Sparrow-hawk maybe. Some noise disturbed it.’
I left the car unlocked and started walking towards the estuary. It was important to appear in control of myself. I wanted to work out exactly where we were as though somehow that might help. In the distance the docks at Sharpness could be seen through the thickening mist. A few drops of warm rain had started to fall. I felt one land on my head and put up my hand, feeling the dampness like a cut on my scalp.
Michael pointed to a dilapidated wooden board.
‘Unsafe for bathing,’ he read, ‘due to mud and currents.’ He laughed. ‘Too right it is. At low tide there’s a mass of whirlpools.’ He pulled at my arm. ‘Can you swim?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Not me. It’s safer to be a nonswimmer. Ask the local fisherman. That way you don’t become over-confident.’
‘We’re not the only ones here,’ I said, moving my head in the direction of half a dozen sheep grazing near the water’s edge.
‘Nor we are.’ He pressed his shoe into the soft, squelchy turf. ‘Look at all the little hoof marks. But I don’t see any human footprints, do you?’
Bone-dry seaweed, left there by the last high tide, lay strewn across the grass. Thistles grew in clumps and a few teasel heads stood out above the remains of a broken fence. The only other vegetation was the Dutch grass that waved about in the muddy water of the estuary.
When Michael put his hand on my shoulder I flinched.
‘Cold?’ he asked.
‘You said you knew where Luke was.’
‘I do. Look.’
The hut was small and had probably been used as a store. Once the wood had been painted with varnish but most of it had peeled off long ago and the walls were rotting from the bottom up. Michael started walking towards it, then stopped, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘Ready? You’ve seen a dead body before? Quite honestly I think he’d had enough. Can you blame him? Life a total mess, responsible for two fatal road accidents.’
He kicked at the door but it stayed put. Then he took hold of the rusty handle and pulled. The door opened with a jerk, dislodging dust and cobwebs. A smell of rotting sacks and something sharp and rancid made me cover my mouth and nose.
‘After you,’ said Michael, smiling. ‘Or would you prefer it if I went in first?’
My face felt stiff with tension. I pushed past him, anger overcoming my fear. Knowledge of an event, however terrible, is always a little better than uncertainty — but long before my eyes became accustomed to the dark I knew the hut was empty.
‘He’s not there,’ I said. ‘Nobody’s been inside for months, probably years.’
For a moment Michael seemed undecided what to do next. Then he grinned.
‘Idiot.’ He smacked the side of his head. ‘I can think of a much better place.’ He peered into the mist at a path leading back towards the estuary. ‘You saw those houses?’
I shook my head.
‘Yes, you did. Row of three. Executive, architect-designed. All unsold, never lived in. What could be better?’
He set off across the grass, glancing back to make sure I was following.
‘You weren’t thinking of making a run for it, were you?’ He dangled the car keys. ‘Come on, he’ll have climbed in through a back window.’
The track to the houses was pitted with holes that had been partially filled in with gravel. I could hear Michael giggling as though the whole thing was a wonderful game. Little boys playing hide and seek, cops and robbers.
‘You’ve no idea where he is,’ I said, catching up with him, breathing heavily. ‘He could be hundreds of miles away.’
‘Dad tried to stop these houses being built,’ he said. It was the first time I had heard him call his father ‘Dad’. I didn’t like it.
‘They’re supposed to be starter homes for the locals. Any idea how much they cost? View of the estuary. Unspoiled countryside.’
‘Why would Luke choose a place like this?’
‘It’s one of Dad’s favourite haunts.’
‘But it’s nearly a fortnight. He’d have nothing to eat. There’s no electricity, water.’
He laughed, stuffing his fist in his mouth.
‘He’ll have bought packets of crisps on the way. Chocolate, cans of Coke.’
‘You’ve no idea where he is,’ I said crossly. He was insane but it was better to treat him as though he was a normal rational human being.
‘You don’t know Luke like I do,’ he whispered. ‘You don’t know anything.’ Then it happened. I saw him first. A head appeared at a downstairs window and Michael heard my small involuntary gasp.
‘Which one?’ He started running towards the nearest house. ‘You go to the other end, cut him off.’
Someone was crossing the patch of grass in front of the houses. A tall, thin figure, dressed in jeans and a dark-coloured sweatshirt.
‘Luke!’ I called as loudly as I could but the figure kept on running.
I heard Michael snigger. ‘He won’t get far. The path leads down to the estuary. There’s nowhere else he can go.’
It was nearly dark. I tripped over a pile of builder’s rubble and fell, grazing the side of my hand. When I caught up with Michael he pulled hold of me.
‘Look, there he is. No, there.’ He twisted my head to the left. He wa
s wildly excited. ‘Luke, you idiot, you’ll be sucked under.’
Luke was up to his ankles in mud, moving backwards with his arms held out like a tightrope walker.
‘Luke,’ I yelled. ‘Luke, it’s me, Anna, come back.’
Michael stood on a tussock of grass. He was gazing across the estuary, where visibility was decreasing fast. He called to me, cupping his hands to make the sound carry.
‘Leave him. He doesn’t want to be saved. He’s got a death wish. Let him go.’
By the time I reached the edge of the water Luke was thirty feet away, still moving backwards along a wide inlet that led out to the estuary. The white skin of his face was splashed with mud.
‘Luke, please,’ I shouted, ‘start walking towards me. It’ll be all right, I promise. No, please, Luke, stop.’
Michael was approaching. ‘There’s a pit,’ he called, ‘under the water, over twenty foot deep. In the winter it fills up with mud but in the summer it’s lethal.’
I saw Luke hesitate. When he stopped moving he began to lose his balance and his arms started flailing the air.
‘Luke! Be careful. Just fix your eyes on me and start walking.’
‘What you need,’ said Michael, ‘is a thick length of rope. Or a plank of wood would do if it was long enough.’
‘Find something.’
‘Me?’
‘Please, Michael.’
‘Please, Michael.’ He imitated my voice, reaching out to touch my cheek.
‘In the shed,’ I said. ‘There might be some wood or corrugated iron. Quick. Anything. Only hurry.’
He glanced over his shoulder. It was too dark to see the shed. ‘The houses,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find something. Be back in a minute.’
Luke was standing still, swaying backwards and forwards. He seemed incapable of moving his feet.
‘Lift your right foot,’ I said. ‘Slowly. Careful, take your time.’
‘I can’t.’ No sound came out of his mouth but I could read his lips.
‘Yes, you can. Come on, Luke.’
He seemed to be sinking lower. The water was almost up to his waist. I watched him struggling to raise his leg, heard the gurgling, sucking sound as he pulled a foot free.
‘Good. Now the other one. Come on, keep going.’
Slowly, laboriously, he started moving towards me. Now and again his body leaned to one side and I expected him to fall and disappear beneath the water.
‘Just keep your eyes focused on me. Come on, there’s not much further to go.’ I held out my hand. There was still a gap of several feet but he was no longer in any danger. I could tell his feet were on firmer ground. He moved liked a sleepwalker. I wondered if I should wade in after him and if so was it better to keep my shoes on or take them off.
‘That’s it, Luke. Four more steps and I’ll be able to catch hold of you.’
He lifted his head, leaning back slightly, staring at the darkening sky. The water was still above his knees and from the waist down he was caked in thick strong-smelling mud.
‘Hold out your arm,’ I said. ‘Your arm, Luke.’
He stared at me, as though he was seeing my face for the first time. Then he reached out and took hold of my hand, allowing me to drag him from the water.
Michael sprang. He must have been watching from the dip in the grass. I saw the plank of wood in his hand and heard the thump as it hit Luke’s chest. Luke fell on his back. As he struggled to his feet Michael jumped on him and started banging his head up and down on the turf.
‘Stop it!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t!’
I might as well not have been there. The two of them rolled over and over, tearing at each other. Michael caught hold of Luke’s arm and twisted it behind his head. I heard Luke give a shout of pain, then he wriggled free and scrambled up so that the outline of his body was silhouetted against the estuary. I expected him to start running but he stood his ground. His height gave him a slight advantage but Michael was stronger and he wasn’t covered in mud. For a split second the two brothers stared at each other, then Luke leaped forward and they fell to the ground once more, rolling backwards and forwards, pulling at each other’s hair, scratching, biting, kicking.
There was blood on Michael’s forehead but it could have come from either of them. Luke was on his feet again with Michael clutching at his ankles. Then Michael was up too. They were above the water, standing on a narrow piece of ground that jutted out, with a shallow gully on either side. The tide was going out. At the point where I had pulled Luke out the water had receded a little, revealing thick grey slime, but where the two of them now stood the water below them was deep and black. They had stopped fighting and were eyeing each other, trying to work out what was going on in the other’s head. Michael laughed, stepping back and touching the blood on his face. My car keys glinted on the grass. I edged forward and as I grabbed them I saw Luke relax.
‘Luke, be careful!’
It was too late. Michael lunged forward, the palm of his hand held out in front of him. Luke saw it and dodged to one side and I heard Michael’s shrill scream as he lost his balance and fell. There was no splash. I ran towards the edge and peered into the water. He must have slid down the muddy bank and been pulled out into the estuary by the current. At first I could see no sign of him; then I saw his head come up then disappear again beneath the surface.
I could have gone after him. Jumped into the cold, dark water and struggled, against all the odds, to drag him out of the maze of currents. Luke knelt beside me, his teeth chattering and tears running down his face.
‘Don’t. It’s no use. There’s nothing we can do.’
He was freezing cold. I took off my sweater, putting it over his head and forcing his arms through the sleeves, and for a few moments we crouched together, the air damp on our faces, below us the water quietly lapping against the bank.
My jaw ached and my teeth felt as though they were forced together.
‘Come on,’ I said softly, ‘back to the car. I’ll run the engine, turn on the heater, you’ll be all right.’
He stared at me, then turned and started stumbling across the grass.
I thought about Michael. The Michael who had walked with me on the Downs, sat in the pub telling me about his parents and his dead sister. The Michael I thought I could have loved. Then I remembered Brigid Jesty, turning the pages of her photograph album. Your children are your whole world and you’re just their boring old mother. Had Michael told me the truth about that afternoon when Faith Gordon had gone up to Brigid’s bedroom? The letter that had fallen out of Luke’s book. I had assumed it was from Paula …
Luke had gone on ahead. I could see the outline of his body, the slightly stooping shoulders he had inherited from his father. I caught up with him, opening the car door and telling him to take off his soaking wet clothes and wrap himself in the rug that was lying on the back seat. Then I started the engine, switched the heater up to full and drove slowly down the bumpy track. There was so much I still needed to know: but now I was certain that, in time, Luke would tell me.
A CRUSHING BLOW
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter One
You’re tuned to Radio Bristol, coming up to news on the hour, but first a reminder of this afternoon’s phone-in when … Inside the car the air is stifling. Leigh Woods, a stone’s throw away, looks cool,
inviting. Sunlight filters through the lime trees, rare butterflies with white-streaked wings flutter above the wood anemones. The Princess Royal on a visit to British Aerospace. The newsreader’s voice, keeping it light, keeping it bright. A new production opening at the Old Vic on Tuesday … Then a sudden shift of tone. News just in. The body of a man … bludgeoned to death in the woods. Leigh Woods. Police withholding details of the victim’s identity … until the next of kin … The traffic slows to a halt, near the track through the woods that leads down to the Avon Gorge. And now over for a check on the weather … Clear skies with occasional cloudy spells. Cooler winds from the west later this evening: … Somewhere in the woods a heavy bloodstained corpse is lifted on to a polythene sheet, slowly, carefully so no damage can confuse the post-mortem. Lines of police scour the grass, searching for a weapon, the print of a shoe. Plans for a new multi-storey car park … A woman who lives in St Paul’s has won the National Lottery … The lights turn green and the traffic moves on.
Chapter Two
It was one of those notices you know by heart but read over again each time you pass. The Samaritans Care. Talk to us in confidence any time — day or night. Then a Bristol phone number and a reminder of the telephone box at each end of the bridge.
The day had been burning hot but now, high above the city, the air felt cooler, less humid, free of the fumes from the traffic in Cumberland Basin. Halfway across the bridge a tall, thin girl stood staring down at the mud two hundred and fifty feet below. Her black jeans and sleeveless T-shirt contrasted dramatically with hair that was almost white, cropped short, apart from the long trailing strands at the back of her neck. A yellow and purple knapsack hung over her left shoulder. I guessed she was about seventeen.
She was very still, leaning forward a little, with one foot on the ground and the other resting on the toe of her boot, but as I watched she stepped back a couple of paces and stood with her arms hanging loosely away from her body, like a swimmer preparing to jump into an icy pool.