The Heights

by Louise Candlish

  ‘Exactly,’ Vic said. ‘That would be the best-case scenario. But we can’t count on it, so on the day – and the ones before and after – we need to make sure we’re accounted for, every minute of it. Just in case a body does turn up.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘And don’t go anywhere near that park, okay? Not even in the car, and definitely not alone.’

  ‘You too.’ It occurred to me that, with two housemates, I was going to have an easier time being accounted for than he was.

  ‘I’ve got someone staying with me at the moment,’ Vic said. ‘Just temporarily.’

  I struggled for a name. ‘Chloë?’

  ‘No, we split up a few weeks ago.’

  A new woman then. They came and went. I didn’t like to ask if he’d recruited this new one simply to cover for him, but it was certainly convenient.

  He continued: ‘Now listen, this is important: if you run into Danny, don’t say a thing. It’s too risky, you never know who might be listening or what cameras might pick up. It’s not a secret we can even whisper about, okay?’

  ‘Absolutely. How are you communicating with him?’

  ‘We meet at the pub near his place – always have, so nothing different there. We know where to sit to be completely safe from security cameras and eavesdroppers.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘So, if and when the police come, just tell the truth about when you last saw Kieran. It’s natural you should’ve been upset by him being back in town, even pleased that something bad might have happened to him.’

  Throughout this final briefing, Vic sounded pragmatic, even cool, but I knew he must be as devoured by nerves as I was. There’d be no MI5 glamour to this assassination, we both knew that. This faceless killer doing our bidding might even feel some degree of the primal terror Kieran did himself – and that Lucas had the night he died.

  I wondered if I’d have an instinct when it took place, if the moment would be marked by some visitation to the soul, a sudden sense of justice or release. But the day passed with no noticeable disturbance.

  * * *

  There was no way of accelerating the process of discovery. From 3 July onwards, I regularly checked the local missing persons website on the iPad, but Kieran’s profile wasn’t there.

  And then, early the following week, his name was suddenly everywhere: in the local paper, on my Facebook feed, even the BBC News:

  Reservoir Horror Survivor Reported Missing

  The circumstances of Kieran’s disappearance were described exactly as Vic had predicted. He’d gone out for a run at 7am on 3 July and Prisca had left for work soon after. He’d had a shift starting at the chicken place at 11am and had told her he intended to take the bus to work. His manager, who was aware of Kieran’s circumstances, had called her on her mobile at 12.30 and said he hadn’t turned up. They agreed he must have not been feeling well and stayed home. But, returning from work, Prisca found there was no evidence that Kieran had come back from his run. He hadn’t showered or changed, the running kit and trainers were nowhere to be seen. No documents were missing that she could tell. His phone went straight to voicemail.

  Each report included a recap of the reservoir accident, the sentence dealt to Watts for his careless driving conviction and the campaign it had inspired, with some also alluding to continued ill feeling. His manager at the chicken shop was quoted as saying Kieran had been recognized by customers a few times and, on at least one occasion, verbally abused. ‘We didn’t put him on the counter after that,’ he said. ‘We kept him out back in the kitchen.’

  Reservoir horror. Seeing the phrase again in media headlines punctured the delicate membrane that had at last grown over my grief. Once the main focus of the story, or at least an equal to Kieran, Lucas was in this second act only an adjunct, reduced to a few short lines, sometimes not even given a name but written off as the ‘tragic victim’.

  Well, not by us, my friends. Not by us.

  Killing Time (cont)

  It is a matter of record that both Ellen Saint and Vic Gordon were interviewed by the police in the weeks following Watts’s disappearance. Neither was asked to make a formal statement.

  Sunday Times magazine,

  December 2021

  Chapter 23

  It was several days – perhaps even a week – before the police came, and I took this to be an excellent sign. Perhaps they were delayed by responses to the appeal; posters had appeared on supermarket noticeboards, pasted on bus stops or pinned to trees. Have You Seen Kieran Watts? On one, in Sainsbury’s, someone had scrawled ‘Murderer’ in red felt tip. Another, pasted to a lamp post on Beckenham High Street, I tore off, screwed into a ball, and deposited in the nearest bin.

  In any case, there were clearly more plausible theories surrounding Kieran’s disappearance than any that involved the criminal activity of two grieving middle-aged parents.

  Freya had just left for school and Justin and I were still home when the officer arrived. He was an approachable, old-hand sort, who accepted tea and made an admiring comment about the garden – lush, almost tropical, following weeks of heavy rain – before setting out his questions.

  ‘You’re aware, I’m sure, that Kieran Watts has been reported missing?’

  ‘We’ve seen the news,’ Justin said, his tone as politely earnest as you’d expect. He had nothing to hide, after all. ‘We were just talking about it last night, actually. Wondering what could’ve happened to him.’

  This was true. Freya had seen a poster and heard chatter at school, and so we’d discussed it as a family. Or, rather, they discussed it as a family, while I discussed it as a murderer and a liar.

  ‘What’s your theory?’ the officer asked.

  ‘Maybe he realized he wasn’t very popular around here and decided to move on before anything too unpleasant happened,’ Justin suggested. ‘Had his supervision period ended?’

  ‘Yes, just the week before.’

  ‘There you go then. That can’t be a coincidence, can it? He probably wasn’t allowed to change his address before that. Don’t you risk being sent back inside if you break the conditions of your release?’

  I suppressed a smile as Justin made exactly the point I’d hoped he would, though of course the theory didn’t explain why Kieran should up sticks without taking any of his possessions and without uttering a word about his plans to Prisca or his employer. This was a detail that had been in the press: neither had received so much as a texted goodbye. I’d kept on top of the news, memorizing reports, knowing that in even the most casual exchanges with the police I could allude only to facts in the public domain.

  ‘You’re well informed,’ the officer told Justin, appreciatively.

  ‘Oh, believe me, it doesn’t feel like it,’ he replied, drily, and glanced at me. ‘We’ve had to second guess a lot of what went on with his release. A bit more information would have been welcome, I can tell you.’

  ‘It certainly would,’ I agreed.

  The officer’s attention turned to me. If anything, his affability was even more marked, but I knew not to trust that. ‘Have you seen him since his release, Mrs Saint?’

  ‘Yes, back in April, when we went to the cinema.’ I picked up my diary. ‘Let’s see, it was just before Easter… Wednesday the twelfth of April. We were in the pizza place on the high street and we saw him having a drink at the Crown. He was outside, where the smokers go.’

  ‘This was what prompted you to call Kieran’s offender manager, was it? Marcus Flynn.’

  ‘You know about that?’ It was hardly surprising, I supposed. As Vic had anticipated, we would be most people’s first choice of those whose feathers had been ruffled by Kieran’s return. Of course Flynn had mentioned my call.

  ‘Yes, I spoke to him the next week. He will have logged the exact date and time if you need it. I expect he told you I was very upset, which is true.’ Seeing the officer’s doubtful expression, I spelled out the reasons in a tone of controlled outrage. ‘This man
killed our son. I didn’t like the idea that he could just come here and behave as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t had a devastating impact on the community. Lucas’s friends and their families are still here, our daughter is still at Foxwell Academy. As I told Mr Flynn, I would have preferred Kieran to settle somewhere else, but he explained that he wasn’t considered a risk to anyone. I’m not sure I agree, but you’ll know better than me the stats for reoffending.’

  Under my foundation my face burned. Ever since Kieran’s disappearance, I’d applied thick make-up for just this occasion, to conceal any errant guilty flushes. I ran a hand through my hair – it felt cool and synthetic, as if not a part of me – and waited.

  ‘What’s your theory about his disappearance?’ the officer pressed me. ‘The same as your husband’s?’

  ‘Yes. Like Justin said, he must have decided to make a fresh start somewhere no one knows him. Escape all the negative comments.’

  ‘Do you know of anyone specifically who would wish to make those comments?’

  I paused. Either he knew less about the history of this than he ought to or he was playing dumb to try to trick me. ‘Not specifically, no, just anyone who followed the case and thought he got off too lightly. You must be familiar with our campaign, Lock Up Longer? We had almost a hundred thousand signatures on our petition to review his sentence, people from all over the UK. Don’t forget, this is someone who murdered an innocent boy.’

  He didn’t correct my language, just as he had not when I’d used the word ‘killer’: officially, Kieran caused the death of a man.

  I continued: ‘I can give you admin access to the website, if you like? There was a lot of new activity when he was released and there’ll probably be more now he’s back in the news. I don’t know where you’d begin, to be honest.’

  As he gave me the email address to forward the details to, I tried not to think about the waste of time involved if the police were to pursue this red herring. ‘Maybe he killed himself?’ I added. ‘The guilt was too much for him?’

  There was a pause, a sideways look from Justin, and I wondered if I’d spoken with a little too much relish. We sipped our tea, by now tepid enough for me to note that the ‘couple of routine questions’ were taking a lot longer than we might have expected.

  ‘What about his life inside?’ Justin said, presently. ‘Have you checked if he made any enemies there? Someone who came out at the same time or just after him and had a reason to track him down? He’s a strong personality, Kieran, quite charismatic. I can imagine him rubbing people up the wrong way.’

  ‘That’s certainly an angle we’re considering,’ the officer agreed, but, again, seemed to prefer to focus on me. Behind his tolerant gaze there was something more complex than objective investigation. ‘So you saw him in April outside the Crown. Did you see him again after that?’

  Justin and I exchanged a look.

  ‘I saw him outside here one morning,’ I admitted, reluctantly. ‘At the front gate. He was just standing there, looking at the house.’

  ‘He didn’t ring the bell?’

  ‘No,’ I said, truthfully. ‘And I didn’t open the door.’ Also true. ‘After a couple of minutes, he just left.’

  ‘Any idea why he was here?’

  For the first time, I had to lie outright. I kept my eye contact steady, my hands motionless. ‘I’m not sure, but it’s possible he was thinking of apologizing to us. Criminals do that sometimes, don’t they? Maybe he saw me at the window and lost his nerve.’ I didn’t mention that he’d been wearing running gear. I didn’t need the police to know that I was aware of this element of his lifestyle. I hoped Justin wouldn’t add the detail – or even remember.

  Justin surprised me with his next comment. ‘I saw him a week or two later, as well. He was outside that chicken place on Penge High Street, talking on his phone. He was in kitchen overalls, so I guessed he must be working there.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me that.’ I felt myself flush with the shock of this unscripted information.

  ‘I didn’t want to upset you,’ Justin said, gently placing his hand on mind.

  Didn’t want me confronting Kieran at his workplace, more like. Was it suspicious that I hadn’t tracked him down there myself? Or, at the very least, torn around to Prisca’s to lay into him – or her? Had Vic and I misjudged the psychology?

  No. Our plan was flawless, I was sure of it. I’d even been careful to continue to fret about Kieran and his whereabouts as frequently and vocally as I knew would be expected of me. A phone call to Sheridan, questions about what she and Jade knew (nothing, she swore). Silence on my part would have been a remarkable change of behaviour.

  ‘Did you speak to him at the chicken shop?’ the officer asked Justin.

  ‘No. I was driving. But it was definitely him. I saw in the papers he had some sort of placement there after his release.’

  We were both able to share our full schedules for 3 July, neither taking us to the vicinity of Prisca’s home or South Norwood Country Park at any time.

  Only then did the officer divulge something I didn’t already know. ‘The day before he disappeared, he bought a security bolt at B&Q in Penge and fitted it to the front door of his foster mother’s house. Any idea why he might have done that?’

  ‘It’s fairly obvious he must have been feeling unsafe,’ Justin said. ‘Wanted to up his home security. Wouldn’t Prisca be the one to ask about that? Did she not question it?’ He checked his phone and shifted in his seat. ‘I’m really very sorry, but I need to leave for work in a minute if you don’t mind? I have an appointment I can’t reschedule.’

  ‘Of course.’ The officer stood and smiled. ‘I’m sorry to have had to interrupt your morning and to bring up difficult memories.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ Justin smiled back. ‘I hope you find him safe and well. We don’t wish him any harm.’

  Speak for yourself, I thought, willing him to leave it there. Both his tone and body language had relaxed and our visitor was looking at him with the masked eagerness of one who knew the most significant details can be extracted on departure, in nice unguarded postscripts.

  ‘I just think…’ Justin said, shaking his head.

  ‘Just think what, Mr Gordon?’

  ‘I just think I’d like my family to have nothing more to do with this search, if that’s all right. Nothing personal, I know you’re just doing your job, but we feel very, very unlucky to have crossed paths with that boy and we’d prefer them never to cross again.’

  Very, very unlucky. They talk about stabs of pain, but the simple truth of Justin’s statement struck me like a ten-foot wave breaking on my back. Blowing me off my feet and depositing me, bruised and disorientated, twenty feet closer to the shore.

  As soon as Justin and the officer left, I crumpled onto the sofa and wept.

  * * *

  Vic’s interview proceeded in a more spirited vein, he reported, when we had a coffee in a busy Caffè Nero, a meeting I was careful to put in my phone calendar and mention to Justin. While we were under even the lightest surveillance, there could be no secret liaisons to come back to haunt us.

  ‘I told them I was happy he’d disappeared,’ he said. ‘I told them they shouldn’t waste their time looking for him, that rats like him will come out of the woodwork when they’re hungry.’

  I felt a deep thrill. ‘What did they say?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not a lot, but I could tell they agreed.’

  ‘They accepted your alibi?’

  ‘Yep. The day he went missing, I was in the office early, working all day, then I had team drinks in the evening.’

  Vic had by then been working for the same tool hire business he’d joined over two decades ago when we were still together and had several colleagues who’d known him for much if not all of that time. His was as rock solid a cover story as any that could be devised.

  ‘What about Danny?’

  ‘They’ve got no reason to talk to him, but if they ever deci
de to, he dropped the kids at school first, then went straight to a job in Forest Hill where the owner of the house was working from home. He didn’t even nip out for his lunch, she made him a sandwich and they ate together in the garden.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘The last thing we want is to put him in the firing line.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  We drank our coffees, watching with wonder those coming and going with only mundane cares, issues not even worth voicing. Extraordinary to think that Vic and I sat here, to all appearances an ordinary pair of friends, having arranged a death.

  ‘There’s no chance these people will come back and make trouble for us? Like trying to blackmail us or something?’ I asked.

  Vic’s dismissal was unequivocal. ‘No, they’re not connected to us in any way, Danny made sure of that. Anyway, they’re professionals. We paid for a job and the job’s been done. You don’t fix someone’s heating and go back and blackmail them after the event.’ He leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘Remember what I said about not talking about this – and not just with Danny, but between us, as well. From now on, unless something catastrophic goes down, none of it ever happened.’

  I wondered what the catastrophic event could be. A return of that officer with his complicated gaze. Arrest and interrogation, I supposed. Prosecution.

  Vic seemed to read my thoughts. ‘Even if something catastrophic happens,’ he corrected himself. ‘Total denial from start to finish, that’s the deal.’

  ‘Total denial,’ I repeated. ‘As long as I know he’s gone, really gone, I’ll never breathe a word as long as I live.’

  ‘He’s gone,’ Vic said grimly.

  We hugged goodbye. Feeling the shape of Lucas in his body, I gripped him tighter, and tighter again, and there was a breathless moment or two when I think he worried I’d never let him go.

  Chapter 24