“So there were never any problems in the group?” Robin said.
“No. Well, the usual bickering and stuff, but they always sorted it out.”
“There was nothing odd in the run-up to when they disappeared.”
“I don’t know. As I said, I was on the outside,” Amber said, and then thought for a moment. “But it was obvious the group had fractured somewhat. They’d all spread across the country, going to uni. Tim and Edmund were in Edinburgh doing Physics and Rachel was there doing Psychology, Robert was in London doing Literature and Pru was doing Engineering in Manchester. It was only Matthew who stayed here.
“Matthew was always a little...different...to the others. He didn’t have any grand ambition—just seemed content with the day to day. More in step with folks round here. He joined the Canal Trust because he loved Standedge, not because he wanted to be rich or because he wanted to change the world. He just loved it.”
Robin stopped writing. “Matthew was content with Marsden, while the others needed more?”
“I guess so,” Amber said, sighing. “I wasn’t one of them. But...after the five of them had gone off to university, things did start to change, I guess. When the group got back together in holidays, well...see for yourself.” She tapped the photo.
Not that he needed to see it. “There’s no Matthew.”
Amber smiled sadly. “This picture was taken three days before they went missing. Three days before Matthew piloted the boat through the tunnel, and the five of them disappeared. The only survivor in this photo is the bloody dog.” She thought for a moment, looking at the picture with wonder. “It’s all rather crazy, isn’t it? Something like this happening in Marsden.”
“What do you think? About it all?”
“About the Incident? I don’t know. It’s so bizarre. Almost supernatural, you know. What do you think? As an outsider.”
“I think that there has to be a logical explanation.”
Amber looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, you don’t understand yet. You will.” Amber moved the photo aside and picked up the salt and pepper shakers. She placed one at the edge of the table and then traced a line to the other side and placed the other. “Standedge Canal Tunnel. For all intents and purposes, a straight line. Point A—” she touched the top of the salt “—to Point B,” moving her hand to the pepper. “The Standedge Five and Matthew and the dog enter Point A in their boat.” She moved a finger slowly along a straight line from the salt. “There’s nowhere to go except Point B. But somehow—the Standedge Five go somewhere else. Against everything, Matthew and the dog come out the other side without the others. You start asking around, and you’ll hear a lot of theories. But I’ve never heard a single one that I believe. They are gone, but there’s no way they can be.”
“But people don’t just disappear,” Robin said. Even though a little voice inside him said, But Sam did.
“And yet, against all odds, the Standedge Five did,” Amber said. “They aren’t in any of the tunnels. They weren’t in the water. The searches were thorough. Gone into thin air.”
Robin felt a shiver course through him. “What are your thoughts about Matthew doing it?”
Amber shrugged. “Whether he did or didn’t, the major questions remain the same.”
Robin carried on. He didn’t want to address the subject of How? yet, if only because the implications of the question scared the hell out of him. “Do you think maybe Matthew was annoyed at being excluded?”
Amber thought for a moment, and then lightened, laughing. “It’s hard to think Matthew would be annoyed at the Five for anything. It was like the sun shone out of their arses for him. He worshipped them. He was like a...a rubber band. They could stretch him and twist him any way they wanted.”
“You make it sound manipulative.”
“No,” Amber said definitively. “Matthew knew what was going on and was only too happy to let it happen. If that’s manipulative, then he was welcoming it.”
Yet it still was.
“There was one thing, though.” Amber looked around, even though she had to know they were alone. “It’s just a rumor, but word around town was that this year’s Standedge trip was to be the last for them. This was something Matthew looked forward to every year, was probably mostly why he got that job at the Trust, and now there was a chance it was going to end. I dunno. People are saying that’s why he did it. Hard to argue with ’em.”
Robin braced himself and asked the question. “Do you think Matthew did it?”
Amber looked from him to the photo, and then into the fire. The light danced in her eyes. “What else is there?”
Robin changed tack. “Before the Incident, would you have said Matthew was capable of something like that?”
Amber drew her gaze back to him. “No,” she said definitively. “He was always friendly, a bit too timid for his own good. Well, as I say, he let the others take the reins. He was someone who was happy just to be along for the ride. I wouldn’t have thought he had a bad bone in his body. But, as my dad would say, takes all sorts to make a world, huh? I mean, take that whole thing that happened last year? That guy who locked that television presenter, the old Resident Detective guy, and all those people in that room, forced them to solve a murder or something. Stuff like this happens now, I suppose. Just like my dad said, all sorts.”
Robin nodded. “Thank you, Amber.”
“No worries,” she said. “If you ever need any more information, I’ll do what I can. If I’m not at work here, you can usually find me at the church.”
Robin wondered why she was being so forthcoming. “The church?”
Amber nodded. “I help out there, run some of the groups, keep the place tidy—those kind of things.” She got up and picked up his empty plate. “You have everything you need for now?”
Robin was confused. “Sorry. What do you mean by ‘need’?”
“Your notes,” she said, pointing down to the open notebook. “You’re gonna write a book about the Standedge Five, right?”
Robin was a little taken aback.
And Amber laughed at his face. “Sorry. You’re Robin Ferringham.”
“Oh,” Robin said, never actually having been recognized before, “have you read my book?”
Amber almost managed to look apologetic. “Nope. I can use Google, though. You told Jimbo your name—I needed it for the reservation. Don’t see many Ferringhams knocking about and renting rooms around here. So your second book, it’s going to be about the Standedge Five?”
Robin talked before his thoughts caught up. “Yes.”
“Well, tread lightly. Folks round here, they’re trying to move on. Incident didn’t happen that long ago, but to them, they’ve got the guy for it. It’s resolved. There’s a sort of vigil at the church on Tuesday night if you want to see what I mean. Everyone wants to mourn the deaths of the Five and they want it to be over.” Amber went to the staircase, but before she began to ascend, she turned back. “And if you see Roger Claypath...” She trailed off. She thought for a second, opened her mouth and then closed it again. Wordlessly she went up the stairs and left Robin alone.
Had she looked scared? Or was it Robin transplanting his feelings onto her? He didn’t know.
He ran his finger over the notes he had made. The Standedge Five were starting to become more fleshed out in his mind, and so was his caller, Matthew. Seemed like there were some complex feelings between Matthew and the rest of the group.
What had Amber called Matthew? He searched through his notes, almost unable to read his hurried handwriting. A rubber band, she had said, that was stretched and wound to fit the group.
Robin looked at the photo of the Five. What appeared to be a happy night in the basement of The Hamlet. Without Matthew. He wondered how the young man would feel if he saw this very photo.
How far could you stretch a rubber b
and until it snapped?
Chapter Nine
Robin put his suitcase and backpack in the room and turned the small television on, but couldn’t settle. He felt there was one last thing he needed to do before he went to sleep.
He had to see it for himself. He had to see Standedge. Even though he knew he couldn’t go inside. He had to see it with his own eyes.
So he turned off the television, got his coat and went back out.
The evening had turned to a bitterly cold night. A wind was blowing through the empty streets with alarming speed. If Marsden seemed empty before, now it seemed like a ghost town. Robin retraced his steps up to the station, knowing from the maps that Standedge lay to the left instead of the right he had taken to get to the town.
He took the left and found himself almost instantly walking parallel to the canal that had made its way under the bridge he had crossed earlier. He followed the canal, hearing the soft lap of water between the gusts of wind. He continued down a country path until he turned a corner. And paused as he took another bridge over the canal.
And there it was.
The entrance to the canal tunnel looked incredibly small—almost like a mouse hole in some old cartoon. But this was real—a little mouse hole in the side of the landscape. It felt rather unassuming—the canal just ran up to it and disappeared inside. As though it swallowed the canal. Boats were moored by the tunnel entrance—blue and white narrow boats with plastic seating. Tour boats.
Next to the tunnel stood a building that looked like a large holiday cottage. The Standedge Visitor Centre with an empty parking lot in front of it. The path from the bridge went down to the Centre and closer to the tunnel and Robin found his step hurrying.
He wanted to see closer.
The hole—gated up and chained, as though a prison for some horrific monster—grew larger with every step. Amber had said the children were afraid of it, and he could understand why. Staring into it, into the darkness inside, felt like staring into a void.
He came to the center but couldn’t take his eyes from the tunnel. The wind was whipping through it, and somehow it was creating a whistling sound. Almost as if it were talking to him.
He thought of the game Amber talked about. Where you had to stand beside the tunnel and see how long you lasted. Would he have been able to do that as a child? Could he even do that now?
He chuckled to himself. No use getting spooked. It was just a tunnel, after all. But he had to find out what Matthew’s interest in it was. And why it brought the group close together. Did something happen on that trip?
Robin turned and started back toward The Hamlet. It was definitely creepy, and the ghost stories were warranted. But now Standedge was the location of a very real crime.
When he was crossing the bridge, he looked back at the tunnel. People don’t just disappear, Robin thought again. And nodded to himself.
The tunnel whistled as if in agreement.
Chapter Ten
The girl watched Robin Ferringham cross the bridge and hurry back to The Hamlet. She hadn’t exactly been hiding, having followed him across most of the town. She hid behind a tree when he turned back. It was a simple act of stealth—he wasn’t exactly a secret agent or some such. But then, neither was she. He didn’t notice her at all. Simple.
She had to see if he was here for what she suspected. And lo and behold, he led her to Standedge. She didn’t like being right all the time.
She got her phone out. Took a couple of snaps. She didn’t really know what for. He was just standing there, like he was waiting for something to happen. She looked at them. If he was here for Standedge, what did that mean? She wasn’t sure yet.
She watched him leave, spooked, and then she decided to keep the photos she took and slipped her headphones back on, making her way back to Marsden too.
Time to get back to work.
Chapter Eleven
HMP New Hall was down an unassuming country road with trees along either side. Robin felt like he was coming into some country estate more than a prison. But as he emerged out the end, he saw a large group of buildings surrounded by high imposing fences.
After breakfast, Robin had rented a car from a place in the center of Marsden that seemed to double as a real-estate agent’s. He wasn’t entirely sure the woman there hadn’t just rented him her own personal car. Whoever’s car it was, it got him where he needed to go. New Hall was about half an hour from Marsden, and on the journey he saw more fields than he’d seen in about a decade.
He followed the road up to the prison, watching as the large fence parted to let cars through. There was a small guardhouse positioned next to the road, with a rather bored-looking officer inside. He gave his name and the guard let him through.
He found a space in a mostly full parking lot at the front of the largest building, following signs that led to reception. As he got out of the car, he noticed that there was another fence surrounding the large building and stretching as far as he could see.
This was most definitely a prison. At least on the outside. When he entered the building, he found himself in a large hall that felt more like a museum. Marble floors and a glass ceiling dazzled him. Maybe that was the intention.
He was frisked and his backpack was put through an airport scanner and subsequently rifled through before he could journey across the marble floor to a set of desks with officers enclosed behind glass.
“I’m here to visit a prisoner,” Robin said.
The officer on the other side of the glass looked at him with dull eyes. “Name?”
“Mine or his?” Robin said.
The officer looked at him as if he were taking the piss.
Robin was given a set of forms—the uniformed man slid them to him through an opening in the glass window, and told him to fill them out. When Robin mentioned Matthew’s name he had expected some sort of reaction, but the officer didn’t even seem to recognize it.
Robin sat on a row of chairs by the wall, next to a young mother with a baby in her arms. By the time Robin had filled out the first form, an officer had come to escort her away—visiting the father, no doubt. Visitors came and went as Robin plowed on, the paperwork never ending. He had to detail criminal convictions, past addresses, any trips he’d made in the past five years—information that he thought couldn’t possibly be relevant. By the time he was done, he felt like he’d written another book.
He went back to the officer and slid him back the stack of papers. The officer took them and placed them behind him on a pile. “They’ll take a day to process.”
“What?” Robin said. “No, I don’t have a day. I have to see him now.”
The officer almost smiled at his misfortune. “If you’d done it online in advance, it would’ve been quicker.”
Robin opened his mouth and closed it. He expected saying that he hadn’t intended to be visiting anyone in New Hall a mere thirty-six hours ago wouldn’t exactly reflect the best on him.
He was about to turn away when a voice boomed from close behind him. “Now, now, Miles, I’m sure we can make an exception.”
The officer, Miles, suddenly came alive. His eyes widened and he sat up straight so violently it looked as if he’d been shot by a Taser. “Sir.”
Robin looked over his shoulder to see a tall, tidy man in a crisp suit standing a little too close to him. His eyes were sharp, and his prickly smile traced by a thin black mustache.
“I’m sure Mr. Ferringham can go and visit who he likes, and we can rush the paperwork through while he’s still in the building. Yes?”
The officer named Miles was as still as a mannequin, looking as if he was trying not to shake. “Of course, sir.” Without taking his eyes from the crisply dressed man, he reached behind himself and found the paperwork. He instantly started clacking at his computer keyboard, obviously happy to tear his eyes from the newcomer.
; Robin turned to the man. “Thank you.”
The man had his arms behind his back in a pose that showed off his broad chest. He wore a dazzling red tie with a sparkling tie clip. Robin noticed this most, as it was at his eye level in relation to the man. “Think nothing of it.” He unfurled one of his long arms and offered a hand with equally long fingers. “Roger Claypath.”
Robin’s heart skipped a beat, although somewhere he had known that the man in front of him could not have been anyone else. His face looked familiar—he had the same bulky jaw as his son, and he shared his daughter’s nose. Even without having met the Claypath twins, it was apparent they could not have come from anyone else, like they were artists’ impressions of the man in front of him.
Robin shook his hand. “I’m Robin...” Was it an accident that Claypath was here?
“Ah, no need to introduce yourself,” Claypath said, still managing to boom even though he’d lowered his voice. “You are Robin Ferringham. My wife’s book club read your book a few months back.”
“Ah,” Robin said, uncomfortably. Even in such a vast airy room, he felt vulnerable. “Did they enjoy it?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. I leave her to that kind of stuff.” Claypath laughed. His eyes twitched—flitting up and down Robin in a motion that was almost imperceptible. “I’m more into the macho stuff, you see—the Chris Ryans, the Tom Clancys. Something to get your pulse racing. But then, these days, the job does that for me.”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you going to say you’re sorry?” Claypath said, bluntly, and not at all friendly. His demeanor changed in an instant.
“What?” Robin felt very small.
“My children disappear, killed by a perverse maniac who once was a friend, you stand before me trying to see this monster, and you don’t at least tell me that you are sorry for my loss?”
Robin opened his mouth to say sorry like a quivering subject, but instead he straightened up and said, “In my experience, a sorry from a stranger is probably the most insulting thing to hear after losing a loved one.”
Now You See Me Page 5