Devil's Garden

by Aline Templeton

  ‘I was afraid you would. I didn’t get to it soon enough. Go back to bed, cara – you’re worn out.’

  ‘But now the alarm is down, we’re unprotected,’ Anna said. ‘That’s all we had to rely on—’

  ‘I’m not tired. I would hear, if anyone came. You sleep.’

  Anna sat down on the end of the bed. ‘I don’t think I can now. I’m scared to take a pill – I don’t want to lay myself out in case something does happen.’

  ‘Then we should phone the police station. They are there for our protection. They should do something, send someone.’

  Anna sighed. ‘Marta, they wouldn’t, unless someone had actually broken in. With the snow and a power cut, they’ll be getting hundreds of calls. It won’t even go to the local station – some central switchboard will answer it.’

  ‘The policeman gave me his number.’ She got off the bed and walked across the room, swinging the beam to show where she had left her handbag.

  ‘It’s the middle of the night! You can’t …’ Anna said, but it was too late. Marta had found her phone and was dialling already.

  When his mobile rang, he jerked awake. For a second he thought it could be part of a dream because opening his eyes didn’t make any difference. It was pitch-dark; no light at all coming in from the street lamps outside. He groped across the bedside table for the phone.

  ‘Strang,’ he said thickly, trying to summon his wits. ‘Who’s speaking?’

  When the caller announced herself, he was suddenly wide awake. Contact, at last? But no; when he listened, it was Marta at her most grande dame, demanding immediate protection.

  He could hear the storm still blowing outside. He said soothingly, ‘Even if the alarm isn’t set, your doors will be locked anyway, and use the deadbolts to make sure. Given the conditions, though, no one is moving about – in fact the road up to Highfield House must be blocked. You have a panic room, yes? If you have any reason to be worried, you can retreat there to be safe.’

  ‘But—’ he heard Marta say, then Anna spoke, ‘Inspector Strang, I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. My friend is very upset just now but there’s obviously nothing that can be done at the moment. We shouldn’t have disturbed you.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ Then seizing the moment, Strang said, ‘I wonder, though, if you have given thought to answering the questions I was asking you?’

  There was a silence at the other end. Then Anna said, ‘Oh yes. We’ve thought of little else. Tomorrow we will call you, if there’s still no news.’

  He had to settle for that. He peered at the time on his phone – quarter to two. It felt as if he’d been asleep for a very long time but he’d probably just been in that early deep sleep cycle. He still felt disorientated, particularly with the sort of deep darkness he didn’t experience in his city life. He was just turning over to go back to sleep when he thought of turning on his bedside lamp. It didn’t work, of course, but it meant that when the power was restored he would know – if the power was restored before morning.

  Plunged so suddenly into darkness, Cassie gave a little scream of fright. She heard Hammond mutter, ‘What the—’ as she realised: of course, a power cut. You more or less expected that in this area when there was a big storm and the question was only whether the power would be restored in a few hours or a few days.

  Her own house was well stocked with torches and candles – Marta, of course, had seen to that, and she even had a little camping stove to heat up a tin of soup if necessary. Here, there was nothing. She didn’t know where the house was; it sounded as if it was out in the country, though, and even if you were a police officer who could issue instructions about getting your road cleared it wouldn’t necessarily be possible immediately. They could be here for a very long time, trapped together in the dark. They would have to talk now – and it sounded as if they would have plenty to talk about. She was just trying to work out what to say when she realised he was crying – passionate, angry sobs.

  ‘Am I owed nothing, nothing?’ he said. ‘The gods have been my enemies. From the day I was born I’ve had to fight alone.’

  Cassie was glad now of the concealing dark. She wouldn’t have been able to mask her astonishment that this man who had most likely killed her brother, had tried to kill her, had kidnapped her and planned to kill her mother, somehow seemed to see himself as a victim. Was there even any point in trying to express false sympathy? As he had pointed out, she was a pathetic liar and he’d hear the insincerity in her voice.

  She didn’t try, only said what was uppermost in her thoughts. ‘Are you going to kill me?’

  The sobbing stopped. Then, ‘What?’ he said, as if he was irritated by such an irrelevance.

  ‘Are you going to kill me?’ she repeated. ‘You tried before.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Hammond was angry again. ‘I didn’t! It was the last thing I wanted at the time! I was playing Anna along so nicely until that spooked her, and then that idiot broke in and mucked everything up completely. I told you at the time it was just some fool who came too close to you and didn’t stop.’

  ‘But you asked me if anyone had a grudge against me,’ she protested. ‘That really scared me.’

  He laughed. ‘You should have seen the look on your face! I enjoyed that.’

  It was a chilling insight. This was some sort of game to him. Her throat constricted as she said, ‘And … Felix?’

  ‘Ah, Felix.’ His tone changed. ‘He was my rival. He stole the childhood I should have had – and he threw away all my advantages. Our brother was a useless junkie dropout, Cassie.’

  She didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing he had made her cry. She kept her voice level. ‘“Our” brother? “Our” mother? What do you mean? Who are you?’

  ‘Oh, that’s a good question. It’s one I often ask myself.’

  ‘And what do you reply?’

  ‘I’m my father’s son. At least I know that, and I know he loved me, even if things didn’t work out as they should have.’

  She recognised a bitter defensiveness. Anna, clearly, hadn’t loved him, hadn’t wanted him; that had disfigured his life and twisted him into the monster he was now. Could she encourage him to talk, play for time, hoping that by some miracle the search that must be going on would find her?

  ‘How do you know Anna was your mother?’ she asked.

  He didn’t answer immediately, and she softened her voice, cajoling him. ‘Look, we could be here, just the two of us in the dark for a long time. Why don’t you tell me about it?’

  There was a long, long silence. Then he startled her with a sharp crack of harsh laughter. ‘Why not? Though I may have to kill you afterwards.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Hammond didn’t know why he’d agreed. Was it the darkness, that gave him a sort of cloak of invisibility? Or was it the gentle voice that seemed to promise a sympathy no one had ever given him? Or was it simply because the silence and secrecy had festered for so long that it was a suppurating boil and had to burst? It certainly wasn’t to make excuses for himself; a just revenge needed no defence.

  He’d recited the story to himself a hundred, a thousand times, like a ritual used to keep his anger smouldering. It would be good to say it out loud, to another person. There would be satisfaction in painting his pain on the darkness.

  ‘He left, you see – my father. The day after my tenth birthday. Somehow they often seemed to have fights that spoilt my birthdays and I’d heard them screaming the night before. I knew it must be my fault. It only happened because I was a naughty boy – my mother was always telling me that. I tried hard not to be, but they still had rows anyway and this one was a humdinger. There was a crash, like they’d broken something – they’d never done that before. They had nice things, precious things. I heard her screaming something then – couldn’t make it out. I just pulled the covers over my head and they were still at it when I fell asleep.

  ‘I’m not sure why I woke up early – I know
I used to get a worry pain in the pit of my stomach so it could have been that, or maybe there was some sound. Anyway, I lay very still, wondering if they were still yelling or if things would be back to what I called “normal” then.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Armed neutrality, I suppose I’d call it now.

  ‘The shouting had stopped but there was someone moving very quietly downstairs. Then right under my window the front door opened and I went to look. It wasn’t fully light, but my father was walking to his car, carrying a suitcase. He often went away for a few days, for work. I hated that, but it wasn’t unusual so I didn’t run down in my pyjamas and throw my arms round his legs to beg him to take me with him and not leave me with her, like I would have done if I’d known.

  ‘I’d never admitted I didn’t love my mother. Well, I knew I had to, because that was what she was, even if I didn’t think she loved me. Did you love yours?’ He threw out the challenge suddenly and Cassie took a moment to reply.

  ‘Yes, I did, in a slightly distant way. Like you said, you have to, because you’re sort of imprinted. She was always quite cool, not touchy-feely, and sometimes I don’t much like her. But I’ve cut her a bit of slack because she’s not just the same as ordinary people. And I think she loves me, as much as she can with her nature.’

  ‘Oh, well done you!’ Hammond said sarcastically. ‘Didn’t you think it was your fault that you didn’t get hugs and kisses like other kids? I did. She’d convinced me it was because I was a bad person. But my dad loved me, and I really, really loved him. She loved him too; he was a very loveable man.

  ‘When his car drove off, I went back to bed. The worry pain was still there but if Dad was away there probably wouldn’t be any dramatics and I’d mostly be out at school, so I went back to sleep. When I woke up again I could hear my mother moving about downstairs – half past seven, time to get up and get ready for school. I knew she’d probably be in a bad mood after the row last night, so I did everything properly– neat hair, tidy room, no dawdling, straight down to be in good time. Nothing to get her started, but I was still nervous when I went into the kitchen.

  ‘Dirty dishes piled on the worktop, no sign of breakfast. A glass bowl lying in pieces on the floor – a beautiful thing, Venetian glass with blues and greens swirled through it – and she was sitting at the table crying, and she looked as if she’d been doing that for a long time. Her face was all blubbery with tears and her eyes were swollen almost shut. There was this little pile of torn-up paper on the table in front of her. As I edged my way into the room she looked up. I was only young but I couldn’t mistake the look she gave me – pure hatred. It was like she’d hit me in the face. Then she said, “So you’re what I’m left with, are you? He’s dumped you on me and gone.”

  ‘My knees started shaking so I nearly fell. I sat down on the chair furthest away from her while she told me my father had walked out, then she said, “Didn’t take you with him, did he?”

  ‘It hurt so much that I could hardly breathe, could hardly understand what she was saying. She went on, raving away about was she meant to look after me now? I said, “But you’re my mother. That’s what mothers do.” God, I was naive! And then she started to laugh, so hard she started to choke, and I could hardly make out that what she was saying was, “That’s a joke!”

  ‘I actually wondered if she’d suddenly gone mad. Could you go mad with rage? And if she had, what could I do about it? I just stood there, and suddenly she stopped laughing. She’d stopped crying too and her face was so ugly, blotchy and cruel.

  ‘Then she said, “Oh, you’re so stupid. You’re not my child.”’

  Hammond heard a little gasp from Cassie. ‘Nice, wasn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘That’s so unbelievably cruel,’ Cassie sounded horrified. ‘What a wicked way to tell you that!’

  He smiled sardonically. ‘Oh yes, there are whole treatises on how a child can be damaged if they’re told the wrong way, aren’t there? Well, I can assure you my evil stepmother tore up the rule book. Do you know, even then I could recognise that there was a sort of disgusting satisfaction in the way she said it.

  ‘What she didn’t realise was that what I felt at that moment was relief. If she wasn’t my mother, I didn’t have to pretend any more, I didn’t have to feel guilty. Those thoughts I’d always believed were so naughty that I had to deny them even to myself – now I could admit that I hated her. I hated her, I hated her, I hated her. I always had. But I was scared now too. I asked whose I was, then.

  ‘Thank God, thank God, what she said was, “Oh yes, you’re your father’s.”’ His voice thickened. ‘At least I’ve got that. I think I’d have killed myself if he wasn’t. But then she went on, “He bought you from her, you see.” I couldn’t work that out. I just said, “But who is my mother?”

  ‘She sneered, “Some floozy who wanted money more than she wanted you, that’s for sure.” I suppose I looked bewildered – I knew you couldn’t buy babies – and she started laughing again. “I’d better explain. You remember how you wanted a puppy and your father went out and bought you one? The one that got knocked down on the road?”

  ‘Of course I remembered. That was the worst thing that had ever happened to me and even talking about it still made me want to cry. She was going on, “It was just like that. He wanted a child to play with just like you wanted a puppy and I couldn’t give him one so he went to this woman and said, ‘How much?’ and she told him and he paid her and she handed you over and he gave you to me. I didn’t want you, but I wanted him because without a child he would have gone. But now he’s left anyway, and I’m stuck with you. An ‘unwanted gift’ – that’s what they call it when things get sold off after Christmas, don’t they? I could put you up for sale – only who would want you?”

  ‘I probably flinched at that but I know I was persistent. I asked her again who my mother was. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I never wanted to know and your father’s probably forgotten. He’s good at forgetting.” She began to cry again.

  ‘I got up on to my wobbly legs and walked out. When lightning strikes it can leave a fractal pattern tattooed into the ground and I was a whole different person from the kid that had walked in a quarter of an hour before. My stepmother – oh, she was just standard stuff – a poisonous woman like they’d all been in the fairy stories my dad had read to me when I was little. I didn’t need to waste my energy on her. My father – the important thing was that he was my real father and once he was settled, he’d send for me.’

  Hammond stopped and drew a deep breath. His voice was hard when he went on. ‘Only, of course, he didn’t. His new wife didn’t want me any more than the last one had. It was only after he’d walked out on that one as well that we got close. Even then, he wouldn’t tell me who my real mother was – wouldn’t even talk about it – and it wasn’t until he died that I found he’d kept all the papers and I discovered her name. But of course she’d changed it and it took me years to find out who she was now.

  ‘I’m not stupid. My father was to blame too – for what he did in the first place and for his neglect afterwards. But the hatred that has shaped me is for the woman who had seen me as no more than a puppy to be sold to the highest bidder. There’s a name for puppies’ mothers, and it’s been my life’s mission to find that bitch and kill her. I claim my right to revenge and even this setback isn’t going to stop me. Nothing’s going to stop me. I’ll find a way.’

  He waited for a response but Cassie didn’t speak and he snapped, ‘Cat got your tongue? I’ve wasted half my life, tracking her down. I bought private detectives, who failed. I only joined the police to get access to the records I needed. There’s been nothing more – it’s sucked me dry until all I am is a hollow shell, and I can’t be anything else until she’s paid for what she did. You’ve heard it all. Now’s your chance to give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill her.’

  He heard Cassie take a long breath. ‘Because of what it will do to you. Look what this sick desire for revenge has done alre
ady – you said yourself it’s made you a hollow shell. Killing my – our mother won’t give you “closure”, as they say. Nothing ever does. However hard it is, accepting it, putting it behind you and getting on with your life – that’s the only thing that helps. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth only creates more misery, not less.’

  Hammond burst out laughing. ‘You think so? How sweet and touching! Yes, it creates more misery – but for your enemies, and that balances the books. It would give me deep and lasting satisfaction. That’s my prize.’

  She didn’t reply. They sat in silence for a long time. He was aware of her crying softly at one point but lost in his own complex calculations he was indifferent: she could cry if she liked. At last he realised that the wind was easing off, dropping right back and there was even a slow drip, drip of melting snow.

  It was six o’clock; he could see a faint line of daylight round the edge of the hardboard panels. Any time now, the snowploughs would be starting their work. Providing they came, he could get in, go to the office, retrieve Cassie’s handbag and then get into the house – and they’d be less vigilant during the day. His spirits rose. He’d had his defeatist moment but now he was back on track.

  When he heard the grinding of the snowplough’s engine, he sprang up. The room was still very dark and he headed towards the door with hands outstretched feeling for the handle. As he took the key out of his pocket, Cassie said in a small voice, ‘So what happens to me?’

  Hammond wasn’t ready to answer that, so he didn’t. He walked out, shutting and locking the door again behind him.

  When Kelso Strang woke, it was just light but the power still hadn’t come back on again. It was quarter to seven, and he jumped out of bed, annoyed with himself for not setting his alarm. He was habitually an early riser but the interruption in the middle of the night must have put his internal clock out and spoilt his plan for getting along to the police station the moment it was light enough to see the way.