‘Hmm. It’s an awful thought, but I have a feeling you may be on the right track.’
Nigel studied the image again, pulling it in close to his eyes.
‘I wish we had an original copy, one that’s sharper. It’s so difficult to make out what’s going on. Look, there’s the beginnings of the mirror frame there. I think there’s a reflection in it. This isn’t some professional photograph taken by the newspaper. Let’s see if we can complete the image and get a look at who that might be.’
DCI Summers stepped out through the door which led to the residents’ bedrooms. She looked preoccupied, as if something was weighing on her mind.
‘Take a look at this,’ Nigel said to her. ‘You need to get your experts to re-assemble that photograph. Look at what we’ve come up with. I don’t know who that man is; he’s new.’
At first, DCI Summers seemed reluctant to be distracted from whatever it was she was doing. She walked over to the seating area and picked up the part-image that Nigel and Charlotte had managed to assemble. The way her expression changed showed Charlotte that she knew exactly what she was looking at.
‘Do you know who that girl is?’ she asked.
‘It’s Piper Lawrence, Jenna Phillips’ daughter,’ Nigel began.
Charlotte felt a panic rise in her as she realised this could lead DCI Summers to their secrets, through Jenna. Events were closing in on her. If the police spoke to Jenna about what had happened to her daughter, the trail would eventually lead to the Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp. From there, it would come back to Bruce Craven, and that would bring Daisy Bowker into the situation.
Charlotte struggled to maintain her composure, knowing that what she really wanted to do was run and hide. The past had almost caught up with them, so close that she could hear its heartbeat and smell its breath. She and Will would have to tread carefully. Would she be able to speak to Jenna before DCI Summers got to her? The chances of keeping Piper’s kidnapping separate from what happened to Bruce Craven seemed increasingly unlikely.
DCI Summers was frowning. ‘Isn’t Jenna Phillips…?’
‘Yes,’ Nigel replied. ‘The woman who tried to kidnap Charlotte’s daughter. That has to be more than a coincidence, surely?’
‘I’m sorry that you keep getting pulled into this,’ DCI Summers said, looking at Charlotte. ‘You moved here to set up your guest house, and through no fault of your own, you seem to have got caught up with Morecambe’s underworld.’
Charlotte could feel her face burning.
‘It’s strange though,’ DCI Summers continued, ‘that Jenna Phillips should know you. When I said you were like a bad penny, I meant it in jest, but you do appear to have involved yourself in this fairly deeply. It seems to follow you around.’
Charlotte forced herself to remain casual, thumbing through Nigel’s snippets of the photograph, trying to match some more pieces.
‘It’s just an unhappy coincidence,’ Charlotte replied, trying to stop her hands from shaking. ‘We knew Jenna when we were students. She saw us as a soft touch for money when she abducted Lucia. We just got unlucky. As for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, what links us to this sad story is the fact that those disgusting men used our hotel for whatever it was they were doing. There aren’t that many hotels in Morecambe, and the reason ours was so cheap to buy is that it had a history attached to it. Rex Emery used to own it. But we knew none of this when we bought it. No wonder it was so affordable, and nobody outbid us for it. I think perhaps Will and I just have an ability to make some bad decisions.’
Charlotte knew that she’d over-explained, the sure sign of a liar. She’d seen the TV shows. Too much information and it’s obvious you’re trying to cover your tracks. DCI Summers could probably smell it a mile off, but her face didn’t show it.
‘Have you found Barry McMillan’s mobile phone yet?’ Nigel asked. ‘I’ll bet he has a copy of that image on it somewhere. I’m not going to try to step into your shoes, DCI Summers, but what do you think? I think this looks like blackmail, with the threat of exposure. If Mason Jones killed himself, or was murdered, wouldn’t it confirm that theory? Are you any further forward on Mr Jones, after taking a look in his room?’
‘It looks like an overdose. The nursing staff here say he was very lucid this morning and seemed surer of himself than he had done for a long time. They’re shocked that he’s dead. This is off the record, Nigel—and it’s a favour because you’ve given me a lead with that photograph of Piper—but it looks like Mason Jones has been secreting drugs for some time. Due to his mental state, he may have had to plan his death over a series of lucid episodes; he might not have been able to organise it all at once.’
‘How far gone was he?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Like everybody else with dementia,’ DCI Summers continued, ‘it was random in its nature. Mason Jones was frequently in sound mind, and the staff say that when he was, he was sharp as a knife. But he could get confused and aggressive at times. He was very volatile. That’s why he’s a resident here; he was ill enough to be a potential danger to himself.’
Charlotte wondered what degree of plotting must be required if you suffered from memory loss and confusion. If somebody was putting Mason Jones under pressure by sending him that photograph, he’d have rediscovered it several times, realising the risk of exposure every time he was lucid.
He must have planned his death—if indeed it was suicide—over a period of weeks. If what DCI Summers said was correct, he was still sharp enough to figure out how to lay his hands on the drugs he needed to end his life.
‘I’m going back to the station. I’ll leave my team to finish off here. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me, even over the weekend. You too Charlotte; if there’s anything you need to say to me, I’m always available.’
Charlotte tried to meet DCI Summers’ stare, but it was impossible; she had to look away and pretend to be busying herself with the image.
‘You know, that only leaves Edward Callow now,’ Nigel said, once DCI Summers had left the building. ‘He’s the only one alive with a link to this group. Other than this new chap, that is, who may just be a client or member of the guest house staff. I’ve never seen him before. It’s a shame Edward isn’t in this photograph. If we could place him with these men, the police would be able to take action against him. I hope they’ll give him a bit more protection than he had this morning; he was a sitting duck when you and I paid him a visit.’
Charlotte’s phone began to ring. That was unusual; her family all tended to message each other unless it was something important. The caller ID showed her it was Olli, so she picked it up.
‘Hi Olli, are you okay?’
‘I’m being followed, mum. I’m scared.’
‘Where are you, Olli? What the hell is going on?’
Nigel Davies looked up at her. She knew she’d been abrupt with Olli, but he sounded scared.
‘I followed Lucia and that man into the West End. I don’t know this area very well. I was so busy watching them, that I missed what was going on behind me. I’m being followed by some guy. I’ve never seen him before. I took a few turns to be sure, but he knows the streets better than me. He’s always there…’
‘Has he threatened you?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Where are you now?’
Olli’s whispers made it sound like he was hiding somewhere.
‘I ducked into a side street, but I can still see him. I’m scared, Mum; I’m not sure what to do.’
‘Where’s Lucia and that man she’s with? Whoever he is, he must be safe enough for Lucia to be with. Why don’t you find them? You can’t come to any harm if you’re with them.’
‘I lost them, Mum. I was so busy trying to dodge this guy that I lost sight of them. Should I call the police?’
‘Where are you in the West End?’ Charlotte asked. Olli paused while he figured out which street he was on, then told her.
‘Okay, Olli, I want you to go to number 35, which you’ll
see has a cluster of doorbells outside. Ring the bell that has a Polish name written on it. I can’t remember how to spell it, but it should be obvious. The lady’s surname was Kowalski, something like that. Ring her doorbell, tell her that Charlotte Grayson and Nigel Davies asked you to wait there, and stay put until I get there. We’ll be five minutes, Olli. Wait there and stay safe. We’re coming to get you now.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘We have to go,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll need to drive me, Nigel. I came here on foot.’
Nigel was already clearing away the mess they’d made attempting to assemble the pieces of the photograph.
‘There’s no time,’ she insisted, trying to stay as calm as she could. This felt like Lucia’s disappearance all over again. She hated this feeling of her children being in danger.
Nigel looked up, sensing her mood.
‘Okay,’ he said, leaving the off-cuts spread across the table. He picked up the pieces they needed to complete the photo. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said to the lady at the reception desk. ‘We need to leave.’
He fumbled in his pocket and took out a five-pound note, held it up to her, then folded it and pushed it into the slot of the charity collection box that was positioned just in front of her.
‘That’s by way of an apology for not clearing up our mess.’
His gesture seemed to be acceptable to the lady, because they were out of the residential home and on their way along the promenade within a few minutes.
‘You remember where we’re heading?’ she asked Nigel, willing him to drive faster along the sea front.
‘Got it,’ Nigel replied. ‘Is Olli all right?’
‘He was rattled, that’s all. I don’t think I’ve ever known him be scared before. He usually has a fairly good idea of what to do.’
‘Sorry, Charlotte, the traffic is heavy today; there must be something on in town.’
‘I’ll see if I can raise Lucia. I’m furious with her. That girl has a row coming her way.’
Charlotte searched through her phone contacts and started to dial Lucia’s number; it went to voice mail immediately.
Hi, this is Lucia, please leave a message, and I’ll get straight back to you. Unless Made in Chelsea is on TV, in which case I may be gone some time.
‘Lucia, call me as soon as you get this. No delays, no excuses. It’s serious. Call me or your dad immediately. I mean it. You’re not in trouble. It’s about Olli.’
‘I’m pleased my kids aren’t that age yet,’ Nigel said. ‘I don’t envy you having to deal with teenagers.’
‘You and me both,’ Charlotte said with a grimace. ‘Can you not cut around a back street, Nigel? This is taking forever.’
‘It’s just as slow that way,’ Nigel said, nodding towards the side street which was already blocked by cars trying the same thing.
‘What the hell is going on today? Why is it so slow?’ Charlotte cursed. Her fingers began to move over her phone screen once again, this time calling Will.
Once again, it cut straight to voice mail.
Hi, it’s Will Grayson here, I can’t take your call right now…
Charlotte ended the call mid-sentence.
‘What the hell are my bloody family members up to?’ she shouted, thumping the dashboard of the car.
‘Steady,’ Nigel said, ‘You’ll fire off the airbag if you carry on like that.’
‘Sorry,’ Charlotte said, embarrassed. She just wanted to get to Olli and make sure he was safe. She took a few seconds to breathe deeply and steady herself.
‘Will it be quicker if I walk?’ she asked.
‘No, it’s clearing now. Look, it was just this lorry blocking the road, it’s starting to flow again now.’
Nigel passed the lorry, and Charlotte saw that things were moving again. Soon they were beyond the Midland Hotel and over half-way up the sea front. She tried Olli’s phone next, in an attempt to raise at least one member of her family. Once again, it went direct to voice mail.
Hey, it’s Olli, you know what to do.
At last they reached the end of the promenade, marked by the boarded-up former pub, The Battery. She and Will had been in there for a drink in the eighties. It had been thriving back then.
Nigel took a left turn into the West End and parked up directly opposite Piper’s flat. Charlotte was out of the car before Nigel had even pulled up the hand brake. She rang Agnieszka’s bell and banged at the door as if she was the bailiff, come to confiscate her goods.
Charlotte saw Agnieszka looking through her blinds from her living area window before the sound of a door latch being twisted could be heard along the hallway.
The front door opened. Agnieszka looked surprised to see her.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked. ‘Nothing has happened to Piper, has it?’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘Have you seen my son? He’s called Olli. I told him to come here fifteen minutes ago.’
‘No, I don’t know your son. Nobody is here right now.’
‘Did anybody knock at the door? Did you hear any shouting?’
‘Honestly, I hear nothing. I have never met your son, Olli. Is everything okay, Charlotte? You look very worried.’
‘No, things are not okay. My son is in danger. I told him to come to wait with you for safety. Now he’s disappeared.’
‘I am sorry, Charlotte, I cannot help you. Will you call the police?’
‘Soon,’ Charlotte replied, thinking back to what had happened to Lucia. Olli was on public streets, in fading daylight. Surely he was safe enough at that time of day? There were people around, so nothing bad could happen to him, could it?
Without even thinking to thank Agnieszka, Charlotte ran across to the car where Nigel had kept the engine running.
‘He’s not here,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to run along to the alleyway where he was when he rang me. Will you drive around the block and see if you can spot him?’
‘Sure,’ Nigel replied, his hand moving directly to the hand brake.
‘Meet me back here in ten minutes if I don’t see you beforehand.’
Charlotte’s phone began to ring. She checked the number and terminated the call once she realised it was an unknown dialler. It didn’t matter, unless it was Will, Lucia or Olli. Whoever it was would leave a voice mail.
She ran along the street to where she thought Olli had been. The way he’d described it, he was opposite a closed hairdressing salon. She tried to picture her son, in a panic, ducking into the alleyway, watching the man from across the road.
This had to be the spot. It was a narrow alley, running between two rows of terraced bedsits. Various items of rubbish were strewn across the cobbled stones, which were fast becoming covered with weeds. Some faded vandalism decorated the whitewashed wall of one of the gable ends; it depressed Charlotte just to see it.
But then, in front of her, something buzzed. She moved to the end of the alley where it joined the pavement. It was Olli’s mobile phone, vibrating, notifying him of the call he’d missed. Olli would never lose his phone. He’d never drop it or discard it like that. Somebody must have taken him.
Charlotte took her own phone out of her pocket and dialled 999. The operator answered swiftly.
‘Which service do you require?’
‘Police,’ Charlotte replied. She waited while the connection was made. Her phone sounded while she was waiting; Will was trying to get through. He might have Olli with him. She’d feel ridiculous if she reported Olli missing, only to find he’d taken a taxi home. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier?
She ended the call and spoke to Will. He sounded immediately vague.
‘Will, are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Damn, I’ve had an accident,’ Will said. ‘Somebody was upstairs in our family accommodation when I got back. They whacked me on the head. I’m a bit out of it. I don’t feel well, Charlotte. Can you come home? I need someone here with me.’
At that moment, Charlot
te spotted Nigel’s car being driven slowly along the road as he scoured the streets for Olli. Charlotte ran out in front of him, and he slammed on the brakes.
‘Is Olli with you, Will? Or Lucia?’
‘I really don’t feel well, Charlotte. I’ve got blood trickling from my head. Please come. I’m going to be sick…’
The line went quiet.
‘Will? Will?’
Charlotte ran around to the passenger side of Nigel’s car.
‘Take me back to the guest house,’ she shrieked.
‘What about Olli?’ Nigel asked. ‘Have you heard from him?’
‘Just go please, Nigel. I’ll tell you while we’re driving.’
She slammed the door and Nigel pulled away. Will was no longer at the end of the line. Charlotte ended the call and tried Lucia’s number again. Once more, it went to voice mail.
‘Shit!’ she shouted.
‘I’m sure it’ll be all right,’ Nigel said, in an attempt to reassure her.
‘What makes you so sure of that?’ she screamed at him. ‘Four men have died already, and you think I should be staying calm about my family. You don’t know everything, Nigel; in fact, you don’t know anything!’
Charlotte stopped as her thoughts spiralled out of control. She hadn’t felt as disconnected as this since her breakdown in Bristol. She knew this territory well; she understood how it could break her.
The walls were closing in, and events were about to crush her family. She was damned if she called the police, and damned if she didn’t. Yet she still couldn’t see the enemy; she still couldn’t identify the source of the threat. Yet there was Will, injured. What the hell had happened? And Olli was missing, having abandoned his phone on the ground, with no clue as to where he’d gone and who the mystery man was. And Lucia, herself the victim of a previous abduction, was wandering around with some strange man who had run away when Charlotte had tried to talk to him.
As Nigel drove her back along the sea front, Charlotte began to sob. Events had suddenly become too overwhelming, and she didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
Circle of Lies Page 18