by Graham West
“Mr. Adams and I will park up by the old village hall and keep watch. If whoever is doing this shows up, we’ll be waiting,” Jake replied.
Blakely shook his head. “You can’t do that. For a start, they might not actually come back. But if they do…”
Rob looked at Thomas, who was clearly bemused by the suggestion. “They will come back,” he replied. “And I don’t care how many nights we have to wait. This has to stop!”
Blakely looked at his foreman. “Okay. We’ll make sure you have something to eat and drink. You can park out of sight.”
Thomas shook his head wearily. “And what if there is more than one? What if they are carrying knives—or, worse still, guns?”
“They’ll be carrying a pot of pig’s blood and a brush,” Jake pointed out. “They’re vandalising a grave, not robbing a bank!”
Blakely smiled. Jake was fiercely protective of his girl, and Blakely appreciated that. “Just be careful,” he added. “No heroics, okay? If you see anyone, stay in your car and call the police.”
Jake nodded but Thomas still stared at the screen. “Okay. But no one has bothered to give me an explanation for this,” he said, pointing at the parked up Mini. “If this isn’t your car then someone has gone to a hell of a lot of trouble here—someone who obviously knows you and probably knows where you live, too. What do they want?”
Blakely rolled his eyes. “That is precisely what they’re trying to find out!”
Thomas wasn’t done. “So you’re saying that they’ve gotten themselves an identical car and put false number plates on? I’m sorry, but I’m just not buying that. People do that kinda shit when they want to cover up a major crime, not all this crap!”
Jake bristled. “Look, I dunno why. All I’m saying is that it’s not Jenny!”
Blakely glared at Thomas. “Shouldn’t you be out on site?” he said sharply.
Thomas shook his head, flicked off the monitor, and left, slamming the Portakabin door behind him.
Rob looked at Jenny, who was close to tears. “He doesn’t know you, babe. Don’t take it to heart.”
Jenny didn’t answer but managed to force a smile which faded quickly.
“We’ll go get something to eat in town and maybe go down to the lake.”
Blakely shook his head. The least he could do was make his guests welcome. “Make your way to the Lakeside Hotel and get yourselves some lunch. I’ll let them know you’re coming and they can put it on my tab.” Rob was about to put up a polite refusal but Blakely raised his hand. “I insist. And help yourself to drinks. They have a particularly pleasant house white going at the moment.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Tony didn’t show, and that suited Darren just fine. He didn’t want a begrudging apology anyway, not from a slimeball like him. It also allowed the other two mechanics to pat him on the back and tell him they wished they’d had the guts to give Tony a crack. Maybe they thought Darren was as hard on the inside as he looked on the out. Maybe they didn’t know how he would have given anything to change the past—to be at home, arguing with his parents, telling his mother that her skirts were too short.
Darren never talked about his mother and father unless someone asked. It would involve explaining that they were both dead, and the question of how they died would inevitably follow. That was too much. To have one parent take their own life was bad enough, but both?
Following the news of his mother’s death, Darren had fallen into a deep depression like a suffocating darkness, leaving him fighting for breath during those long nights. His counsellor assured him that he could not blame himself, something he had accepted after several months. His father had become a therapist as a result of his own depression, wanting to help those fighting mental health issues. His mother had not only lost her husband, but the job she loved, where she had found solace and direction. But Darren still clung to the memories. The happier days as the only child of a couple with enough money to give their son lavish holidays and designer clothes. But most of all, he knew they loved him.
Looking back, he wondered why he had ever hooked up with Kevin Taylor. He was the school’s bad boy—not a bully, just out of control. Both his mother and father had spent time in prison. Maybe it was the adventure, or perhaps being best buddies with someone like Taylor got him a kind of street cred that being the son of a shrink didn’t.
Taylor’s father had little respect for women and frequented the streets, picking up prostitutes while his wife did time. Kevin would grope a girl without batting an eyelid and laughed off the abuse his unwanted attentions received. He was gangly and awkward, which might have appealed to certain girls if he hadn’t been so cocky. But Taylor listened to Darren when he needed an ear and convinced him that revenge was the only way. It was the bitch who slept with his father—it was her fault. If she had kept her knickers on, his parents would still be together.
Darren didn’t buy into it. His father was a professional, and you didn’t cross that line with your patients; it was the rule. But Taylor always blamed the woman. She had asked for it. And on that afternoon, with a litre of cider down his neck, they had jumped behind the wheel of a four-wheel drive. Taylor turned as Darren put his foot down and sped off. “Turn left here,” he said. “Let’s go pay the slag a visit!”
Darren remembered how the idea had appealed to him. Alcohol had dulled his judgement. “I don’t know where she lives,” he had said, pulling up at a junction.
“I do,” Taylor replied. “I was going to check her out myself. No one fucks up my mate’s life and gets away with it!” Darren recalled pulling up by a broken garden wall and watching as his friend got out and grabbed a brick. “Let’s lob this through the window!”
The memory of the following ten minutes haunted him. That stupid fucking cat, running across the road. He tried to brake but hit the gas instead. He saw her face—that woman. He saw the kid, that little girl standing behind the ice cream van with a cornet in her hand. He recalled the look of horror, but it was too late. The air bag exploded. Then there were the screams…people crying. Real people. He pulled himself out from behind the wheel and began to run. No one gave chase. They were too busy staring at the broken bodies of a woman and her child, caught under the front of the car.
Darren didn’t run far. Just a few hundred yards down the road. “It’s no good,” he panted. “I’ve hurt that woman and her kid. I can’t run!” The feeling of utter hopelessness washed over him, and he wished he’d died in the collision. He sank to his knees on the street corner and began to sob.
He could still see Taylor standing over him. “What the fuck are you doing?” he screamed. “We’re gonna go down for this!”
But Darren hadn’t cared. Taylor pulled him to his feet and they set off across the field, but it took the police less than an hour to pick them up. The young female officer sat him down in an interview room, the kind of room he’d seen so often on those TV shows. She handed him a glass of water and asked if there was anything else he wanted. He remembered looking up. She had kind eyes. “Yes, there is,” he’d said slowly. “The lad I was with. I want you to make sure I never see him again—ever!”
He hadn’t set eyes on Kevin Taylor since, but he thought about him every day, wondering how he would react if they met again. Darren could throw a good punch if needed, but Taylor was handy with his fists too. Maybe a baseball bat? It didn’t matter how hard you were if you didn’t see it coming. But then again, was it worth doing time for a scumbag like him? No, karma was a bitch. What goes around, comes around. Life would deal Kevin Taylor the hand he deserved. That was what he told himself each night before finally drifting off to sleep.
***
Dennis Blakely returned Penny’s call that afternoon, taking a deep breath and praying that she wouldn’t detect the guilt in his voice. He tried to sound busy, distracted by a multitude of problems on site. The conversation was brief, just a cursory check that he was still alive and that he wasn’t getting himself too stressed by
the project. The fact that she cared didn’t help. That’s if she did care, of course; maybe it was just about the money rolling in. Maybe she was screwing the postman or planning to run off with the next-door neighbour who had always seemed to have a bit of an eye for her.
By the time he reached his room, Blakely had managed to convince himself that Penny wasn’t that interested but maybe it would be better if he kept away from extra-marital relationships and concentrate on the project. He flashed the key card and pushed open the door, taking off his jacket and kicking away his shoes. He was about to sling his jacket on the bed without a sideways glance but out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of something—someone. Kim lay across the covers, naked. Her eyes flashed mischievously.
Blakely felt a chill in his bones, a fear that he was out of his depth. Kim was not so much a kitten but more like a panther, and she was ready to pounce.
“I thought I’d surprise you,” she purred.
Blakely stared. She was flawless. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “Kim, what do you think you’re doing? For fuck’s sake.”
“An appropriate turn of phrase,” she said. “You’ve kind of answered your own question, me thinks.”
“This isn’t funny. I could have walked in here with someone—”
Kim’s smile vanished. “Like who?”
“I dunno! Anyone.”
“Well, I’ve never seen you with anyone in all the time you’ve been here, so I figured it was worth taking a chance.”
Blakely’s heart was thumping. “Look…get dressed. Let’s have some lunch, at least.”
Kim frowned. “Or I have a better idea. How about you get naked too?” She smiled coyly. “Look, I’m sorry, it’s a shock, I can understand that. But I know what I want and I think you do too. May be you should just chill. Go get a shower and if you want to chat then we can do it between the sheets.”
Blakely nodded like an obedient schoolchild and began to walk towards the en-suite, unbuttoning his shirt. Talking was about all he was going to manage—for a while, at least. He undressed and stepped under the shower, allowing the warm water to wash over him. He thought of Penny. Did they have a marriage? A good marriage? Sure, they talked, but his wife was something of a closed book. Maybe it was the way she was wired, but even after all this time, he wasn’t quite sure what was going on in her head.
Kim was different, an overtly sexual woman he could read like a book. This was all new to him. Penny was headgirl at school and had the looks to attract most of the lads, but her officious nature had scared them away. Blakely was headboy so they had something in common and became close friends. But it was over a year later before they kissed and six months on before they fumbled their way to what could be loosely described as lovemaking.
He stepped out of the shower, dried himself on the hotel towel, and slipped on a bathrobe. When he entered the bedroom, Kim was between the sheets. She smiled and patted the pillow. “Come on, then,” she said playfully. “Let’s chat.”
Dennis climbed between the sheets and lay back as Kim rested her head against his shoulder, slipping an arm around his waist. “I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered. “You’re thinking ‘Christ! What have I got here? A bunny boiler? A nymphomaniac who’s going to end up on my wife’s doorstep with a knife in her hands?’”
Blakely smiled. “Well, I was a little shocked.”
Kim gave him a squeeze. “I’m none of those things,” she said. “I was dating a guy for six years and I never knew he was with another woman until I caught him in bed with her. It wasn’t pretty, I can tell you. I just walked out. Obviously I was devastated but couldn’t get my head around the fact that it was really all over, so I stayed on the pill, hoping that I might find a way to forgive him. But I couldn’t.”
Blakely sighed. “That must have been tough.”
“It was, but I stayed on the pill just the same. I just wanted to believe someone was waiting for me, just around the corner. Just someone.” She paused. “And then I saw you.”
Blakely blinked at the ceiling fan whirring above his head. “Kim, I’m married. You know that. You couldn’t forgive your boyfriend for cheating on you yet you don’t care if I cheat on my wife.”
“I know. But no one seems to play by the rules these days, so why should I?”
Blakely kissed her cheek. “But you could take your pick. There would be a hundred guys out there—”
“But I don’t want them. I want you!”
Blakely turned and their lips met. “I’m not a bad person,” she said softly. “But finding your man with another woman screws you up big time. Okay, I know I’ve been full on—and yep, I’m still a bit fucked up in the head at the moment—but I can get through this.”
Blakely kissed her again. “You’re a beautiful woman, Kim, and if I was single…”
“Don’t say shit you don’t mean,” she said softly. “Just tell me about yourself. Anything. For a start, you can tell me who those people were. The ones who got themselves a dinner on your tab?”
Talking felt right. They hadn’t done too much of that. Kim had behaved more like a call girl up to now. “Robert and Jenny Adams,” he replied. “And the lad was Jake—her bloke.” He paused. “It’s a long story.”
Kim patted his chest. “I’ve got a long time to listen,” she said.
Blakely sighed. “Okay, but I have a confession. I’m a bit of a wannabe ghost hunter. It’s like my guilty secret.”
“You’re kidding!” Kim gasped. “You mean like those programmes on telly? Where they go around all those houses and castles looking for spooks? I love that.”
Blakely laughed. “Yep, but you never see a ghost. Just lots of banging and screaming.”
“Hey, don’t knock it. They’re awesome.” Kim laughed. “So, come on. This must have something to do with your secret passion. I’m all ears.”
Blakely thought for a moment. Then he began, starting with the moment he learned about Amelia Root: the girl who lived her life in an attic.
***
Sebastian Tint stared at the TV screen, not really watching the early evening news. Nothing the reporter had said from outside the magistrates court registered until he heard a familiar name. He turned quickly to the man sitting in the wheelchair beside him. “What was that about?”
The man, in his seventies but with eyes as bright as someone half his age, shrugged. “Something about a guy—drug dealing and prostitution, I think. They found his remains somewhere just before he was due for trial.”
“No,” Sebastian replied. “The reporter said something about a woman.”
“Yeah, think it was his missus or the woman he was living with. Why do you ask?”
Sebastian continued to stare at the screen, but they had moved on to the next item. “I heard a name I recognised,” he said. “But it’s probably just coincidence.”
The man in the wheelchair smiled, turning back to his newspaper. Sebastian wished he’d been paying attention. But it was just a name, and there was bound to be more than one Melissa Ingram in the country.
***
Jake yawned. “You realise we could be doing this for several nights?” he said, stretching his legs out across the back seat of the car. They had found a spot behind the village hall, hidden from view. No one had any business on the footpath that took them around the perimeter of the adventure park; not at this time of night, anyway. They had reckoned if anyone passed in front of the vehicle then it was unlikely they would just be out for a walk.
Rob poured himself some tea from a flask the woman at the Lakeside Hotel had prepared for them, along with some sandwiches from the local bakery and a supply of chocolate bars which Jake was already halfway through.
“We should all take pictures,” Jenny said. “Make sure we get something the police can use.”
Jake muttered his agreement. “I still reckon we should tackle him—or her.”
“We’ve discussed that, babe,” Jenny replied, staring at her phone. “No co
nfrontation. Just get some pictures, and some of the car too. We need to prove it’s not mine.”
Rob looked at his watch. It was close to midnight and he had never wanted alcohol more than he did right now. He’d agreed to drive so Jenny and Jake had shared a bottle of wine at The Lakeside while he supped on soda water, wondering if just one glass would do any real harm. He took a gulp of stewed tea that left a bitter taste on his tongue.
How many nights would they be sitting, waiting? Jake was plugged into his iPod while Jenny sat trawling through social media. Rob stared out at a dimly lit patch of wasteland, praying that they were waiting for a couple of pranksters with a mean streak.
“Hey, I’ve had twenty-four comments to the post I put up the other day,” Jenny said suddenly.
“What post?” Jake muttered, taking one earpiece out.
“The one about Mum’s grave being vandalised.”
Rob turned as Jenny held up her phone. “You took a photo? And put it up on Facebook?”
Jenny nodded. “Yeah. You never know, if anyone hears anything…”
Jake rolled his eyes. Rob shook his head. He knew how kids loved to rant on social media these days, often offending the wrong kind of people. Others posted holiday photographs advertising their absence to a couple of hundred friends, many of whom they’d never met. They hadn’t been burgled, but it was only a matter of time. Some things, he believed, were best kept private.
“Let’s just hope it stays with your friends,” Rob said. “Otherwise we could have the trolls joining in the fun!”
Jenny shrugged. “Stop stressing! Everyone’s been really supportive, so far.”
“I’d rather you take it off, Jen. We don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.”
“Oh, come on, Dad! Just cos you’ve only got about twelve friends and haven’t even put up a profile picture—”
“I’m not arsed with social media. I only joined because you nagged the hell out of me!”
Jake grinned. “They’re all using other stuff now, sending each other pictures of their fannies and cocks—then when the little love thing all goes pear shaped they end with their photos all over the internet!”