“You just missed him. The night-time girl is on holiday.”
A voice made me jump and I snapped to attention. An elderly man stood just a couple of feet away with a walking stick propping him upright.
“Rachel normally shuts at ten but he said he’s been running it himself this week on account of her holiday.”
“What?” I asked, my brain trying to catch up.
“The shop. Normally it closes at ten but the lady who works the lates is on holiday. I guess he nipped off early tonight. He’s got a young daughter, so he’s probably looking after her. I’ve noticed he’s opened up later the last couple of days too. Can’t blame him, really.”
The man let out a wet rattling cough.
I felt my face paling as my heartbeat skipped erratically. I remembered what Tilly had said earlier, about how her dad wouldn’t let her come to the shop with him before school any more. How he’d been leaving home to get to the shop earlier in the morning, not later, and yet I’d seen him opening at closer to 10 a.m. A hot wave of fear rolled over me.
Back in the car I fumbled for my phone. Nothing from Marion.
I knew where he lived, just a few streets away from Gran. I’d seen him pulling up once or twice, shopping bags in the back of his car and Tilly helping him to unload. I pictured the house, which was small but nice enough. Well maintained, even in the winter, with fresh paint on the wooden window frames and neatly trimmed window boxes.
It had always struck me as a pleasant thing, how organised he seemed. How hard he worked to keep his daughter safe. Now as I pulled up, I was struck by another feeling. Wasn’t it weird how perfect everything appeared? How nice his house was, how orderly? There wasn’t a broken plant stem or dirty smudge on a window in sight. It was too clean, too perfect. Just like his shop.
Almost like somebody hiding something.
I leapt out of my car with the motor still running. The lights were on in the downstairs windows, but the curtains were all drawn. I pushed my way through the garden gate and was banging on the door in seconds, making the lucky horseshoe above rattle loudly.
But when the door swung open I couldn’t make myself speak. This was Ady I was talking about. I knew him, didn’t I? Tilly stood in the doorway, her hair a mess and chocolate smudged on her upper lip. She wiped at it with her index finger and tried not to look confused.
“Oh, hello. I thought you might be my dad being silly.”
“He isn’t home?” I tried to keep the alarm out of my voice, but I failed miserably. Tilly glanced just behind her, stepped back a little.
“Uh, no. He’s at work. He said he wouldn’t be very late tonight.”
“He’s not th—” I stopped myself. “He’s not here?”
“No.” Tilly’s frown deepened and she stepped further inside her house. “Um, hang on.” She craned her neck back. “Mette? Can you come here please?”
There was a pause and then I heard the shuffling footsteps of a woman in slippers. She appeared at the door, grey hair pinned back at the neck and glasses hanging on a chain against the buttons of her blue cardigan.
“Who are you?” she asked in accented English.
“My name is—It really doesn’t matter who I am. Where is he?”
The woman folded her arms across her chest and frowned at me.
“I’m Cassie,” I said. “Cassie Warren. I know Ady. I’m… looking for him.”
“He is at work,” Mette said. She waved her hand dismissively. “Open late.”
“No he isn’t. He isn’t there. I’ve just been there.” I hadn’t intended to say this in front of Tilly, but I couldn’t help it. She looked at me with alarm, and then glanced up at Mette who made another hand gesture.
“Well, he is on his way home then,” she said. “He will be here soon. He has been working late these last two weeks. Tilly, you go inside now. Finish your homework. Or else your father will not be happy again.”
Tilly was instantly cowed. She disappeared without another word.
“I need to find him,” I said, desperation making me sound crazy.
“Well, I cannot help you.”
Then she closed the door in my face. I ran back to my car, my skin prickling with fear. There was only one place left to try.
48
1 May 2003
IT WASN’T TRUE. IT couldn’t be. There was nothing she’d ever wanted less than this. And yet there it was. And all the other things started to make sense. Although deep down Olive had known for a little while.
She sat on the bed with her hands between her knees, knowing that eventually she’d have to call him back into the room. He was just outside – had stepped out for that, at least. But the display of courtesy wouldn’t extend to going away and never coming back.
Olive felt the sickness roiling, the usual feeling of being trapped replaced by this feeling of being at sea, awash with feelings and a nausea she couldn’t fight. She swallowed hard, and made a squeaking noise that was meant to be a word.
He heard her. Came inside, locked the door in one fluid motion. Her hands were shaking so she pushed them together harder with her knees. He met her gaze.
“Well?”
She nodded towards the little table in the centre of the room. She had sat at it that morning to paint Cassie – what she remembered of Cassie. Every time she drew her sister she was sure the picture got further and further away from the truth. But this time she had been relatively pleased with the outcome; while looking not much like her sister, the face was realistic and she was pleased with the shape of the nose – something she had struggled with before.
But now on the table there were no paintings and paintbrushes. No food. Just an empty mug and, next to it, a little white stick. She watched as Sandman gravitated towards it, picking it up despite his rules about hygiene and where the stick had just been.
He let out a crowing sound. She was sure it was delight, but the sound chilled her right through. She realised – in that moment – that this was worse. That she was more afraid than she had ever been before.
This… This feeling was like somebody had thrown her full force off a thirty-storey building. The world had suddenly dropped out beneath her.
And he was smiling. She thought he was, at least. She could hardly see through the blur.
“A family,” he said, very quietly. He cradled the stick in his hands as though he already had the baby. Olive felt the sickness rise in her again, but this time she made no effort to control it. Come on then, she thought. Come out. All over the bloody carpet. He’d love that.
But once again, her body betrayed her. She couldn’t make the vomit come up because she wanted to. Couldn’t push it down either. So it sat, rumbling inside her, along with the beast he had created.
“A proper family,” he repeated.
“What about your wife?”
Anger made Olive brave. Braver than she’d been in a long time. The way he held that stick was a mistake on his part. She knew his wife couldn’t have children – or wouldn’t, perhaps. Olive still didn’t know how much Annabelle knew about her husband, whether she saw the monster that hid beneath his normal-seeming skin. Maybe that’s why she’d never given him what he wanted and popped out a couple of innocent kids. Or maybe, just maybe, Sandman was the one making Annabelle sick. She wouldn’t put it past him.
Olive knew then that Sandman wouldn’t hurt her. Not now she had what he wanted. And the anger was there, inside her, bubbling out. She saw that she had been given a bargaining chip. Or at the very least she had something she hadn’t had before.
“Is she out of the picture now? Your wife? What’re you gonna do? Tell her you found a baby on the street? Tell her I’m just some cousin who can’t take care of a child? Or are you just gonna beat her up and put her in a box too?”
Olive was breathless, but she saw that Sandman was more surprised than angry. As if he had never contemplated this part of the equation.
“Of course not.” He shook his head. “Nothing like
that.”
“Well, what then?” Hope fluttered beneath the anger, but she pushed it down. “You’ll just let me out of here, will you? What about doctors and things?”
“You don’t need any. It’s a contained facility. You’re safe here. You’re not exposed to anything. It’s safer in here than outside.”
“I can’t do it on my own.”
“Of course you can. Women have been bearing children since the dawn of the human race! It’s not like you can’t take care of yourself.” He gestured around wildly, and she realised just how crazy he was.
Crazier than she’d thought. More naïve.
Stupid, she thought. I was stupid to think he’d let me leave.
“You’re just going to leave me here? What about—”
“I don’t think now is the time to discuss it. Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’ll sort it out. There are ways to sort these things out.” Sandman cut her off and his expression changed. He was growing angry. Olive reined in the urge to scream at him.
“It’s still early days,” he added. “I don’t want you to upset yourself. I’d hate for anything to happen.”
He looked at her belly. There was nothing there yet. Not that she could see. Especially nothing that he could see. He was making a point. There wasn’t a baby yet. Nothing to protect, yet. Not really – not for him.
Olive wrapped one hand over her stomach almost instinctively. Not out of love, but out of a deep, almost painful desire to protect the one asset she had. The one thing she had that he didn’t.
Sandman took that as a sign that he’d done his job. He smiled again, taking the little white stick with him as he left. She knew he’d probably return in a couple of days with flowers. Probably vitamins. Doing all the stuff he thought a good dad should do.
Olive waited until the door clicked shut and the sounds of his steps retreated before she stood. Stretched. Fetched her makeshift journal out from under the bed. And she started to write. She would write it all down, as best she could. Her handwriting wasn’t great – had never really progressed past her eleven-year-old scrawl – but it would do.
She didn’t worry about how long it would take. This, and the drawings, would be enough. To plan, to work things out. After all, time was the one thing she did have. And bravery didn’t come overnight.
49
WHEN MARION FINALLY RANG I was driving. “Thank God, Marion.” The words flooded out of my mouth. “I’ve been trying to call you—”
“We had a sighting. It was a bust. What’s this about you knowing who took Bella?” Marion asked. I heard the worry in her voice. The panic. But also the excitement.
“It’s Ady, Marion.” I swore, a gulping sob strangling my words. “It’s Ady. I know it.”
“But—”
“I think he built up a relationship with her. Friendly. Gave her the mood ring – just like he gave it to Olive. She’s there every day. He had the opportunity. She knew him. There was nobody else was in the shop. She bought her usual drink. Not even a can but one of those cartons. You could easily inject all sorts into one of those—”
“Cassie, I don’t understand. You know Ady, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know him. He’s always been nice to me. But there’s so much I didn’t know. Stuff about his wife – she died suddenly. My dad told me he’d heard she overdosed. All the pieces fit. He has a storage unit.” I wanted so desperately to be wrong. Like I had been about Doctor White. About Darren Walker. But I knew that I hadn’t really been wrong about them; they were all wrapped up in this somehow, whether they knew it or not.
“Cassie…”
“He lied,” I said. “About seeing Olive, about Bella. He knew them both. He knew Olive. And she… she wouldn’t have been afraid of him.”
“Cassie, you’re driving.” Marion sounded afraid. “What are you going to do?”
“I told you,” I said. “I got the address from Henry. I’m going to bring Bella home.” I ended the call before she could stop me.
* * *
It was the eclipse. The eclipse had started it all. As I drove, I knew this. Knew that the feeling in my gut was right, that I had been right all along. Somebody had told me once that in Hindu mythology eclipses were believed to be caused by serpent demons sucking away the light that gives life. Sucking away life…
That was exactly what Ady was doing. Taking girls during the darkness, using a time meant for new beginnings to start his own fresh game.
I felt used and dirty, remembering the times we had spent together at various charity events over the last two months; he was always eager to help, to buy me coffee, to volunteer late, even to close up shop early to get to venues in time to set up.
I thought about Darren Walker. Darren had known Ady for years. His family had provided Ady with the money to buy his storage unit. Now I understood why he’d clammed up when Marion had asked him about Olive’s mood ring; why he had wanted to talk to me. Because he’d learned something.
He was going to tell me what he knew – that his friend had abducted and held two little girls in a storage unit less than five miles from where Olive was last seen. That he was afraid.
And that’s why Ady had killed him.
50
I DROVE AT CLOSE to seventy down the small country lanes, avoiding the centre of town and the traffic as rain started to pour from the heavens. I flicked on the windscreen wipers but was forced to slow down seconds later. I cursed under my breath, and then louder. I had never been to Ady’s storage unit before but it was easy to find.
As the rain slammed against my windscreen, I peered through the glass into the darkness. Ady’s unit was in an old industrial estate just on the other side of town. It was only small, with perhaps twelve or so squat units and office buildings in the area around a turn-circle, and I’d heard that most of the businesses that used the units did so as overflow for less urgent or bulk stock. It was quiet during the day and deserted at night.
I headed towards the gates of the industrial estate at full pelt, and had to slam on my brakes when I saw that they were shut. If they were locked, I was fucked. I parked half on the road, leaving my headlights on so I could see what I was doing. There was a large padlock on the middle of the gates. And it was very locked – with a combination and everything. Only the unit owners must have had access.
“Fuck!” I slammed my hand against the metal bars of the gate, which were already dripping with the heavy rain.
I immediately started to look around for something I could climb on. A box, a crate, anything. Eventually, I gave up. There was nothing. The rain poured into my eyes and streaked my glasses, sticking my hair to my forehead as the water dripped down my neck and back. I got back into my car, the windows steaming almost immediately. And then I had an idea.
Carefully, I inched the car forward. I pulled right up to the gate. Right up, inching closer and closer, until the front bumper touched. There was a metal clink, a thud, and then I put the handbrake on and got out of the car.
It was difficult, given the rain and the slick surface of my car’s bonnet, but I managed to haul myself up onto it. I swung one leg over the arched top of the gate, feeling the water seep through the thigh of my jeans. Then I hauled my other leg over, and in a fluid motion I threw myself down onto the other side.
I landed hard, a shooting pain jarring my knees. My legs were soaking now, my shoes not waterproof and my socks soaking up the rain. I squelched onwards, realising too late that I’d left my car lights on with the key in the ignition. But I didn’t stop. Instead I started to jog. I counted until I hit number 11. The industrial units all faced inwards around the turn-circle. I looked for Ady’s van but couldn’t see it.
I considered for a second: how stupid was I?
I headed straight for it.
There was no sign out front, and it was just an ordinary grey brick building. It was weathered, not so well cared for as Ady’s home, but it blended in perfectly with the buildings around it. Fear made my movemen
ts jerky but I didn’t stop.
The door itself looked like solid metal. On the far side I noticed a roller shutter, but it was closed. I tried the door. It was locked. The roller shutter too.
“Goddammit.”
Did I really think that Ady was this evil? To have stolen a child? Two children? The same man who’d plied me with many a cup of free coffee. Who had at one point been my only friend in town?
A shiver of pure anger flowed through me and I realised that was exactly what I thought. So I scooted around to the side of the building, and found a window. It was small, perhaps only for a toilet or a smaller storage room. It was nothing more than a small pane of single-glazed glass. This time I didn’t stop to consider whether what I was doing was stupid. I thought about what had happened at Darren Walker’s house when I hadn’t waited for help. My phone had been vibrating since I’d hung up on Marion but I hadn’t dared to read the texts in case she convinced me to go home.
Now I made myself look. A stream of messages.
where are you?
Cassie what are you doing?
Cassie CALL ME NOW
I typed up the address and hit send. Just in case. I still didn’t really believe that this was happening.
Then I grabbed a rock.
The window gave with a satisfying smash. I listened intently, waiting for something to happen. But if anybody was here, if anybody had heard me, they didn’t do anything about it. I waited for another ten seconds. Twenty. And then I used the sleeve of my hoodie over the rock to break out the rest of the glass.
I poked my head through the window into the dark space. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, but I could just make out a toilet below, and a sink on the right. I hauled myself through. The door on the far wall was unlocked, and I took a second to catch my breath and wipe the rain from my glasses before I pulled it open.
It led onto a corridor that looked like it ran the full length of the unit. I found a light switch. Overhead the bulbs flickered and I saw that the walls were plain breeze blocks with no personalised touches. I noticed too late that my wet footsteps were visible on the unfinished concrete floor, which was clean except for white powdery dust.
After the Eclipse Page 29