Siren Song (Harrison Jones and Amy Bell Mystery Book 1)

by Rebecca McKinney

  Harrison snatched his hand away and sat down. Simba came back into the room, claws clicking on the floorboards, nose working. He woofed softly, sniffed at Harrison’s fingers, licked them, then gave another resonant bark.

  ‘It’s alright, lion-dog,’ Harrison said. ‘I know it’s your house. I’m not going to hurt you.’ He patted the dog’s back. Simba allowed himself to be rubbed, but he felt stiff, as though at any moment he might change his mind and take Harrison’s hand off.

  It was a relief when Elizabeth came in with the coffee and a plate of shortbread biscuits on a tray. ‘Oh, you’ve made a new friend,’ she said, and Harrison wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or the dog.

  ‘I’m not sure about friend.’

  ‘Slip him a biscuit and he’ll love you for life.’

  ‘Ah, right.’

  ‘There you are. I hope you like it strong.’ She lifted a mug of black coffee from the tray and presented it to him.

  ‘Thank you.’ He took a polite sample sip. It was strong enough to strip paint. ‘This’ll wake me up.’

  ‘I need about three cups of that to get me going in the morning,’ she said, taking her mug and sitting opposite him. ‘I’m so depressed, it takes all my effort to even get dressed these days.’

  He wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say about this, so he gave her an uncomfortable smile. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Merriweather?’

  ‘Please, call me Elizabeth. May I call you Harrison?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Let me guess. Your mother was a fan of Harrison Ford.’

  He sighed. There were times when he seriously considered changing his name. ‘It was my grandmother’s maiden name. So … I’m sure you’re aware of the nature of my services, or you wouldn’t have called.’

  ‘Yes. You came highly recommended by Georgia Tait, who is an acquaintance through a good friend. You found her long-lost twin brother.’

  ‘I remember. That was a happy outcome.’

  ‘Well, I’m hoping for the same, obviously, although ...’ Her voice trailed away. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’ve taken the time to see me today.’

  Instinct told him not to let her get too friendly. ‘How long has Lucy been missing?’

  ‘How did you know her name?’

  Harrison forced himself to swallow the gullet-burning coffee and put down his mug.

  Elizabeth gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh. I’m sorry. You’re at it already. I did call you for your abilities.’

  ‘Most of the time, things just come. I try to respect people’s privacy as far as I can.’

  ‘I dare say I’ll have to bring the old family skeletons out to show once more. Have you had this gift all your life?’

  ‘Yes,’ he lied. ‘It runs in the family.’

  ‘Fascinating. I’m an avid believer in the paranormal, which is why I called you. I’m confident you’ll be just the person to find Lucy. Can I ask you about your methods? How do you do it?’

  ‘It’s like picking up vibrations in the air. It’s a sixth sense I have, if you want to call it that. In the majority of cases, I can’t read minds. I feel emotions and occasionally individual thoughts, but only if they’re strong ones. And I can’t see the future, so I’m afraid I can’t guarantee the outcome of a case any better than a mainstream investigator would.’

  ‘Can you tell if a person is ...’

  He waited, allowing her time to say the words.

  ‘ ... still alive, or ...’

  ‘Most of the time I can, once I get close enough. Do you have reason to believe Lucy might be dead?’

  ‘No,’ she said with some force, trying to reassure herself. ‘In fact, I’m not even sure she’s missing. Or rather, Lucy is missing to me but as far as she’s concerned, she may be exactly where she wants to be.’

  ‘So, you’d say her disappearance was voluntary?’

  ‘Oh yes, absolutely. This is why the police won’t look for her. In their view, Lucy has purposefully separated herself from her family and everyone she knows. That may be unfortunate, but it isn’t criminal.’

  Harrison suspected she was lying about the police, but he couldn’t tell what the truth was. He stood up, walked back to the shelves and forced himself to touch the silver frame again. A burst of fury, bordering on hatred, shot through him so powerfully that he wanted to throw the photograph across the room. He caught his breath. This may have been Lucy’s home, but it was no place of safety.

  ‘You only have to touch things,’ she said, watching him from behind. ‘That is truly remarkable.’

  And bloody sore, he wanted to add. His hand burned, although he knew without looking that there wasn’t a mark on it. He waggled his fingers back to life and sat down again. ‘I’m getting her, loud and clear.’

  ‘And? Is she alive?’

  He turned back to face her. ‘I wouldn’t like to make any assurances at this point.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her hopeful expression faded and she swallowed heavily. ‘I see.’

  ‘Before we go any further, Elizabeth, I have to ask whether Lucy might be…’ he hesitated, wondering whether it was wise to ask this so soon.

  ‘Might be what?’

  ‘Whether she might be better off if I didn’t go looking for her.’

  Her mouth gaped slightly, then a sheen of tears formed over her eyes and spilt down her cheeks. ‘Oh, damn it, I wasn’t going to do this.’ She covered her face with a tissue and blew her nose. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. Take your time.’ Harrison sat on the leather chair across from her and waited for her to pull herself together.

  She wiped her eyes and stuffed the tissue back inside the sleeve of her jumper. ‘I’m alright. Go ahead.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her expression became remote and stony, and suddenly she reminded Harrison of his own mother. It was the same look his mother gave him whenever he mentioned Dad. ‘Ask what you like.’

  ‘Why did she leave?’ he asked gently.

  Elizabeth placed her hands on either side of Simba’s broad head and seemed to talk more to the dog than to Harrison. ‘My husband was abusive, to both of us.’

  ‘I see.’ Harrison allowed his tone to soften, just a little. It was the truth, he knew, albeit incomplete. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She indicated for him to continue, although kept her eyes firmly on her dog.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Quentin and I are separated. He lives in Edinburgh, with whatever young thing he’s currently fucking. Pardon my language.’

  Harrison said nothing. The woman was a tormented knot. Despite the abuse, she was still jealous. It was surprisingly common.

  ‘To answer your earlier question, she may feel she’s better off away from here. But she’s my daughter. Do you have children, Harrison?’

  ‘No,’ he said bluntly, hoping she couldn’t read into this single syllable. There would have been a child by now, maybe two, if he and Sophie had managed to keep things together. But it was almost six years since she had handed the engagement ring back to him, so it was a moot point.

  ‘Then you can’t understand what this feels like, psychic or not.’ Elizabeth got up from her seat and crossed to the window. The dull winter light robbed her of what little colour she had left. She gathered the pashmina up around her neck and looked out at the mist. ‘I suppose I’d better explain. There are certain details that I would prefer to keep between us.’

  ‘Everything you say is strictly confidential unless I think there’s a life in danger. We don’t have to do this right now, Elizabeth. If you want to have a think about it for a few days, I can send you over my terms and rates.’

  ‘I don’t care what it costs me. I can tell you’re a trustworthy man. Please, just help me find my daughter.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ Harrison sat back and waited for the story.

  SEVEN

  Lucy knew she would never be truly free, but at least she had been able to
pretend for a while. There was liberation in moving through foreign cities, a stranger in a crowd of strangers, carrying only her rucksack and her guitar. The shadows that had followed her for as long as she could remember stayed away as long as she kept moving. Her past life belonged to somebody else.

  Kostas was the only point of continuity with that old life. It was a dangerous connection, but for him, she was willing to risk it.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this place,’ Tim said, sucking on a bottle of beer and kicking his feet out in front of him. They were in a small bar in the Plaka district of Athens, which Lucy liked for its authentic feel, even though most of the patrons were tourists. A din of languages washed around them like warm, muddy water.

  ‘You want to go somewhere else?’

  ‘Not the bar. I mean this city.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s getting old.’

  ‘What’s getting old?’

  ‘Travelling. Living out of a bag. Foreigners. Fucking Greek plumbing.’

  ‘We’re the foreigners here.’

  Tim grunted. His eyelids were heavy and reddish, and Lucy couldn’t decide if he looked stoned or ill, or both. She was losing tolerance for him, and the volume of substances he was putting into his body.

  ‘Well, I’m fed up with it. I think I might go home,’ he said.

  ‘We can’t go home. There’s so much to do here.’ Their volunteer work in the co-operative generally consisted of making food and handing out parcels of donated clothing. The older volunteers generally dominated the more interesting tasks, like teaching and supporting refugee families with the relentless paperwork they needed to move on from their temporary prison. There were volunteers from all over the world, mainly middle-aged and older women, Christians and hippies trying to appease their First World guilt.

  Most of the time, Lucy found the work boring. But still, it felt more worthwhile than sleeping and smoking all day in their grungy rented room, which was what Tim would most likely be doing if she didn’t force him up and out each day.

  He made a dismissive face. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘We’re helping.’

  ‘You think so, do you?’

  ‘Oh, here we go.’

  ‘No, listen to me. We’re not helping these people. Not really. Not in any way that’s going to make any difference. You think you have the first clue about what these people have been through? You want to know what they see? They see a naive, rich brat who has nothing better to be doing with her time than handing out sandwiches. You’re pissing in the wind, Lucy.’

  ‘You’re the one who got me into this!’

  ‘Yeah, so you keep saying. I’ve done my bit.’ Tim shoved his hands into his pockets and slid down in his chair. ‘It doesn’t change anything. You help one refugee; another one turns up tomorrow. What’s the point?’

  ‘What about the gigs?’

  Tim laughed. ‘Gigs. That’s a farce and all. You think Kostas gives a toss about your talent? You’re a piece of tail to him, that’s all.’

  Lucy wanted to slap him. ‘Oh my God, you’re such an arse. He’s a married man.’

  Tim arched one eyebrow and made a patronising expression. ‘As if that ever stopped anybody with a dick. Where is this mythical wife? Don’t you think there’s a reason she’s never there? Anyway, I don’t care anymore. You’re welcome to him.’

  ‘I’m not sleeping with him.’

  ‘You will, though.’

  ‘Piss off, Tim.’ She turned her shoulder toward him and watched the lively group at the next table, silently willing them to invite her over.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m going to do.’ Tim started to rise from his chair.

  She turned around again, and could tell that this time he meant it. For the first time, she feared he might actually do it. ‘You can’t just…leave me.’

  He sat down again. ‘Then come home with me.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ She felt that old, trapped desperation again, that sense of a figure looming up behind her. ‘I can’t. I’m not going back.’

  ‘What…not ever?’

  ‘Not if I can help it. I am never going back there, and I swear to God, Tim, if you tell my parents or anyone else where I am, I will personally hunt you down.’

  ‘You’re such a drama queen. Just go and make it up with them. Think of the money.’

  ‘The money?’ Rage kindled inside her. He had pretended to believe all those things she told him about her family, but he never did. He was just like everyone else. ‘Why? Do you think there’s something in this for you?’

  Tim didn’t answer.

  ‘Fuck you, Tim.’

  ‘Fine.’ He stood up so abruptly he almost knocked over his chair. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Lucy watched him go. Slowly, she swallowed the rest of her beer, torn between disappointment and a growing spark of excitement. This wasn’t the first time Tim had threatened to leave, but now he looked serious about it. Facing the prospect now, she wondered why it had filled her with such panic before. She used to feel safe with him, but not anymore.

  With Tim gone, she would be on her own for the first time in her life. She let her eyes move around the room, scanning the crowd of beautiful young men and women. They were all laughing and debating and telling stories. She wanted to be among them, but nobody paid her any attention, and she wondered why. Sometimes she wondered if the taint of her past life had left a mark on her.

  After a while, she got bored and walked out into the busy street. The night was warm and filled with the smells of grilled meats, garlic and women’s perfume. Curling tendrils of music emanated from some club. She drifted through the neighbourhood feeling ghostly, like she wasn’t really here at all.

  Back in their rented room, Tim was in his underpants, snoring on the bed. The room smelled of cigarettes and bad plumbing. She could hardly bear the thought of getting in beside him, so she sat on the wooden chair by the window and stared out at the rooftops, crisscrossed by wires and washing lines.

  ‘I want you to go home, Tim,’ she said.

  He sat up. ‘What?’

  ‘I said I want you to leave.’

  ‘I’m not going without you.’

  ‘Yes, you are. I don’t want to be with you anymore.’

  ‘You want me to disappear so you can go running to Kostas.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Kostas.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He laughed. ‘You’re such a tart.’

  ‘And you’re disgusting. I can’t even look at you.’

  ‘Whatever.’ He lay down again and faced the wall. ‘Say what you like.’

  ‘I’m not sleeping beside you.’

  ‘Sleep on the floor, then. I hope you like cockroaches.’

  ‘I want you to go.’

  He didn’t move.

  ‘Tim.’

  He continued to ignore her, so she took off a sandal and threw it at him. It bounced off his back, and he sat up abruptly. ‘Lucy, what the fuck?’ He chucked the sandal onto the floor.

  ‘Would you just go!’ She hurled the other one at him, harder this time.

  ‘Jesus!’ He blocked it. ‘What’s wrong with you? Bitch Season, much?’

  ‘Shut up!’ she shouted at him. ‘Just shut up and get out of bed. Pack your stuff and get out!’

  ‘Where the bloody hell am I meant to go at this time of the night?’ Tim was laughing at her, still refusing to believe she meant it. His laughter was like a blowtorch under dry kindling.

  She launched herself toward him and began to batter him with her hands. She slapped his bare chest and shoulders. He held his hands up to protect his face.

  ‘Ow! For fuck’s sake, Lucy, stop!’

  But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She wanted to see blood. She wanted to batter him down to a spineless pulp. She hit him until her hands began to hurt.

  Finally, he swung his hand and caught her hard across the cheek. It shocked more than hurt her. She fell back on the floor, curled up and started to cry.

  �
�Fine,’ he said, so quietly she could barely hear him. ‘I’m going.’

  She couldn’t watch him as he pulled his clothes on, gathered his few belongings and stuffed them into the rucksack.

  ‘Lucy.’ He dumped his full rucksack by the door and knelt beside her. ‘I’m sorry I hit you.’

  ‘Just go.’

  ‘Try to get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  He sat there watching her as she rested her forehead on her arms and stared at the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited.

  ‘I love you, Lucy.’ He let another minute pass, then stood up and left without another word.

  EIGHT

  Amy liked being strong: strong enough to bench press fifty kilos, do twenty chin-ups and beat off more or less anyone who might try something on with her. Not that there was much need for fighting these days, but it had been bred into her by her father, her older brothers, even her mother. You had to fight for your place in the world, and sometimes for your life. When she joined the TA, the fitness and the war-play came easily. Real war turned out to be something else.

  She jogged home from the gym, made her post-workout smoothie with chocolate, banana and peanut butter, then showered. The day was pretty grim. By two o’clock, what little light there had been earlier was already starting to fade. It had turned wet. She couldn’t face the thought of town with its throngs of sweaty Christmas shoppers, and she had already been online to buy the few presents she would send to her family. At five, she was looking forward to settling in front of the telly when Lynn Strachan from work sent a text, saying, Heading up town, curry, a bottle or three, dancing. You coming? Amy ignored it, but made the fatal error of leaving her phone switched on. Two minutes later, it rang. She ignored it, and it vibrated itself to the edge of the table. Lynn was not a woman to be ignored.

  ‘You’re coming out, Honey. You don’t get to say no this time.’

  ‘I’m already in my jammies.’