‘That reminds me. Someone texted while we were in there. Gary’s about the only person who sends me texts these days. Hang on…’ She pulled out the phone and thumbed through to the message. ‘Bugger. He’s got held up at work. Reckons we’ll probably be back before he is. You think Sheena’s going to be okay?’
‘What could happen to her?’ Annie said. ‘Nobody else even knows she’s there.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
‘I don’t understand.’
‘No, I don’t imagine you do, Clive. You really don’t seem to understand much of what I say to you.’
‘But what does this MP have to do with me?’
Kennedy sighed. ‘That’s rather the point, Clive. It’ll be a random killing by someone with severe but sadly undiagnosed mental health problems.’
‘But I don’t have—’
‘You’re really not terribly bright, are you, Clive?’
Clive looked around at the others in the room, hoping someone else here would be able to expose this for the madness it clearly was. But there was no sign that they were prepared to do anything except listen to Kennedy’s ravings. Rowan and Charlie seemed like different people from those he’d encountered previously, to the point where he’d initially wondered whether they were under the influence of some drug. But after a while it had struck him that this was more the adoration offered to the leader of a cult.
Kennedy knew how to manipulate people and he had this group under his spell. Rowan had said he’d helped them through some kind of ‘spiritual journey’ during a difficult point in their life. Perhaps that kind of emotional leverage enabled Kennedy to behave as he did. It was the kind of controlling behaviour that, in other contexts, led to death cults and mass suicides.
In reality, he understood all too well what Kennedy was telling him. It sounded like utter madness, but the scheme itself was clear enough. He just couldn’t begin to envisage how they might expect to get away with it. The whole thing sounded so absurd, he almost didn’t even feel frightened.
Almost.
Except Rowan had mentioned people being bumped off, and the MP’s near miss at the hands of a gunman had been all over the news. He might feel as if he’d slipped through into someone else’s fantasy, but this was all too real. He hadn’t yet made a serious effort to escape, but from the way he was being watched by Charlie and the others, he knew they would have no difficulty in preventing him.
His only hope was that, if they really were serious in their threats, they might prefer not to do anything here in Kennedy’s own house. If they moved him, that might give him the only chance he was likely to have.
For the moment, Clive’s only real option was to keep Kennedy talking. Kennedy clearly loved the sound of his own mellifluous voice, and was only too eager to respond to Clive’s questions, however inane they might be. From the time that had passed since his arrival, Clive also had the sense that Kennedy himself was playing for time, waiting till whatever they were planning was all set up. ‘But I don’t understand what this MP’s supposed to have done? This can’t be just because you disagree with her politics?’
Kennedy laughed. ‘As it happens, I do disagree with her politics. Pretty fundamentally. She’s the type who’d tax us till we can’t pay any more, who’d destroy business, who’d want to stop me making a decent profit as a landlord. I wouldn’t be sorry to see her go on those grounds alone. But that’s not really what this is about. She’s become a direct irritant.’
‘In what way?’
‘She’s spent her time in Parliament campaigning against the ways in which we make most of our money. She believes we’re exploiting the poor benighted communities up here.’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘We provide services people need. Accommodation, quick cash, even drugs. If we didn’t do it, someone else would.’
‘I thought it was your route to enlightenment?’
‘Perhaps you’re finally beginning to understand, Clive. That’s exactly it. It’s not our job to change this world. Our role is to embrace it, extract what we can from it and find our own form of nirvana.’
‘And this MP would stop you doing that?’
‘She’s gradually been building a dossier of cases from around her constituency. A lot of them relating to our network. She’s not come close to connecting them with our businesses because of the way we’ve organised ourselves. We’re at the centre of the web, and she’s only teasing at the edges. But eventually she’ll get to a point where she starts to join the dots. Her partner’s a police officer, and at some point, if she continues, this could begin to feel uncomfortable for us. So, best she isn’t allowed to continue.’
‘But if she’s killed, the police will be raking over everything. Isn’t that more likely to put you in the spotlight?’
‘This takes us back to where we started, Clive. Not if they think this was a random act by someone with mental health problems. Even if they decide it was politically motivated, they’ll think the killer was just a fanatic.’
‘You’ll never make this work. It’s ridiculous.’
‘I think we will, Clive. This is also a test, an initiation process. I think I mentioned earlier how we initiate our neophytes. We’ve had a few of those recently, and we ask them to prove their worth by working with Eric. Eric, of course, would be only too happy to do this work by himself. He gets his pleasure that way. But we also ensure all our newcomers work alongside him to gain experience and show their full commitment to the movement.’
‘So they’re fully implicated, you mean?’ Clive was finally beginning to get an inkling of what Kennedy was talking about, and he felt a cold finger running down his spine.
‘You might say that. Of course, some of them succeed and some of them fail. If they fail, Eric deals with them. If they succeed – well, ask our friend Mo here.’ He gestured towards the man Clive had recognised as the far-right activist. ‘Mo’s become an active member of our senior team. He helps recruit young people to our cause through his political activism. And he helps us deal with those who don’t meet our high standards. Isn’t that right, Mo?’
Henley nodded. ‘Like little scumbags who start dipping their hands in the till.’ His voice was soft, unexpectedly posh-sounding, and undoubtedly menacing.
‘Mo and Eric have dealt with a few of that kind in recent weeks, as well as issuing a few warnings to those who might have crossed us in the past. As we grow the movement, we like to have the occasional clear-out. It helps to keep everyone honest.’
‘I still don’t understand.’ Clive had decided he had no choice but to keep pushing this now. The more he knew about Kennedy’s plans, the more he might have a chance to find a way to disrupt them. ‘You’re never going to persuade anyone that I’m some kind of fanatic.’
‘You don’t think so?’ Kennedy sounded genuinely surprised. ‘Your interests are a little – eccentric. Unexplained phenomena. Conspiracy theories.’
‘That’s still a long way from murderous fanatic.’
‘Perhaps not when there’s evidence in your house of an obsession with your victim. When the police find your house filled with suitably fanatical material. Far-right politics.’ He laughed. ‘Some of the more sensationalist material linked to the “left-hand path”. The knives that were used in the recent apparently ritualistic murders. Not to mention the firearm used in the previous unsuccessful shootings. There’ll be enough there to convince them. Along with your body, of course.’
Clive felt a new clutch of fear in his stomach. ‘My body?’
‘That’s obviously how this all ends, Clive. You commit suicide in a way that appears suitably deranged. As a bonus for us, you die in a way that links you to other recent murders in the area. It all slots neatly into place, or at least neatly enough that no one’s likely to be inclined to look much further.’
‘You’ll never make that work,’ Clive said. ‘Apart from anything else, how are you going to get all that stuff into my house?’
Kennedy�
��s mobile phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up and glanced at the screen, then rose to his feet. ‘I think we’re ready to go. As for placing the evidence in your house, Clive, well, it’s part of the initiation process. We’ve already received a great deal of help in this. Tonight we hope to welcome another neophyte into the movement.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
As soon as the light waned outside, Sheena Pearson had carefully closed all the curtains around the ground floor before turning on any lights. It felt more like a superstitious gesture to ward off the darkness than anything of practical value, but it somehow made her feel more secure.
There was nothing for her to worry about. If her life really was under threat – and, even now, despite everything that had happened, she still struggled to believe it – her security here was protected by her sheer anonymity. No one could know she was here. That simple fact offered more protection than any amount of security.
She switched on the television, searching through the channels until she found a news broadcast. There was a brief mention of the continuing investigation into the shootings, but no indication that any further progress had been made. There was a similar short report on the continuing murder investigations, but it seemed that only limited information had so far been released to the media. Sheena switched off the television and reached for her briefcase. She’d brought a range of paperwork with her in the hope she might at least make good use of this unexpected hiatus in her working life.
It was then that she heard the sound.
It took a moment to realise what she was hearing. The noise of a window being broken, somewhere in the rear of the house.
She reached for her mobile phone on the table, already preparing to dial 999. Even so, she was too slow. The living room door was thrown violently back to reveal the figure of a man framed in the doorway.
She’d instinctively placed the phone behind her back and now, still scarcely conscious of what she was doing, she slipped it into the waistband of her jeans, hoping it would stay in place. ‘What the bloody hell is this?’ She tried to sound angry but knew she simply sounded terrified.
The man walked forward and grabbed her by the arm. She was on the point of pulling away when he placed the point of a knife under her chin, the blade almost piercing her flesh. When he pulled her towards the front door, she made no effort to resist.
Outside, there was a car parked in the driveway, one of its rear doors already open. The man pushed her forward and thrust her into the rear seat. There was a moment, as he loosened his grip and lowered the knife, when she thought she might pull herself away, but it was already too late. The man climbed into the seat beside her, grabbed her head and pulled her down so that she was half lying on his lap. She was hidden from anyone outside the car, and the knife was once again pressed against her skin.
‘Okay.’ It was the first word she’d heard the man say, and it was addressed to a second man in the driver’s seat. ‘Drive. But slowly. Don’t do anything to attract attention.’
Sheena was still trying to concentrate, trying to gather any clues she could about what was happening. She had to keep believing she could somehow get herself free, and the key to that, more than anything, was not allowing her fear to overwhelm her. She could still feel the mobile phone pressed against her back, but its presence was irrelevant for the moment.
She tried to gauge from the movement of the car which direction they might be taking, but even the first few turns out of the estate left her confused. She twisted her head to look up at the man holding her, wanting to be able to recognise him again, assuming she ever had the chance. He was holding a mobile phone in his free hand, apparently sending a text. But his attention remained on her and the knife was still steady against her throat. The man clearly had no concern about concealing his appearance. That thought alone sent a chill down her spine.
She could tell the car had picked up speed, suggesting that they had perhaps left the estate, but by now she had no idea which way they might be heading. There was nothing she could do but wait. Wait, and hope and pray.
* * *
‘Where are they?’
‘They’ll be here. Relax.’
‘I don’t like this. There’s too much that can go wrong.’
It was almost like the first time they’d visited Kennedy Farm, Clive thought. In a car with Rowan and Charlie. This time, though, there was no Greg Wardle, and it wasn’t Rowan’s car but one that had been waiting for them at the rear of the house. Charlie was in the back seat beside him.
It was Charlie who’d manhandled him into the car, with some assistance from Mo Henley. Neither had shown any compunction in using whatever force they felt was necessary, and Clive had been left with no doubt about what they would do if he made any effort to escape. Henley was seated in the front beside Rowan, and he was the one expressing concern. ‘How do we know it’s going okay?’
‘Because he texted to say they’d got her.’
‘It all just feels too complicated to me.’
‘Too complicated for you, maybe,’ Rowan said. ‘It’s how Robin works. He’s always been like this. He’s done okay so far.’
Henley clearly wanted to say more, but was silenced by a glare from Charlie. It was the first time Clive had seen any evidence of dissent among Kennedy’s followers. He wondered how long Henley had been part of this group. Was he one of the recent so-called neophytes? If so, Clive wondered quite what Henley’s initiation had involved. For that matter, what had Rowan and Charlie done to become part of Kennedy’s inner circle?
They were parked just off the road, somewhere on the moors west of Chesterfield. It was a bleak, windswept area that Clive knew only as somewhere he had driven through on his way to more conventionally picturesque parts of the Peak District. Kennedy had said something about the location closing the circle, but that had meant nothing to Clive. All he knew was that the area was sufficiently remote that any chance of finding assistance was likely to be small.
‘They should be here by now,’ Henley said.
‘It’s a good twenty-minute drive,’ Rowan said. ‘They’ll be here in a few minutes. Just relax.’
Henley looked far from relaxed but said no more. In the event, it was another ten minutes or so before they saw a set of car headlights approaching along the single-track road. ‘That’ll be them,’ Rowan said.
The car drew to a halt alongside them, immediately extinguishing its lights. Beside him, Charlie pushed open the door and dragged Clive out into the night. The rear door of the second car opened, and Clive saw Eric Nolan push a woman out in front of him. Clive had no interest in politics but he recognised the woman’s face. It was the MP.
He decided to have one more shot at reasoning with them. ‘Look, I don’t know if this is some sort of protest or statement or what it is, but it’s all gone far enough now—’
‘Just shut up.’ Charlie sounded bored rather than threatening, but there was no doubting he was serious. ‘Let’s get this done with.’
Rowan and Henley had left the car to join them. ‘We need to do it properly, though.’ She gestured towards the second car. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘He’s done okay so far. We planted all the stuff in our friend here’s house. But, frankly, that was the easy bit. Now’s the real test for him.’ He turned and tapped on the car windscreen, gesturing for the driver to join them.
Clive assumed that this was one of the so-called neophytes. The one who was supposedly being initiated tonight. He had begun to feel a panic that made him sick to the stomach. This was finally beginning to seem real, rather than just some convoluted piece of psychological torture.
He watched the driver emerge from the car. At first, in the darkness, he thought he must be mistaken. But he knew he wasn’t. And he knew, too, that he’d suspected this ever since Kennedy had mentioned the help they’d received. It was impossible, but it was also obvious.
‘Greg.’
Chapter Forty
‘Oh, Jesus
Christ.’
They had seen the open front door as soon as Annie Delamere turned in to the drive. In the few moments it had taken her to stop the car and run into the house, she’d told herself that there could be countless explanations. But she couldn’t really think of a single one. There was no reason that, given what had happened, Sheena would have left the door wide open or gone out by herself into the night.
‘Sheena!’
She rushed through the house, peering into all the ground-floor rooms, calling out Sheena’s name, but she could already tell that the house was empty. She had seen, with a sick feeling of dread, that the patio doors into the rear dining room had been smashed open.
Zoe had followed her into the house and had run up the stairs to check the upper floor. She returned to the head of the stairs, shaking her head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Shit. How the hell is it possible? Nobody even knew she was here.’
‘I don’t know. Christ…’ Zoe was staring around in bafflement, as if she expected Sheena to emerge from hiding at any moment.
Annie had dialled Sheena’s mobile number but, as she’d expected, the call simply rang out. ‘She’s hopeless at answering it anyway. Has it on silent all the time because she’s usually in meetings.’
‘You better call it in. I’ll go and check with the neighbours. See if anyone saw anything.’
Annie took a breath, trying to force herself back into her professional mode. It was generally one of her strengths. When she was really up against it, she normally had the capacity to put all her personal preoccupations behind her and focus on the job at hand. But she’d never previously been in a position like this.
It took her a few moments to explain the situation to the enquiry desk, throwing in a few references to Stuart Jennings to persuade them to throw whatever resource they could at the operation. But the reality was that they had almost nothing to work with. They had no information on what might have happened to Sheena, no description of a vehicle or any assailants. Nothing.
Small Mercies Page 25