Cruel Summer

by James Dawson

  Greg’s eyes glazed over. ‘But . . . Erin . . .’

  ‘Roxanne was left for us to find. But there’s no sign of Erin. If she was dead, I think we’d know about it. I’m pretty sure this isn’t even blood.’ Ryan gestured at the writing on the wall. ‘I mean, smell it. It smells like paint. Someone is messing with us and we have to find out why. We’ll search for Erin, but, believe me, we are not calling the police. Not after everything I did for you,’ he paused, ‘yesterday.’

  This was spiralling out of control. All this testosterone in the room was making Alisha gag. She stepped between them. ‘Cool off, both of you. Ryan’s right. We need to look for Erin. Last night she kept saying that she wanted to leave—’

  ‘All her stuff’s still up in our bedroom, Lish.’ Greg rubbed his temples. ‘We start searching now. And we don’t stop until we find—’

  The doorbell rang. At least, Alisha assumed it was the doorbell – it hadn’t rung once in the time they’d been at the villa so she wasn’t entirely sure.

  ‘What is that?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘The front door,’ Katie replied, looking as baffled as the rest of them.

  The bell rang again.

  ‘Who is it?’ Alisha couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice, but wondered, wildly optimistically, if Erin had somehow locked herself out.

  ‘I’m not psychic!’ Katie breathed. She pointed at the huge red words on the wall. ‘We can’t let them in. Whoever it is. They’ll see all this.’

  The chime sounded a third time, followed by a sharp knock.

  ‘Is there such a thing as Spanish Jehovah’s Witnesses?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Just ignore them,’ whispered Greg. ‘They’ll give up and go away.’

  The group fell silent. Alisha didn’t even breathe in case it made a noise. About ten seconds passed, maybe more – her muddled head kept forgetting the numbers. She was just beginning to think that their ruse had worked and whoever it was had gone . . .

  No such luck. There was another, louder knock. And then a woman shouted through the letterbox in a strong Spanish accent, ‘Hello? Is anyone home? It’s the police.’

  SCENE 29 – RYAN

  Boom! The room seemed to shift under his feet. For a second, Ryan thought he might pass out. Silver stars swam in his field of vision as though he had kaleidoscope eyes.

  The police officer shouted again, ‘Hello?’

  Ryan panicked; they were all going to prison. Maybe if he was lucky he could charm some half-decent daddy-type into protecting him in the showers. ‘What do we do?’ Ryan hissed.

  ‘We can’t let her in!’ Ben was aghast. ‘She’ll see . . . the writing. And Rox’s stuff is everywhere. And the dagger—’

  ‘Shut up!’ commanded Greg. ‘She’ll go away.’

  Katie shook her head with vigour. ‘No. What if she comes around the back?’ She pointed at the bloody message. ‘If she comes to the patio doors she’ll see the writing.’

  Greg curled his hands into fists. ‘Then just get rid of her. We need to find Erin.’

  ‘I’m not doing it!’ Katie protested.

  ‘It’s your house!’

  Ryan took her hand. ‘Come on, we’ll both go.’ He threw Greg an evil look. He’d wondered whether, after opening up last night, Greg might be different this morning, but no. Leopards and spots, et cetera, et cetera.

  He led Katie upstairs. ‘Coming!’ he called towards the front door.

  ‘Ryan, I’m a terrible liar,’ Katie whispered. ‘Remember when we went shopping during double maths . . . I got us both detention.’

  ‘Just let me do the talking.’ Ryan was in his boxer shorts. Katie was in her dad’s old shirt. This was going to look really, really dodgy. Undeterred, he opened the door.

  Ryan gasped. A genuine, mouth-falling-open gasp. Katie’s hand flew to her collarbone, like she, too, was trying to prevent her heart from leaping out of her chest.

  Janey stood on the doorstep.

  Except that it wasn’t Janey. The woman in front of them was so like their old friend that it was uncanny. Anyone would do a double-take. She was a fraction older than the friends, in her early twenties, but with Janey’s chestnut hair falling over her shoulders and the same ocean-blue eyes. On closer scrutiny, the differences become more apparent. This woman’s lips were fuller than Janey’s had been, her eyebrows and tan a little darker.

  The police officer took a step back, reacting to their reaction. ‘Hello,’ she said, looking confused. ‘Is this your house?’ At least Ryan thought that was what she’d said. Her accent was almost impenetrable.

  Ryan couldn’t speak – so much for him doing all the talking! But it was so weird. She was a true doppelgänger. The penny dropped. This was the girl who had been outside the villa last night. Her police uniform was little more than an aertex T-shirt and shorts. No wonder she hadn’t stood out as a cop.

  ‘You were here last night,’ Katie muttered.

  ‘Yes.’ The ‘s’ sounded like a ‘th’. ‘My name is called Luisa Batada. I am responding to an emergency call made yesterday morning at eight-fifty.’

  Ryan’s brain finally kicked into gear. Alisha had made the call in the middle of the madness. ‘Oh! But we hung up. We didn’t need an ambulance, after all.’

  ‘Yes. Even a joke call is investigated.’

  ‘You took your time,’ Ryan mumbled under his breath.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He smiled brightly. ‘We’re OK.’ If this woman hadn’t seen anything last night some neat lying might get them off the hook. Ryan could lie for England. ‘My friend . . . stepped on some glass. We thought we needed an ambulance, but we didn’t.’

  Luisa was even more beautiful than Janey had been. She brushed her thick hair back over her shoulder and frowned. ‘You know, it is very serious to call one, one, two.’

  ‘We know. We’re really sorry.’ Ooh, that was a bit much, Ryan thought. Perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick with the sweetness and light. He caught himself doing that awful thing British people do, talking slowly and loudly for the benefit of foreigners.

  ‘May I come in, please? It is normal to check.’ Luisa didn’t give anything away. Her face was impassive, her tone polite but firm.

  ‘No!’ Katie squeaked and bit her tongue.

  Ryan gave her a look that could easily kill.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ The first trace of suspicion flickered across Luisa’s face.

  ‘Not at all,’ Ryan said, buying time while his brain cooked up some more lies. ‘It’s just that you can’t come in the lounge, right now.’

  ‘The lounge?’

  ‘You know, like . . . the living room.’ His mind was drawing a blank. He needed a really good reason not to let her into the lounge and he needed one now.

  ‘Ah, OK. Why?’ The police officer fixed him in a vice-like stare. Ryan got the distinct impression this woman didn’t stand for any crap.

  Ryan panicked and an idea came to him. It seemed plausible so he went with it. ‘Well, it’s just that there are people having sex in there.’

  Katie’s mouth fell open.

  ‘They are having sex?’ repeated Luisa.

  ‘Yeah!’ Ryan laughed. He was stuck with it now. ‘Us kids! What are we like?’

  Luisa was unimpressed. ‘Listen. I check and then I go.’

  Ryan stepped out of the door, dragging Katie with him, and closed it behind them. ‘Why don’t we go sit on the terrace—’

  ‘No!’ Katie squeaked.

  Oh, yeah, you’d see the writing from the terrace! Ryan realised. ‘It’s such a nice morning,’ he said instead. ‘Why don’t you go sit by the pool and I’ll make sure everyone . . . has . . . finished so you can look around.’

  ‘Finished the sex?’ said Luisa.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s just this way.’ Katie led the policewoman down the steps at the side of the villa. Ryan fell into step alongside his friend. ‘Everyone’s having sex?’ she breathed.

  ‘I�
��m sorry, I panicked.’

  ‘Is this your house?’ the officer asked.

  ‘It’s my dad’s,’ Katie replied. ‘We’re just on holiday.’

  ‘OK. How many people?’

  ‘Six,’ Katie said.

  ‘Five!’ Ryan almost screamed. ‘Just five!’

  Katie had apparently forgotten about Erin. ‘Oh, yeah, five! I can’t count! Cinco!’

  Luisa was becoming more suspicious by the second. Hopefully, she thought they were just stoned or something; the truth was so much worse. Ryan and Katie formed a human shield blocking her from the top terrace and sending her down another flight of stairs to the pool level. She seemed put out at having to take a sun lounger over a proper chair.

  Above them, the terrace door slid open and Ben emerged.

  ‘Who is he?’ Luisa asked.

  ‘That’s Ben and I’m Ryan and this is Katie.’ Ryan handled the introductions.

  The police officer narrowed her eyes. ‘He isn’t having sex.’

  ‘No. He doesn’t like sex.’ Ryan threw Ben an apologetic glance.

  Ben’s eyes widened. Katie gave him an I know look as he joined them at the poolside and offered Luisa his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Ben.’

  ‘Luisa Batada from the Civil Guard.’

  ‘She’s come to investigate why we called an ambulance yesterday.’ Ryan hoped Ben could pick up the threads of the lie quickly.

  ‘Yes!’ Katie might as well have punched the air. ‘Show her your foot!’

  ‘My foot?’

  ‘Yes!’ Ryan urged. ‘You know – where you stepped on the glass, which is why we called the ambulance but then realised we didn’t need it.’ He was well aware that this scene was tipping into farce territory. But who doesn’t love a little farce every now and then?

  ‘Oh, right.’ Ben sat on a lounger and held up his foot. There was a now-dirty plaster half-attached to his heel. ‘It looked worse than it was with all the blood.’

  Luisa took a cursory glance. ‘OK. I came last night and there was nobody home.’

  How were they going to answer this one? ‘We were out on the boat,’ Katie admitted. ‘It was, like, a boat party.’

  Luisa didn’t like the sound of that. ‘You should not take the boat out at night. Was there drinking?’

  ‘I sailed the boat and didn’t drink,’ Katie replied. That much was true.

  ‘You are lucky the coastguard did not find you.’ That was also true.

  Alisha and Greg burst through the patio doors at the same time. Ryan saw them a second before Luisa turned. Greg gave a subtle thumbs up. The villa was safe. At least Ryan hoped it was.

  When Luisa saw the twins she stood up. ‘Is it OK for me to look now?’

  ‘Yes. They were the ones having sex,’ Ryan said.

  Alisha’s and Greg’s faces began to twist in sheer horror, but Ryan’s unblinking stare must have sent the telepathic message it was meant to. Greg cottoned on before Alisha could protest. ‘Yeah. This is my girl.’ He slung an arm around his twin.

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Alisha screwed her eyes tight shut and went along with the ruse.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Greg said. ‘We didn’t realise the police were here.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Luisa now looked more bored than suspicious, which Ryan took to be a good sign. ‘Is this everyone?’

  Ryan ran the numbers in his head. ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK,’ said Luisa. ‘I will check the house and go.’

  ‘Please . . .’ Katie motioned for Luisa to follow her back up the terrace stairs. Ryan followed them into the villa, lightheaded from holding his breath.

  At first glance, Alisha, Ben and Greg had merely tidied the lounge and kitchen. A quick glance confirmed that the ‘blood’-covered dagger was no longer on the coffee table. The sofa-bed had been tucked away and the bedding folded into a neat pile. Roxanne’s luggage was nowhere to be seen.

  It took Ryan a moment to work out what was different: the wall. Rather than try to wash off the gruesome lettering, Alisha, Greg and Ben had nailed the sofa throw onto the wall as if it were a tapestry instead of a blanket. It was a traditional Spanish pattern so it didn’t look out of place. The only problem was that they’d done a slapdash job of hanging the throw and it bulged and draped unevenly. Furthermore, the nails jutted out of the plaster. The throw didn’t look at all secure. If it fell . . .

  Luisa seemed satisfied though. She proceeded out of the lounge and up the stairs. Ryan threw a look over his shoulder to Alisha, who gave a reassuring nod. On the top landing, the policewoman gave only the most basic of checks to each of the bedrooms. Ryan saw Roxanne’s backpack resting alongside his case at the foot of his bed. It blended perfectly.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Katie asked.

  ‘Yes. Sorry to come so early,’ said Luisa, heading for the front door.

  ‘No problem.’ Katie smiled. ‘Sorry about the emergency call. It won’t happen again.’ She opened the door.

  Ryan felt his shoulders drop. Next to him, Alisha also seemed to relax.

  ‘Be safe,’ Luisa said. Then she paused on the threshold and looked back into the house, as if having second thoughts. That moment seemed to last for an eternity. Eventually, she reached into her pocket and handed Katie a crisp, white business card. ‘Next time, if there is any problem, call my phone, OK?’ Luisa scanned their faces, trying to find the missing puzzle piece she could evidently sense. She was no fool. She could feel their unease, Ryan could tell.

  ‘OK, thank you.’ Katie murmured.

  Finally Luisa nodded and stepped outside. ‘Goodbye,’ she called. ‘No more sailing at night. And . . . wear a condom.’

  ‘We promise!’ Ryan smiled, waving like one of the bloody Railway Children. As soon as Luisa reached her patrol car, he slammed the door shut. ‘Right. We need to talk.’

  ‘Erin,’ Katie stated simply.

  Ryan shook his head. ‘Nope! Not that. This – if that was our Janey, then that means one of us is the killer.’

  SCENE 30 – RYAN

  They piled down the stairs back into the lounge.

  ‘At least we don’t have to worry about the resurrected corpse of Janey hunting us down and killing us,’ Ryan said. ‘I didn’t think it was that kind of story, somehow.’ Although it would’ve been cool if it had been. Zombies make any story at least forty-five per cent better.

  Alisha shook her head. ‘But that means one of us killed Rox.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ Ben shrugged. ‘There could be someone else watching us. Someone we haven’t even thought of.’

  ‘Unlikely.’ Ryan wondered if it was too early for a drink, or a Valium, or three. ‘Think on thy sins. This isn’t a random thing. This is someone who knows us.’

  There was a profound silence. Each of them kept a safe distance from one another, the air ripe with almost tangible mistrust. A glaring spotlight was firmly back on them all. Luisa had been a diversion, nothing more than a red herring.

  ‘What does that message even mean?’ Alisha demanded, scowling at the throw which hid the letters on the wall.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Greg snapped at his sister. ‘Think about what we did.’

  Ryan wasn’t so sure it was obvious, but Katie spoke next. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, hugging her knees like she was in the brace position for a crash landing.

  And, oh, how we’ve crashed! Ryan mused.

  ‘It’s from Othello,’ Katie said.

  Greg eyed her warily. ‘How do you know?’

  Katie babbled, panicking. ‘Everyone knows! I didn’t write it, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I . . . if I had, why would I admit knowing it?’

  Ryan had heard the phrase before – he thought it had been in a Bond film. The others all looked baffled but, of course, whoever wrote it would be going all out to appear clueless.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Alisha asked. ‘In the play.’

  ‘It’s from the scene where Othello tries to get Desdemona to confess to an affair she didn’t h
ave,’ Katie explained. ‘Desdemona had been set up, but Othello asks her to try to remember what she’s done – to “think on her sins”.’

  Ben sighed, looking pasty. ‘Someone wants us to confess.’

  Ryan squeezed the bridge of his nose. The embryonic headache in his skull was only going to grow as the day progressed, he feared. ‘Confess to what? None of this makes sense.’ The others waited for him to continue. He took centre stage, Poirot-style. ‘Not being funny, but if the killer is one of us then they’ve got away with it! Rox tried to blackmail us, but the killer stopped her and we’ve all been getting rid of the evidence. All the killer had to do was sit tight for another week and then get the hell out of here. So why would he – or she – mess with us? It was all over.’

  ‘Well, obviously bloody not,’ Greg hissed through his teeth. ‘Where’s Erin?’

  ‘Exactly!’ Ryan agreed. ‘Where is Erin? Why write on the wall? Why did someone bring that scarecrow mask from the night Janey died? And where is it now?’

  Greg sprang off the dining chair he was sitting on and kicked it across the room. ‘It doesn’t matter! Erin is missing. If she’s dead it’s my fault. I . . . I should have looked after her better.’

  Greg’s pain hurt Ryan. For one, he’d never seen Greg feeling such grief. For another, he knew Greg would never feel that way for him. If he died, Greg wouldn’t even shed a tear. If it was a match day, he wouldn’t even come to the funeral. ‘It does matter, Greg. We need to figure out what’s going on.’

  ‘No.’ Katie wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘Greg’s right. We can’t sit here theorising about Shakespeare while Erin’s missing. She might need our help.’

  Her words cooled Greg. ‘Thank you. Please, can you all help me?’

  Ryan took a deep breath. The questions would have to go on ice. ‘Let’s get looking, then,’ he said.