One Perfect Witness: a gripping psychological suspense

by Pat Young

  ‘He wouldn’t have taken our money.’

  ‘That’s not the point, Viv. I didn’t even offer him my hand. After he risked his life. We owe him. Big time.’

  Risked his life. Hadn’t thought about it like that. Dad’s not the only one who owes him.

  ‘Charlie,’ says Mum. ‘You sure you’re ok? You looked like you’d drifted off there for a minute. Should we pop up to the hospital, do you think? Do you feel sick, from the smoke?’

  I feel perfectly fine. It’s nice to be fussed over though.

  ‘Dad and I took turns to look in on you through the night. It was like having a baby again. You were sound asleep, every time. Would you like breakfast in bed, as a little treat?’

  Not sure what to do. Want to get up. But if they see I’m okay, I’ll get into trouble for the fire and they’ll go back to how it was before.

  ‘Listen, sweetheart,’ says Mum, ‘Dad and I have been talking.’

  Here it comes.

  ‘We want you to know that we’re sorry. Both of us. But you shouldn’t have set fire to the tower.’

  So that’s what they think I was up to. Oh well, it’s much better than the truth. Shake my head so Mum knows I’m sorry about the fire. Because I am. But I had no choice.

  ‘We know that was your special place and I stole it for the wedding business without even asking you. That wasn’t fair. A boy needs a den. A man cave. So, here’s what we’re going to do. Dad’s going to build you a cabin of your own, where you can ‘hang out with your homies’.

  She says the last bit in a kind of gangster accent, trying to sound cool, but it doesn’t work. Like the idea, though, and nod a lot to show her.

  ‘But first, you need to earn it, by being brave at the big school and doing your best.’

  Knew there would be a catch. Keep nodding though. My plan was to speak to them and tell them not to worry, I’ll be okay at the Academy, but don’t think that’s going to happen now.

  ‘Now, what about breakfast?’

  I throw back my duvet to show her I’m getting up.

  ‘Good boy!’ She hugs me tight and says I still smell a bit smoky. ‘I didn’t get the chance to buy your school clothes yesterday, with all the drama. Don’t suppose you want to come shopping with me?’

  Pushing your luck, Mum.

  ‘Didn’t think so. Well, I’ve got to go to town for a meeting, but Dad says he’ll stay close to the house and keep an eye on you. Is that okay?

  It’s perfect.

  The two of them hover around me while I eat my cereal, checking if I want more OJ or would I like some toast, maybe a boiled egg? This must be what it feels like to be the Queen. Mum hugs me three times then twice more when she comes back downstairs, dressed and smelling perfumey. Wonder if she’s meeting that guy again, the one with the flash car, and why Dad’s not suspicious.

  She picks up her huge handbag. ‘Now, you sure you’ll be ok, Charlie? I can cancel my meeting if you’d rather I stayed here? We could curl up on the sofa with a movie and popcorn.’

  And get hugged to death? I don’t think so.

  ‘Maybe we could get Natalie to babysit?’

  Babysit? She can’t be serious.

  ‘Off you go, Viv. You don’t want to be late. Have you got all the paperwork you need? Maybe this is the day he’ll sign. Charlie will be okay here with me, won’t you, kid?’ He ruffles my hair like he used to. It annoyed me before. Quite like it now, and his smile. ‘You can have a day with the Xbox.’

  ‘But don’t you want to be out at Phase Five today?’ says Mum.

  ‘I can go later. Don’t imagine it will be very exciting, what’s happening today. You go ahead. We’ll be grand. Joyce will be dotting about, and I’ll be around here somewhere if Charlie needs me.’

  Awesome. They don’t usually let me play Xbox during the day, unless it’s raining. Even then, they ration it. ‘Time’s up, Charlie,’ they say. No matter how many sad, disappointed or angry faces I make, it gets switched off, every time.

  Dad switches on the Xbox and brings me a can of cola. He watches me play for a little while, as if he’s scared to leave me. Finally, he gets up and goes. I’m just about to complete a level I’ve never got to before when the doorbell rings. Not going to answer. Need to concentrate.

  It rings again. I should go, in case Dad finds out.

  The third time it rings, my concentration is wasted and I get wiped out. Might as well open the door now.

  It’s a lady and a man. With suits on. Before they even speak, I know they must be the police.

  63

  The look on the boy’s face is far from welcoming. Catherine was right. They shouldn’t have invaded the owners’ privacy. Pim at reception said as much, just in too many words, but Eric is determined to speak to someone as soon as possible, having come all this way.

  ‘Hello, is your father at home?’

  The boy stares, as if he doesn’t understand.

  ‘Your dad, he means your dad. Is he in?’

  Eric gives her a look. He knows her English is better than his, but he doesn’t like being corrected.

  Still no reaction from the child. He’s small, probably ten or eleven, and simple, judging by his lack of reaction.

  Catherine bends at the knees till her eyes are level with the child’s. ‘My name is Catherine.’ The boy’s eyes have a wild look in them, as if he’s terrified of her. ‘There’s no need to be afraid. What is your name?’

  The boy’s lack of response is quite unnerving. She straightens and smooths her skirt with both hands.

  ‘This is pointless, Eric. We should wait in the café, bar, whatever it is, until the owner comes. Pim said he’d find him. It’s obvious this child can’t help us.’

  A voice booms from behind the door. ‘Charlie! Don’t just stand there. Let the folk in.’

  A man steps into the doorway and holds out his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Richard. Please, come in.’

  As he leads the way down the hall, the boy slinks up the stairs and sits at the top. She smiles at him, but his face remains unreadable.

  ‘Can I get you a tea, coffee?’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind but we don’t want to take up too much of your time.’

  ‘I understand you’re looking for Seb? Did Pim tell you?’

  ‘Tell us?’

  ‘Seb’s a hero. An absolute legend, as young people would say.’

  Clearly Sebastien has done well this summer. Catherine enjoys a moment of pride and can’t resist wanting to hear more. ‘A hero?’

  ‘Yes, he saved my son from a fire.’ The man covers his mouth and blinks several times.

  ‘The little boy who answered the door?’ Poor child. No wonder he looked so shocked.

  ‘Yes, Charlie, our only child. God knows what would have happened if Seb hadn’t turned back.’

  ‘Back from where?’ asks Eric.

  ‘He was leaving. Literally about to get into a taxi when he saw the smoke, ran back, broke down the door of that old tower in the courtyard, and saved our Charlie’s life.’

  ‘Oh, my good God,’ says Catherine, imagining what might have happened to her only son.

  ‘Yes,’ says the man, as if he knows where her mind’s going, ‘he put his own life at risk. No two ways about it.’

  Catherine touches the back of a chair.

  ‘Sorry, sit, please. Sorry, I should have said. Can I get you a glass of water?’

  She shakes her head. Only one thing matters to her. ‘Sebastien’s here? Thank the lord.’ Her shoulders drop as she breathes out a deep sigh.

  The man’s face tells her she’s got it wrong.

  ‘No, he’s not, I’m afraid, and to my shame, I let him go without thanking him properly. I was so taken up with Charlie and the paramedics were here and there was just too much going on.’ He stops and shakes his head. ‘That’s no excuse. I’m sorry. Please let me give you something, a reward to pass to Seb, with our thanks.’

  Eric says, ‘Absolutely not. I won’t he
ar of it.’

  Catherine gets to her feet and takes her husband by the arm. ‘We have to go, Eric. Sebastien will be home by now. With no one there to welcome him. We need to make sure he’s okay.’ She turns to the man. ‘Did you make sure he was fine before you let him leave? What if he looked okay but then he collapsed? He could be anywhere, lying ill, or…’ She covers her face with her hands, feels them shaking. Eric touches her shoulder, trying to reassure and calm her.

  She feels a light touch on her other shoulder and opens her eyes. ‘Please don’t worry. Seb was thoroughly checked by the paramedics. Given oxygen.’

  ‘Oxygen!’

  ‘Just as a precaution. While they ran a whole battery of tests – heart, blood oxygen level, you name it. Both he and Charlie got the all clear. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have let him go, I promise you. He’ll be right as rain. I don’t think you need to worry about getting home in time to arrange a hero’s welcome. I’m sure Seb said something about doing some more travelling.’

  ‘So he didn’t fly to Paris?’

  ‘You know, I couldn’t tell you. Hang on, maybe Charlie knows.’

  He calls the boy’s name and the child appears, reluctantly it seems, and stands near the door.

  ‘Charlie, this is Seb’s mum and dad. They’ve come on a surprise visit and they’ve missed him! Can you believe that?’

  The boy looks at Eric, then Catherine. She could swear he looks afraid. Horrified is the word that comes to her mind.

  ‘Just wondering, son, do you know if Seb was flying straight to Paris?’

  The boy shakes his head.

  ‘Is that no, as in you don’t know?’

  The boy nods.

  ‘You don’t know? Yes, he was a bit vague about his arrangements, wasn’t he?’

  More nodding from the boy.

  ‘Charlie doesn’t speak,’ says the man, with no further explanation.

  Catherine smiles at the child but gets nothing in return. In her head she says a prayer of thanks that her son is normal, if a bit inconsiderate.

  ‘Well,’ says Eric, ‘we won’t take up any more of your time. Catherine has Sebastien’s number. We’ll give him a call later and find out when he’ll be home, so we can get the fatted calf ready. Thank you for your help.’

  ‘I’m the one who’s grateful to you for raising such a superb young man. You can be very proud of him. I hope all the drama didn’t make him miss his plane. Please, let me give you some money, in case he had to pay for another flight.’

  Catherine acknowledges the kind words with a smile and shakes her head. Drenched in disappointment, she cannot trust herself to speak.

  Eric says, ‘Wouldn’t it be ironic if Sebastien was sitting stranded in departures at Glasgow Airport last night when we walked through arrivals?’

  Catherine knows he’s trying to cheer her up. She owes it to him to play along and laughs, as if any of this was funny.

  Just as he’s showing them to the door, a mobile rings in the man’s pocket. He checks the screen, frowns and says, ‘Sorry, I need to take this. Can you see yourselves out?’

  As if they’re already forgotten, he turns away, listening, then shouts into the phone, ‘Christ, no! Don’t touch anything. I’ll be right there.’

  64

  We were on the news tonight. Well, not us. Brackenbrae. The hillside, with the digger sitting there by the side of a white tent. Dad said when he imagined Phase Five, that’s not the kind of tent he had in mind. Mum and Dad are worried.

  ‘Nobody has their wedding where a body’s been found. It’s a nightmare. Who brings their kids to a place like this for a holiday? We’re ruined, Richard. It’s so unfair. Just when Alan had agreed to invest so much money in us. His lawyers won’t let him sign the papers now.’

  She seems more worried about the business than the guy in the grave or the poor digger driver who dug him up when he was trying to divert the burn. Dad says he was shaking like a leaf and vomiting everywhere.

  ‘Mystery man found at holiday park.’ That was the headline. Mum and Dad didn’t want me to watch but I refused to go upstairs.

  ‘How did the media find out so fast?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Oh, Viv, the hillside’s swarming with cops and you can see that crime scene tent from the main road.’

  It was weird watching a man with a microphone standing outside our gates talking to a camera. ‘We understand that, in the course of some preparatory land work for an extension to this popular holiday camp, the body of a man was uncovered earlier today. He had been buried under a landslide of the river bank. His identity has not been revealed and we understand his next of kin have yet to be informed. The man is believed to be white, in his late teens or early twenties and possibly a hiker or hill-walker. Police say the death is being treated as suspicious and a major investigation is underway. This is James Mitchell, reporting for BBC Scotland from the Carrick Hills, near Ayr.’

  The police spent a lot of time talking to Dad. They interviewed Pim and Natalie, Joyce and Mark, Mum too, of course, and a few holidaymakers. The place was in what Dad called ‘lock-down’ – no one was allowed out and no one could come in. There’s a police car parked at the entrance and blue and white plastic tape everywhere. Dad says the hillside looks eerie tonight, with floodlights up everywhere and shadowy figures inside the tent.

  The guy who killed the hiker got away just in time. I’m glad the real Seb’s mum and dad left before Dad found out what that phone call was about.

  The house phone rings and I hurry to the stairs to listen. Dad speaks into the phone, too quietly for me to hear, then hangs up and shouts, ‘Viv. You are never going to believe this. I’ve to go to the police station.’

  ‘What, tonight?’

  ‘Yes, and they told me to take all paperwork relating to my guns.’

  Guns! That must mean they’ve found it and traced it to Dad already. Oh, shit, shit, shit.

  I run and jump into bed, stick my head under the pillow but I can’t switch off my brain.

  It’s late when I hear a car pull into the courtyard. Jump up and look out, hoping it’s Dad.

  From the top of the stairs I can see light round the living room door. Mum’s still up. She shoots into the hall as Dad comes in the front door. Hope they don’t look up.

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ she says, hugging Dad. ‘I thought they’d arrested you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, they can’t arrest me. I’ve not done anything wrong. But it is my gun they found, no doubt about it. With one set of fingerprints. Not mine.’

  ‘Then whose?’

  ‘Well that’s what the police will have to find out. They’re coming tomorrow morning to fingerprint everyone who works or lives here.’

  ‘Lives here? You don’t mean…?’ She points towards the stairs and Dad looks right at me. ‘Charlie,’ he says. ‘Go back to bed, son. It’s alright. There’s nothing to worry about. Off you go, we’ll see you in the morning.’

  What’s the point in sending me to bed? It’s not as if I’m ever going to get to sleep now.

  65

  France

  Sunday 12 August

  ‘Maybe we should have stayed and enjoyed Scotland, Eric,’ she says at breakfast. He rolls his eyes and says nothing.

  She was the one who insisted they cut their trip short.

  Eric had wanted to stick to their plans. A night or two in Ayrshire then a few days in Edinburgh to take in some of the famous festival. ‘This is a beautiful part of the world,’ he said as they drove out of the campsite and down the hill. ‘It’s a shame to miss it. Look at that view. I wonder if that’s Ireland you can see in the distance, look, just there. Can you see?’

  ‘I don’t care about the view,’ she said. ‘I want to go home. Now, please. I’m sure we can change our flights and what if Sebastien’s at the airport when we get there? We could surprise him and fly back together. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful end to his summer? Maybe we could even treat him to first class as a reward for being such a hero.’


  ‘More coffee, darling?’ she says, lifting the cafetière.

  Eric nods, mouth full of croissant.

  ‘Can you believe our son rescued that little boy from a fire?’

  ‘Yes, that’s quite something, isn’t it? I’m convinced his parents were making it out to be so much more dramatic than it really was. The boy looked fine to me.’

  ‘I thought he looked distinctly odd, but maybe he was traumatised. Oh God, I hope Sebastien’s alright. Smoke inhalation can be life-threatening, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure he is. By the way, I was right all along. Spending the summer away from home has made a man of him.’

  ‘When do you think he’ll be home?’

  A shrug of Eric’s shoulders tells her two things. One, he doesn’t know and two, he doesn’t want to talk about it, again.

  She’d been so sure on the way to Glasgow Airport that Sebastien would be sitting there in departures looking fed up. She’d been imagining the way his face would light up when he spotted them. The airport was busy, the bars full of holiday-makers getting into the spirit. Despite looking everywhere, right until the moment their flight was called, she could not see him. Once they were in the air, she waited till the seatbelt sign went off and then walked up and down the plane, checking every passenger, like a steward before landing. She even waited outside the toilet, in case Sebastien was in there, then went back to her seat, so dejected that Eric got cross with her and told her to sit down and stop being so foolish.

  ‘I was certain Sebastien would be here waiting for us. This place feels even emptier than it did before we left.’

  Eric swallows a mouthful of coffee and says, ‘That’s nonsense.’

  ‘I wonder why he’s not answering his phone?’

  ‘Hope he hasn’t lost it again, the idiot.’ Eric’s smile is half-hearted, and she can’t tell if he’s joking.