by DH Smith
‘How can you know George was there?’
‘I’ve been worrying about those computers,’ he said. ‘I keep seeing them. First we saw them in the boathouse, and yesterday, he brought them into the school. Out there in plain sight of Cathy, he’s carting them in. And he doesn’t give a damn that she’s watching. I watched her, angry as hell but doing absolutely nothing. Why’s that?’
‘You have all the answers, Jack. Tell me.’
She was breathing heavily, squeezing her nails into her palms in an attempt to still herself.
‘Because he had something on her. Something a lot bigger than stealing computers. Murder. That got him the house back, his and Jenny’s jobs. And he thumbed his nose at her when she saw him bringing the computers in.’
‘Blackmail,’ she said.
‘He gets what he wants and all Cathy can do is yell, as he witnessed her and your mother down by the lake…’
‘My God,’ she exclaimed. A real cry, at his closeness. ‘You can’t be right on this. It’s not possible. There has to be another explanation.’
‘When I first told George about Mia finding the body, I sensed he was lying to me. That he already knew,’ said Jack. ‘And then bingo, he gets his house and job back. Luck? Or what?’ He paused, keenly watching her. ‘So how else do you read it?’
She was silent for a few seconds, thinking quickly. This was no time for the big protest.
‘Mummy and Cathy have been acting oddly the last day or two,’ she conceded. ‘I’ve felt excluded from conversations. I came into the kitchen yesterday and they shut up. Like they had a secret.’
‘One hell of a secret.’
She bit her lip. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Go to the police.’
‘Oh hell,’ she cried. ‘I don’t care about Cathy. Let her rot in Holloway or wherever. But my mother… This is awful.’
‘This is murder.’
She got up, striding about the room. It needed no acting. He knew so much. What on earth could she do?
‘When are you going to the police?’ she said.
‘You’re not going to tip your mother and sister off?’ he said, suddenly alerted.
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘They deserve what they get. But I want to come with you. Back up your story. Is our picnic on the island still on?’
‘Do you feel like a picnic, with all this hanging over?’
‘We could talk it through while we are eating. It’s as private as you can get out there. Make sure it all hangs together, then go to the police.’
‘Makes sense,’ he said. He slapped his head. ‘How am I going to get paid?’
‘Give me your invoice. I’ll take it over to the house. Tell Mummy you’ve finished, and I’ve OK’d it. She keeps petty cash there. I’ll bring the money over with the picnic.’
‘Thanks, Ellie. That’s a relief. I so need that cash.’ He got up. ‘I’d best get a move on and finish the job.’ He pecked her on the cheek. ‘See you lunchtime.’
She grasped him and pulled him into an embrace. They held tight, clutching, finding succour in lips and softness for their very different reasons. They broke and searched each other, uncertain which way to go.
‘I must finish up,’ said Jack, torn.
‘You must,’ she said. ‘I’ll sort your money out.’
Quickly, he left her.
Part Four:
Picnic On The Island
Chapter 50
The door was hung. A little stiff at first. He oiled the three hinges and it swung sweetly. Just enough gap off the ground. A simple enough job, but always satisfying.
He wasn’t impressed by the door lock. A feeble thing. But then again, you could just break the corridor glass into the computer room. Might have been better if George had done that. But it was all a game anyway. Making the money go round and round. Smashing doors and windows and repairing them again. He hoped Ellie could get him his payment. He had only a small job to follow this, and had to get Mia back to Brighton. And eat, pay bills. Live.
Just the lock to go in. He marked up where it would fit in the door, and where the plate should go on the doorjamb. Don’t rush this bit. He’d learnt that often enough. Get the marking up right. Or you spend twice as long doing an inferior job.
Square and tape. Get it right first time.
He’d just completed the drilling for the lock when his phone rang. Annoyed at the interruption to his flow. He looked. This one he’d better answer. And keep calm. Especially if she’d been talking to Mia.
‘Hello, Alison,’ he said warily.
‘Hello, Jack. What have I been hearing about Mia and dead bodies?’
Straight in, no messing. She had been talking to Mia.
‘Only one dead body.’
‘That’s one more than enough,’ she said. ‘What on earth was she doing wandering around on her own?’
‘It’s a school,’ he said, attempting a defence. ‘Perfectly safe. Normally.’
‘So you did a risk assessment, did you?’
‘It’s a school,’ he insisted. ‘I didn’t think there’d be a body here. Be reasonable.’
‘I am,’ she said. ‘As reasonable as any concerned parent can be. I concede, you didn’t know there was a dead body in the grounds. I’ll put that down to bad luck. Though I sometimes wonder. But you did let her go down to a lake on her own. Isn’t that so, Jack?’
‘I didn’t know that she’d go down to the lake. I was busy working.’
‘She said you were busy with a woman.’
That shut him up completely. Mia had dropped him in it. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
‘I don’t know what to say about that,’ he said. ‘I left her in the library with videos and books… And I got talking to a teacher. And er… well…’
‘Spare me the details, Jack. I’m not interested in your sex life. Only where it concerns Mia.’
With some relief, he said, ‘She’s with my mother now.’
‘I know where she is. She phoned me ten minutes ago. And I’m happy she’s there. But tomorrow I want her here. Midday. Can you manage that?’
‘I can. How was your stay in hospital?’
‘Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Midday. And please don’t let her wander about on her own. She’s only eleven, Jack.’
She rang off. Leaving him a pendulum swinging between fury and guilt. She was right, she was wrong. He still had no idea why she’d gone into hospital. To catch him out? He wouldn’t put it past her.
He was a lousy father. One sniff of sex and he lost all responsibility. She was right. Sod her. Mia should not have been wandering about on her own. There was a lake. Not very likely she would’ve drowned in it. She can swim. Maybe even less likely there would’ve been a body in it.
Bad luck. And, okay, some irresponsibility. Happy now, Alison?
But at least it was out in the open. Alison knew. And she’d calm down by the time they met tomorrow. He had to be in Brighton by noon. That money had better come or he was going nowhere.
What a life!
About time he had some stuff on Alison. She could be careless enough when she had a boyfriend on the go. Hoity-toity now, all queenly and self-righteous… But then again, she was in hospital with some unknown ailment.
Enough of this. He was sounding like Ellie going on about her sister. He was in the wrong. Leave it there. Don’t blame Alison for bawling him out.
But how could he not?
Back to the lock. He could be reliably sure it wouldn’t scream at him. Lecture him about risk assessment. Or give him orders about when and where to drop his daughter off.
Chapter 51
The lock was in the door. He was working on the last bit, the socket and plate on the doorjamb. Finish it and he could be away. A picnic on the island – and who knows what that could lead to? There were trees and shrubs there, nicely obscured. A secret place. Odd, considering it was a prelude to a visit to the cop shop. Reflecting, he doubted there’d be any sex o
n offer. Once the case was laid out, and Ellie could see all the implications for her sister and mother, he doubted she’d be in any mood to take her clothes off.
Might it not be better to go straight to the police station? Except he’d promised her. She was getting all the food prepared, maybe at this very moment. He could hardly suggest that they go to the police, get her mum and sister safely arrested and then have their picnic.
But was doing it this way any better?
He was chiselling out the remnants of wood in the socket, having drilled out as much as possible. A pity there wasn’t a square drill bit to drill square holes. In fact, he thought, it wouldn’t matter what shape the bit was – the hole would still come out circular when it was spun in the chuck. He often had daft thoughts.
That’s what working on your own did to you.
His head was all over the shop, like a classroom of screaming kids, the sensible ones at the back the least heard. He’d hate anyone to read the muddle of his mind. Sex, money, telling the police how to do their job, Alison, returning over and over to sex, lunch – he was hungry. That was the loudest kid, the one rubbing his stomach. All he’d had today was the toast at breakfast and a couple of chocolate biscuits at the Groves’.
And here was the bringer of food, coming down the hallway. In one hand a large basket with a big handle like Little Red Riding Hood, in the other what looked like a tablecloth. An orange scarf was tied in her hair, gypsy fashion. She was the goddess of the picnic. How could he ever think he wasn’t going?
‘Will you be much longer, Jack?’ she said when she got to him.
‘Ten minutes,’ he said. ‘What’s in there?’ indicating the basket.
‘A few things. Ham, eggs, olives, cream cheese, tomatoes and spring onions from Mummy’s garden, bread, grapes, plums and fizzy water…’ She stopped a second. ‘Something I’ve missed…’ She clicked her fingers. ‘French butter.’
‘My stomach is churning at the sight of it.’ A sudden thought. ‘You didn’t say anything to them?’
She shook her head. ‘I simply went into the kitchen and prepared this lot.’
‘Weren’t they curious who it was all for?’
‘I told them it was with you.’ She laughed. ‘There we are, it’s an official picnic. Like being engaged.’
‘Walking out as they used to say.’ He grinned.
‘You’re my boyfriend now. Aren’t you?’
‘I am.’ He was almost tongue-tied. The picnic was a seal. The bride price. Or something or other. He was welling with love. Such a beautiful thing to do: row over to the island, eat the feast, make love… forget the dirty work to be done afterwards. But it couldn’t be forgotten. He just hoped it wouldn’t ruin the party.
If only he’d said nothing. Too late. He couldn’t have avoided it. He had to tell her. No matter what.
She said, ‘Oh yes, and this.’
She took a fat, unsealed envelope out of the basket and handed it to him. He flicked through. It was full of twenties.
‘Oh, you’re wonderful,’ he said.
‘I am, aren’t I.’ She did a girlish twirl. ‘You said ten minutes, Jack. Well, if I stay chatting you’ll never finish. I’ll wait for you at the boathouse. But make it ten minutes. Not a second longer.’
She kissed him on the cheek. He wanted to hold her and get a little more, but she’d already pivoted about and was walking away. She half turned to him and waved a strict finger.
‘Ten minutes.’
Chapter 52
Ellie was in a rowing boat at the landing stage of the boathouse as he came down the hill. The job was completed. He’d swept up, collected his tools together, but would go back to put them in the van after their picnic. But now he was free, no self-reproach about wasting time. And he’d been paid too.
A police station to visit. Save that. Worry about it post lunch. Though it would have to be talked through. He’d have to be careful on that topic.
She was on the middle thwart, her back to the prow, oars dangling in the rowlocks. The basket was at the end of the boat, the cloth laid over the seat. Ellie was obviously going to row, making Jack feel as if he was in the middle of a fairy tale. He was the chosen one, the poor woodcutter, whom the princess was going to row out to her enchanted island.
What would he find there?
She tapped her watch imperiously. ‘What time do you call this? Fourteen minutes. I nearly went without you.’
‘I didn’t realise this was a regular service.’
‘We have a timetable. This is the island ferry.’ She bowed and indicated the back seat. ‘You are in first class, sir.’
He climbed into the boat which wobbled as he took his seat. He felt he should be rowing. That’s what men did for their girlfriends.
‘I could row,’ he said.
‘I am sure you can, Jack. But not as well as me. I’ve been rowing on this lake since I was six. I rowed for Uni. I’m a Blue, you know. You’ll be perfectly safe. Can you swim?’
‘A bit. Though I’m hoping I won’t have to.’
‘You won’t,’ she said and pushed off the stage with an oar. And began rowing.
She did it effortlessly. Smooth strokes, no splashing, obviously enjoying herself.
‘I haven’t done this for a couple of years,’ she said. ‘It’s amazing how my body knows exactly what to do. All those early mornings on the Isis.’
He couldn’t keep his eyes off her, her movement like a dance, the swans and coots her underlings. She was in complete control, delighting in her body’s rhythm. The glinting surface like a sprinkling of musical notes.
‘It’s wonderful here,’ he said.
‘Surprising what you get used to. Most days I just don’t see it at all,’ she said without breaking her stroke. ‘It’s why it’s lovely to see it through your eyes.’
‘I can’t imagine owning a lake,’ he said.
‘I can’t imagine not.’
She stopped an instant and looked behind her. There was a landing stage in the reeds of the island. He could almost hear her calculating angles and strokes.
She began rowing again. One side, then the other, then both and the boat eased into the island’s landing stage. She brought in the oars.
She said, ‘Do we have to go to the police, Jack?’
Suddenly alerted, he thought: she has been talking to her sister and mother.
‘We don’t have to,’ he said, without conviction.
‘Meaning we do.’
He was silent, and all at once afraid. He was in her domain. Across the water, in her rowing boat, about to alight on her island.
‘Meaning I’m not sure,’ he said. Which he knew was no good. Unsure today could go to the cops tomorrow.
‘I’m sure it’s the right thing,’ she said.
‘Are you?’
‘Of course.’ She looked him hard in the eye. ‘It’s murder. Daddy deserves justice. We all do.’ She waved her arms. ‘But let’s have our picnic before we go over the details… You carry the things up to the shelter. I’ll tie up the boat.’
He stepped onto the stage and bent down to pick up the blanket and basket. She’d crawled to the prow and was holding a rope.
‘Can you see the shelter?’ She pointed it out, it was just visible at the top. ‘We used to call it the castle. Somewhat flattering. I’ll follow you up in a minute.’
Jack set off with the basket and cloth. There was a crude path up the hill, beside it bramble, nettles and various yellow and pink flowers in clusters. There was the shelter up ahead. He could see it clearly now, a weathered wooden thing, like a country bus shelter, at the crown of the hill. There would be quite a view from there.
A great place for a picnic.
He looked behind him for Ellie. And was puzzled. She was in the boat, on the rowing thwart, the oars back in the rowlocks. She pushed away from the shore.
‘Sorry, Jack!’ she called. ‘I really am.’
It was then he turned back to the shelter. And out o
f it came Cathy in shorts and a yellow t-shirt. She was holding a loaded crossbow pointed at him.
Instantly flooded with fear, he threw the basket at her, dropped the tablecloth and ran. Ellie had delivered him up, an ultra performance, with picnic and tablecloth.
He scuttled through a patch of nettles and behind a tree. His arms were itching from the nettles, the least of his troubles. Pressing into the tree, he listened and couldn’t hear her.
Thwack!
A crossbow bolt struck the trunk. He peered out from the side of the tree. How quickly could she reload? She was coming through the nettles, face utterly concentrated, reloading. And a new bolt was in. So few seconds.
He’d hoped he might be able to get to her before she could reload. But he’d have to be so close beforehand that she could hardly miss.
Jack backed off down the slope. He was off the path, not knowing what was possible on this part of the island. He backed behind another tree, somewhat thin, and pulled himself in.
Thwack!
How many bolts did she have? It wasn’t like a six gun where you could count. She might easily have a dozen. Twelve attempts. And she’d won cups, her sister had played Lady Macbeth. What a talented family! A thought struck him: how had she got to the island? A boat perhaps on the other side. If he could get there… And then he rejected it as the truth slapped him. Ellie had rowed her over, and then come back to collect her target.
Where was Cathy? He couldn’t see or hear her. He listened. She was hunting him, listening for him as he listened for her. Predator and prey. She knew this island backwards, whereas he had no idea where he was going. Just away.
Thwack! A crossbow bolt struck him in the calf. He was in trouble now, stumbling, leaning against another tree, torn by brambles across the arms. Why in the calf? He was thinking rapidly. To slow him, to add to his misery. She didn’t want a sudden kill. Not for her sister’s lover.
He’d be shot through like a pin cushion by the time she’d done with him.