The Darkness Visible

by Tori de Clare

  Dan realised he was stalling and that Des Watt was eyeing him carefully. So he pressed on, threading his way uncertainly through to the reception where he collected his things. Head down, he exited the building with a strange cocktail of feelings. He was relieved and burdened, glad on the one hand, gutted on the other. He couldn’t quite work out how he felt, but the effort to sort his feelings sapped his concentration.

  ‘Dan?’

  He snapped out of a trance and looked up and took in the car park bathed in weak late-morning sunshine. Two girls were coming towards him. It took a couple of seconds to identify Naomi. The blonde must be Annabel. Naomi looked different. She’d broken away from Annabel and was rushing towards him now. He quickened his pace to meet her.

  They lunged at each other and fixed a tight embrace, neither wanting to let go of the other. She smelled of shampoo, something fruity and delicious.

  ‘I hardly recognised you,’ he said.

  ‘I hacked my hair.’

  Dan pulled back enough to take her in. ‘Oh yeah.’ He pulled her into his arms again. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Liar. Are they letting you go?’

  ‘With conditions. I have to report to the station every Monday at 7 p.m. What’s Nathan up to, Naomi?’

  ‘We should have expected it.’

  ‘How could we?’ Dan pulled her closer. ‘Stay away from him, OK?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  Annabel caught up with them. Quietly, she said, ‘Hey, hadn’t you two better tone it down? Don’t look now, but Crush is watching from the window.’

  ‘Holy crap,’ Naomi said pulling away from Dan, and he stepped back too. He’d barely even thought about where he was.

  Naomi lowered her head and her voice. ‘Annabel, Dan. Dan, Annabel.’

  Dan broke into a smirk which turned into a yawn. ‘Crush? The handshake?’ He sunk his fingers inside his hair, trying to brush off the exhaustion.

  ‘Yep,’ Annabel said. ‘You look knackered.’

  ‘Yeah, I hardly slept last night. What do they want with you?’ Dan asked Naomi.

  ‘Questions, same as you. They don’t believe us. You know Lorie and Nathan are out?’

  ‘I heard. Look, they can’t dodge the truth for long. Contact me as soon as you can. I need to see you.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a killjoy, but is that a good idea?’ Annabel asked.

  Dan shrugged. ‘Probably not.’

  Naomi nodded. ‘I destroyed Lorie’s phone. When I get a new one, I’ll contact you right away.’

  ‘Do that.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be going back to college on Monday.’

  ‘College? We need to talk. Watch out, OK?’

  Naomi linked Annabel’s arm and walked towards the station, head twisted to look over her shoulder. ‘You too.’

  <><><>

  Dan drove aimlessly. In truth, he had nowhere to go. He couldn’t trust himself around Nathan and didn’t want to crash on anyone’s sofa. Parents? The thought was torturous. Having left home, he couldn’t go back there. Besides, they were upset and distressed. He couldn’t take them on right now.

  His brain pointlessly scanned names of friends. He knew he wouldn’t call them. Snippets of police interviews were churning inside his head, overlapping with other ideas. Converging, over and over.

  It took Dan an hour to calm down enough to roll into the car park. Sleep was far from his mind. His preferred spot opposite the entrance, in the shadow of a black lamppost, was available. He slotted into it then checked for Nathan’s car and couldn’t see it.

  Don’t relax, he told himself. Dan strode towards the entrance and a guy got out of a nearby car and followed him.

  ‘Dan Stone? Would you be willing to answer a few questions?’

  Dan tapped in the security code without making eye contact and let himself into the building. His body was pumped with adrenaline. His muscles were tense and ready. He took the stairs a couple at a time and, as he approached the door, wondered if Nathan had changed the locks. One way to find out.

  He pushed his key inside the lock and twisted. Bingo. He stepped inside and closed the door with his foot while he eyed the place. Everything was still. And tidy. No pots in the sink. No crushed cans of lager on the floor. No magazines or cups or glasses or plates surrounding the sofa, the way it always was when Nathan was home. Odd. The floor had seen a vacuum cleaner. The surfaces had felt the gentle touch of a duster. Very odd.

  Dan ducked his head around the bathroom door to find an empty room. The sink was clean too. Too clean. The toilet gleamed. He rapped aggressively on Nathan’s door and got no response.

  ‘Nathan?’ he bellowed.

  He waited only a moment before pushing the door ajar. The room didn’t look like Nathan’s. The curtains were open. The room was bigger than usual; no clutter on the desk or the floor. The bed was stripped to the mattress. There was nothing of Nathan’s in any of the drawers or cupboards. No evidence he’d ever lived here.

  Dan froze between the open doors of Nathan’s wardrobe. His eyes blurred into the bare wood. His pulse settled. His muscles unlocked. This was unexpected.

  Puzzled now, he wandered to his room, opened the door and stood in the doorframe. A hint of some strange scent brushed past him and was lost to the wider space. He couldn’t identify it. Nothing could call it back. His room was as he’d left it. It was the only part of the flat that looked lived in. Nothing had changed in here. Or had it? He strolled inside and pivoted his body and twisted his head as he looked around, hands in pockets. Someone had been in here. He couldn’t justify how he knew any more than he could doubt it. He checked his bedside drawer and found his passport, which brought relief. After a brief search he decided that nothing was missing.

  Suddenly exhausted, Dan closed the curtains and dumped his phone beside the bed. He took his shoes off, undid his jeans, stepped out of them and slung them over a chair back. He peeled his sweatshirt off and piled it on his jeans. Down to his boxers, he wandered to the front door and secured the slide chain lock. If Nathan returned, he wouldn’t get in.

  Dan dropped into bed and onto a piece of paper.

  ‘What the –’

  He held it out in front of him. It was Nathan’s writing. He sat up to read it.

  If you find this, it means you’re free and the police haven’t uncovered the truth. Don’t settle. Things have a nasty habit of coming to light. I couldn’t stick around and watch you mess around with Naomi. You’re clever, Dan, I’ll give you that. You and her. You were always one step ahead of me, even when we were younger, and always so competitive. I’m moving back to Mum and Dad’s –

  Dan stopped reading and crashed his arms down. ‘What?’ He focussed on a strand of cobweb hanging from the ceiling and tried to process what he was reading. He shook his head then stuck his hand in the air which held the crumpled sheet, and continued.

  . . . and getting on with my life now. I doubt Naomi will want to know you when she’s been exposed to a few truths! So if you’re planning to rob me, forget it. You’ll never have her.

  Dan turned the page over in case there was more, but that was all. He stared at it then scrunched the sheet into a tight ball and hurled it at the bin. It missed.

  I’m getting on with my life, Dan repeated. ‘Wishful thinking, Nathan,’ he said to the empty room. There was a gap in the curtains which allowed a slice of sunlight. Dust danced in the stream of light. Sleep seemed frustratingly far away again. ‘You’re going down.’

  There was someone at the door. Three light raps. Dan went still. Tiredness left him. His body was pumped as he lay motionless. A confrontation was the last thing he needed. Three more gentle taps and a voice.

  ‘Open up, Dan.’

  ‘Oh no,’ he muttered. He knew that voice. It wasn’t Nathan’s. It was worse. Dan wrestled with indecision before tossing the duvet aside and making his way to the door without dressing. He opened it four inches and couldn’t see anyone. The chain pulled taut. ‘What do y
ou want?’

  ‘I want you to open the door,’ Vincent Solomon said quietly.

  Dan hesitated. ‘What if I don’t want to.’ A statement.

  ‘What if?’ A question that had no ending. ‘Open the door,’ he said again, chillingly insistent.

  Dan raked his fingers through his hair and wished he hadn’t answered. He freed the door from the constraints of the chain. The door was pushed open from the outside and Solomon was standing alone, wearing a tailored black suit and cream shirt undone at the collar. His fair hair was a standard cut – short back and sides. It always looked the same, as if it was trimmed every week to ensure it stayed faultlessly neat and tidy. He was shorter than Dan by four inches or so, but it was the shade and intensity of his eyes – coloured in the palest blue – that made him so intimidating.

  Solomon strode forward and Dan stepped aside then closed the door. A few tense moments passed while Solomon surveyed his surroundings, then Dan himself.

  ‘You have an incredible body, Dan. It’s quite magnificent,’ he said.

  Dan said nothing, but he wished he’d pulled on a top and jeans. He felt weirdly exposed.

  Dan stood awkwardly by the door, as if by staying there he could escape if he needed to. About six feet inside the hallway, Solomon turned. ‘I hear the police have been poking around this place.’

  ‘I don’t know why,’ Dan said.

  ‘Yes you do. There’s been a disappearance and their investigations brought them here.’

  ‘They found absolutely nothing,’ Dan said.

  ‘What have you two boys been up to? Nothing naughty I hope.’

  ‘I can’t speak for Nathan,’ Dan said, ‘but I don’t know anything about it. I’ve never even met Simon Wilde. I just want to get on with my normal life, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Solomon said, ‘That’s good, Dan. I have no problem with that. You’re a very good doctor.’ He paused to rub his face on one side. ‘But in addition, I have a job for you.’

  ‘I’m not interested.’

  A pause and a smile. ‘Yes you are. I guarantee your interest in this job.’

  ‘Whatever it is, no thank you.’

  Solomon’s smile just widened. ‘I wasn’t asking.’

  Dan couldn’t speak. His mouth was quite dry.

  Solomon took two paces forward. Dan had nowhere to go. ‘The job will be in stages and will need patience. We’ll call this phase one. It’s already begun.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Right now, you don’t need to.’

  ‘What if I refuse?’

  ‘You won’t. I’ll call you with instructions from time to time.’

  Dan couldn’t think of a response except, ‘You don’t have my number.’

  Solomon stared and didn’t blink. ‘Oh yes I do, Daniel.’

  Solomon strolled to the door, hands in pockets, paused to finger Dan’s arm just above his tattoo, then he pierced Dan with another cutting gaze. Dan didn’t move. He daren’t. Solomon eventually turned and took hold of the door handle and pulled the door towards him. ‘Sleep tight.’

  Dan stood looking at the door long after Solomon had departed. The following day, he had the locks changed and tossed away his old keys as he tried to shrug off the past.

  11

  The interview room had off-white paint flaking from the ceiling, plain walls and a strip light right above her head. Naomi had been shown to a room labelled Room 4 and left alone. She was sitting at an oblong table on a hard chair. There were three other identical chairs littered about and a small camera with a flashing red light in one corner, centimetres from the ceiling.

  Minutes passed. It was impossible not to be conscious of the camera, though she willed herself not to look at it; impossible not to imagine a team of professionals scrutinising her from some secret room, exchanging glances, taking notes. She doubted she was really that important. Still, the thought stirred awareness of every tiny movement she made, every thump of her heart, every breath she drew and exhaled.

  More time passed. She needed the toilet in the way she needed it when she was worried – like her body was working overtime, determined to offload anything that wasn’t essential. Her stomach fizzed uncomfortably. She was finding it a challenge not to fidget.

  The door opened and Pete Bailey whisked in with a brown paper file.

  ‘Hi, Naomi,’ he said, dropping the file onto the table and offering his hand. She shook it. Her eyes weighed the file, which looked worryingly thick. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. DC Watt won’t be too long. He just got held up. Can I get you a drink?’ He wrung his hands together.

  ‘No. Thanks. Is there a toilet –’

  ‘Sure,’ he about-turned swivelled and headed for the door. Naomi followed. ‘End of the corridor. Turn right. Second door on the left.’

  She nodded and attempted a smile. Her damned body was betraying her from the outset. As she wandered down the corridor and found the door bearing the little symbol of a stick figure in an A-line skirt, she imagined the men in the secret room exchanging more glances, taking more notes. She was failing at stage one while Nathan, free already, had convinced them they had no valid reason for holding him.

  She washed her hands and avoided her own eyes in the mirror, in case it was concealing another camera linked straight to the secret police den. She pictured a dark room, no windows, surrounded by screens, Big Brother watching her wherever she went, sensitive to sound, picking up her pulse. Was she colour-coded, with some high-tech machine reading her body temperature, highlighting it in red? Guilty.

  As she dried her hands beneath a roar of hot air, she realised for the first time that she was in real trouble. That Nathan and Lorie had picked up a ball and dumped it in her court. That it was her turn to serve, to play, and that she was fighting to stay in the game – a game she hadn’t prepared for and didn’t know the rules. She couldn’t decline, couldn’t opt out until she felt stronger. As she finger-combed her hair and tried to muster the courage to step out of the room, the injustice surged like a river inside her, making her want to yell and slam her fist into a wall.

  She was in no rush to find Room 4 again. Bailey was hovering in the corridor as if he didn’t quite trust her to return. There was a young policewoman in uniform standing next to him. He introduced her as PC Kerry Marshall and said that she was going off duty shortly. PC Marshall had a small face, pale green eyes and mousey-brown hair fastened into a pony.

  So Naomi was shown through the door of Room 4 and to the same chair where she found herself listening to an explanation of why she was there. A recording machine started rolling. Bailey began with formalities: name, date, time, those present.

  Then the questions began to flow. Stay calm. Tell the truth.

  ‘OK. I’d like to go back to the hotel the night of the wedding.’

  She nodded compliantly.

  ‘You say you left the hotel room to get your necklace?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  PC Marshall was staring hard, saying nothing.

  ‘It seems a strange thing to leave your husband at a time like that to get a piece of jewellery from the car.’

  ‘I’ve had that necklace since I was young and never taken it off until my wedding day. I was worried I’d dropped it somewhere.’

  ‘I see.’ He clasped his hands together. ‘Nathan said he offered to get it for you, but you insisted on going alone. Is that true?’

  A pause. ‘Yes,’ she conceded.

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘Nathan wasn’t dressed, so it was more practical for me to go. It was my necklace, my worry after all.’

  ‘So you agree that it was your idea, your decision, your agenda to leave that room; no pressure from Nathan?’

  The room was too warm. ‘No, I don’t agree.’ She took her jacket off and pushed up the sleeves of her jumper.

  ‘You don’t?’

  The door opened, bringing a breath of cool air and Des Watt. He nodded, stone
-faced and selected a chair and sat down. At least he skipped the bone-crunching ceremony. Marshall got up to leave. Bailey commentated on the comings and goings, for the record.

  ‘Naomi?’ Bailey asked, with a small smile. ‘Can you explain why you don’t agree that you were solely responsible for leaving the hotel room?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Naomi asked.

  No one answered. Crush – she couldn’t think of any other name for him now – quietly dragged up a chair and sat at the table beside Bailey and poked some loose sheets in the file with his hairy fingers.

  Naomi said, ‘He set me up.’

  ‘And by he, you mean? . . .’

  ‘Nathan. He set me up. I know I had my necklace with me. Somehow he took it from my bag so that I’d need to go and look for it.’

  ‘And how could Nathan possibly have known that you’d insist on going to look for it?’

  ‘Simple. Lorie,’ Naomi said. ‘That’s how Nathan knew everything about me, through her. Lorie knew that I wanted to wear my necklace when . . .’ her voice tailed off. ‘You know.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Crush cut in aggressively. ‘When?’

  ‘When I had sex with Nathan.’ Determined not to blush, she held his cold gaze.

  Crush slid a glance at Bailey.

  ‘So you agree you had sex with Nathan?’

  ‘No. I was abducted before it happened. The wedding night would have been my first time. Admittedly, I was obsessive about the necklace. Superstitious, I suppose. I wanted to wear it that night.’

  ‘So much so that you left the hotel room alone and in a hurry.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘But Nathan followed you, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Naomi paused. ‘That’s when I was taken – when I went out to the car, as Nathan knew I would. Dan must have confirmed that Nathan set me up.’

  ‘Oh he did,’ Crush said emphatically.

  Naomi sat back in her chair and eyed them both.

  Crush continued, ‘Just like Lorie confirmed Nathan’s story.’ Naomi didn’t react, though her pulse drove harder. ‘Want to know what that is?’