by Ben Cheetham
Julian took out Tom Benson’s card. He stared at it uncertainly a few seconds, before returning it to his pocket. Assuming Mr X did have Mia, getting the police involved might force him to carry out his threat. No, somehow, someway, he’d have to do this himself. A shadow of fear passed across his face, leaving behind a tight mask of resolution. He ducked into the car and jerked the wheel. The vehicle lurched forward, heading back into the heart of the forest. He barely let up on the accelerator even when he turned onto the lane, fearing his nerve might give way. He drove right up to the gate. The security-light was still on, illuminating an intercom box on one of the gateposts. As Julian got out of the car, a Doberman ran up to the gate and pushed its muzzle between the bars, barking. Eyeing it warily, he pressed the intercom button. After a moment, the intercom crackled to life, but no voice came over it.
Julian spoke into it, trying without success to keep emotion out of his voice and sound business-like. “I know you’ve got Mia.” He knew no such thing, of course, but he figured the bluff was worth a shot. “If she owes you money, I’m willing to pay it. I can get however much you need.” That wasn’t strictly true, but his dad had offered to buy him a new car, so he knew he could get his hands on several thousand. And if the debt was more than that he had a laptop, a PC, a stereo and plenty of other things he could sell. “I promise I won’t get the police involved.” He glanced up at the CCTV camera, waiting futilely for a reply. The silence coming over the intercom was palpable. The dog rolled its eyes at him, tongue lolling and head nodding, as though amused. He spoke into the box again. “Okay, I’m going, but my offer stands. Think it over and I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He ducked into the car, agonising over whether he’d done the right thing. Like bollocks you have, nagged an inner voice, all you’ve done is put Mia in more danger. He pushed the voice away, saying out loud, “Relax, you can do this. It’s just business, that’s all.” The whole way home, he kept repeating the words over and over, as if they were a mantra to ward off evil. They snagged in his throat when he saw Tom Benson waiting at the end of the driveway. The thought flashed through his mind that he was wrong about Mr X having Mia, that they’d dragged her out of the river. He lowered the window and asked with a sharp, metallic anxiety, “What is it? Have you found her?”
Tom Benson shook his head. Julian had no time to feel relieved as, getting into the passenger seat, the detective said, “We need to talk. And you’d better be ready to do some serious explaining. We received a call tonight about an attempted break-in at a house out on The Old Forest Road. The homeowner heard someone trying to jimmy a window. He tried to apprehend the intruder, who was...” He flipped open a notepad and read from it, “a boy of about fifteen or sixteen, slim build, shaved head. But after a struggle, the intruder managed to get away. A car was caught on CCTV at the scene.” He patted the dashboard. “This car.”
Julian knew the game was up – he’d known it from the instant Tom Benson opened his mouth. So, heaving a sigh, he just plunged in and told him everything about Jake, Ginger and Mr X. “Christ,” said the policeman, when Julian was finished. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about Mia, about saving her life.”
“You should’ve come to us.”
“I wanted to, but if Mr X-”
Tom Benson cut Julian off with a snort of impatience. “There’s no such person as Mr X.”
“But Ginger-”
“Ginger’s a lying, conniving, junkie who’d tell you anything to save her worthless hide.”
“No, she was telling the truth. How else would she know that house was there?”
“Maybe she didn’t, maybe she was just looking for an opportunity to get away.”
Julian sat in frowning silence. Could the detective be right? It didn’t take him long to admit that he could well be. After all, why else would Mr X, or whatever his name was, have contacted the police? Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to accept the possibility. Sure, Ginger probably hadn’t told him the whole truth, but the fear he’d seen in her eyes, and in Jake’s, had been genuine. He felt certain of it. “So who lives at that house?”
“A businessman.”
“What’s his name?”
“I can’t tell you that. He’s a law-abiding citizen with a right to privacy.”
“How do you know he’s law-abiding? Have you been and checked him out?”
“That’s where I’m heading as soon as I’ve finished with you.” Tom Benson sighed, looking across at Julian with something approaching sympathy. “Look, I know it’s easier to believe in Mr X than face up to the possibility that Mia Bradshaw’s killed herself, but I’m telling you Ginger fed you a line of horseshit. I’ll tell you something else, too. And I’m only going to tell you it one more time. Withholding information from the police is a criminal offence. So if you’ve got anything else to say…” He let the sentence hang like a threat.
“The only thing I have to say is, you’re wrong about Ginger lying. Mr X exists.”
Tom Benson shook his head in exasperation. “You don’t seem to realise the trouble you’re in, Julian. You have any idea the charges you could be facing? Breaking and entering, assault, kidnapping. By rights I should be taking you to jail. The only reason I’m not is because I know you did all this to try and save a young girl’s life. Now, when I speak to the man whose house you and Jake broke into tonight I’ll explain that to him, and maybe he won’t press charges. And when I find Ginger I’ll try and convince her not to press charges either.” The detective’s features grew grim. “But if you persist with this Mr X nonsense, if you continue to harass this man, I’ll be forced to arrest you. Do you understand? Am I getting through that stubborn head of yours?”
Julian nodded. “Will you call me after you’ve spoken to Mr…to the businessman?”
“Sure.” Tom Benson got out of the car. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and if you see Jake Bradshaw again, make sure the next thing you do is call me.”
Julian drove into the driveway, aware of the policeman watching him. Quietly as possible he entered the house and made his way to his bedroom. A glance in the mirror showed him there was a half-egg shaped swelling where he’d hit his head, and his pupils were huge with concussion. He flopped onto the bed, not bothering to undress or get under the duvet. Again, he wondered whether Tom Benson was right. Again, he dismissed the possibility. The detective was either mistaken or lying. Maybe that’s what Jake had meant when he said, you can’t help her. Maybe the local police were corrupt. Maybe the whole fucking town was corrupt. When he closed his eyes, he felt the dropping sensation again. He was falling, dropping down, down into a fog of doubt, where he saw nothing but lies. Lies. Everywhere lies. They crowded in on him as thickly as trees in a forest, until it was impossible to know where they stopped and the truth began.
Chapter 18
Julian felt something prodding him. “Julian, Julian.” His dad’s insistent voice summoned him away from the horror of his dreams. His eyes flicked open and he yanked the duvet over his groin to hide his erection.
“What is it?” he asked groggily.
“Time for work.” Frowning with concern, Robert pointed at Julian’s forehead. “What happened?”
Remembering about the car, Julian’s mind raced for a credible lie to explain the damage. The worst thing in the world, his mum’s words echoed in his mind as he said, “I was driving in the forest and hit a deer. I braked so hard my head rammed into the steering-wheel. One of the headlights got damaged and I think there might be a few dents. I’m sorry.”
At the very least, Julian expected a lecture about driving carefully – he’d often been warned to watch out for deer crossing the forest roads – but his dad merely smiled. “No need to apologise, it’s not your fault. As long as you’re okay.”
Julian managed to return a smile. He was still unsure what to make of this new, softer version of his dad. He wanted to believe the change was real, but the cynic in him s
aid it was for his mum’s benefit. “I’m fine.”
“What were you doing in the forest?”
“Just driving and thinking about the business. You know, trying to come up with ideas.”
“And did you?”
“One or two.”
“Well, I look forward to hearing them. Get yourself in the shower. I’d better check the damage.”
Julian checked his phone. There were no missed calls. There was a message from Eleanor, though. ‘Call me. X’ it read. Julian deleted it. After showering and dressing, he called goodbye to his mum and hurried outside. He was hollow with hunger, but he knew that if he sat down to breakfast he’d have to lie to her about the bruise on his temple – and he preferred hunger to that. His dad was waiting by the car. “Looks like you hit the deer full on,” he said, pointing to smears of blood where Jake had leant on the bonnet.
“Mind if I drive?” asked Julian, needing to keep active to keep his mind off Mia. Robert shook his head. As he got into the car, Julian quickly laid his jacket over the bloodstains on the backseat.
On the way to the factory, Robert said, “So tell me about these ideas.”
“Um, erm, well, err,” stammered Julian, wracking his brain for something, anything, to offer his dad. “I was thinking we need a new website.”
“The current site’s only a couple of years old.”
“I know, but web design moves fast, the site looks dated, and it’s awkward to navigate.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Robert cautiously agreed. “But I thought we were looking to reduce costs.”
“If we build a new site and hype it, I’m sure it’ll pay for any capital invested.”
“Okay. Look into it. See how much it’ll cost.”
At the factory, Robert showed Julian to a room adjacent to his office that’d been used to store files and other clutter, but which now contained a desk, chair, computer and phone. “How do you like it?” he asked, watching his son eagerly for approval of what he’d done.
“It’s great,” said Julian, trying to keep the sinking feeling out of his voice.
Robert patted him on the shoulder. “I’d better get back to it. If you need me, you know where I am.”
Julian moved behind the desk and sat down. He stared at his reflection in the monitor, thinking, this is it, this is the next thirty or forty years of your life. He pictured what he’d look like after all those years – rounded shoulders, double-chin, red-rimmed eyes, face as pale and lumpy as fungus. The image would’ve bothered him more if his head hadn’t been so full of Mia. He tried to redirect his thoughts, booting up the PC, browsing through lists of web designers, even phoning for a couple of quotes. But Mia’s face continually rose into his mind, blotting out everything else. He kept seeing her in that hometown girl getup. Against his will, he kept seeing her doing the things Ginger had said she’d done. He couldn’t shake the images. They picked him up and carried him out of the office, carried him all the way to his dad’s car. He still had the keys. He drove away from the factory fast with all the windows down, letting air wash over him like a cold shower.
Feeling calmer and cleaner, he phoned Tom Benson and said, “I thought you were going to call me.”
“I was, but I also happen to be running a major investigation into a missing girl,” the policeman responded curtly. “Anyway, you’ll be relieved to know that no charges regarding last night’s little escapade will be pressed at this time.”
Julian wasn’t relieved. He couldn’t have cared less. All he cared about right then was Mia. “Did you search the house?”
“I had no right or reason to search it.”
“But what about what Ginger said?”
“I thought we discussed this. Besides, I’ve not been able to get hold of Ginger to speak to.”
That gave Julian a bad feeling. “Maybe Mr X has got her.”
Tom Benson’s breath hissed into the phone. “If I hear that name one more time, I’m hanging up. Ginger’s probably not at home because she’s terrified you and Jake will come after her again.”
Julian doubted that. If Mr X didn’t have her, it was more likely she’d be out looking for him and Jake with Bull and the other Outlaws. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, half-expecting to see a string of lowriders in pursuit, but the forest road was empty. “So you’re not going to do anything?”
“Not unless Ginger corroborates your story. And she’s more likely to put you in jail than do that.” A warning note entered the detective’s voice. “Remember what I said, Julian. You’re treading on very thin ice. Slip up again and there’ll be nothing I can do for you.”
“I realise that, thanks.”
Julian slowed to turn into the lane. When he reached the gate, the dog was there. It didn’t bark, but rolled its eyes at him as if to say, not you again. He pressed the intercom button. As before, after a minute or so, the intercom crackled into life. And again, as before, no voice came over it, but he could sense a presence on the other end of the line, a background sound that might’ve been static or might’ve been breath clicking faintly in a throat. Emulating as best he could his dad’s sharp but sincere business voice, he said, “That was clever going to the police like that, but unnecessary. This has nothing to do with them. It’s a business transaction, pure and simple. I’ll give you however much money you want, and you’ll give me Mia. No one will say anything to anyone, you have my word. I don’t care about what goes on here. All I want is Mia.”
The intercom’s silence roared at Julian. It didn’t scare him as it had previously, it only made him more determined. “How about I double whatever Mia owes you,” he offered. However much it turned out to be – five thousand, fifty thousand – he’d find a way to raise it, even if it meant stealing from the business accounts.
More silence – ominous, foreboding silence – unbroken except for the clicking. Click, click, click, it came, so tiny Julian began to wonder whether he really heard it or whether it was a creation of his imagination fuelled by Ginger’s description of Mr X’s voice.
“Okay, I’ll triple it, quadruple it, whatever-” Realising he was starting to sound desperate, Julian broke off. Keep cool, he told himself, this isn’t about emotion, it’s about business. That wasn’t true, of course, but he had to kid himself to keep from breaking down and begging. When he next spoke, his voice was tightly controlled. “If you need more time that’s fine. I’ll be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and I’ll keep coming back as long as it takes to get an answer.” He waited a breath to see if his words drew a response, before adding, “I realise you can make life difficult for me, but I can make life difficult for you too. I know a lot of people in this town – journalists and other people who’d be very interested to know what goes on out here. So just think about that before you go phoning Tom Benson.”
Julian managed a crooked smile and a wave at the CCTV camera, before returning to his car. As he drove away, his business face slipped and his breath came out like it’d been trapped. If you’re not in jail tonight, he thought, you’ll know you’re right about Mr X. And what if you are in jail? wondered another part of his mind. Will that mean you’re wrong about him? Will it mean Mia’s dead? Or will it simply mean that Mr X doesn’t fear your threats? His mind circled like a merry-go-round, faster, faster, getting nowhere, making his bruised temple throb. At the edge of town, he stopped at an off-licence to buy some whisky. He’d discovered a taste for it while drinking his dad’s, and the heat of it calmed his brain. He half-expected to find Tom Benson waiting for him when he got back to his office. The detective wasn’t there, but Eleanor was. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“You don’t return my calls, so I came to see you in person.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?” said Eleanor, hurt that he needed to ask. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay – which you’re obviously not.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” Julian was trying to be brusque, but there was little force
in his voice.
“Why not?”
“I promised your dad I’d stay away from you until this…thing is over.”
Eleanor frowned. “Dad had no right to make you promise that. I’m not a kid anymore, Julian. I make my own decisions, and if I want to see you then that’s up to me.”
“We were only trying to protect you.”
“Well I don’t need to be protected.”
Yes, you do, Julian told himself. He didn’t say anything to Eleanor, though. He didn’t have the energy to manoeuvre his way around all the questions such a response would provoke. “You should leave.”
Instead of doing so, Eleanor stepped closer to him – close enough that he caught her scent. She smelled of soap and talcum powder. He had a sudden urge to bury his face in her hair, hold on to her tightly while pouring everything, all the frustration, anxiety and fear of the past few days into her ears. He knew she’d gladly take it from him, but he couldn’t allow himself to pollute her with it. Rightly or wrongly, he’d come to think of her as something pure and good, something that needed to be preserved. “This thing with Mia Bradshaw could go on and on,” she said. “If you keep your promise, I might not see you again for days, weeks, maybe even months. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not, but-”
“But nothing.” Eleanor interjected. The soft line of her lips drew into a sad smile. “Don’t you understand, Julian? I can see you’re hurting, and anything that hurts you hurts me. I’d convinced myself I didn’t love you anymore, but seeing you like this, looking so…so tired and lost, I realise I was wrong.” She looked up into Julian’s face for a reply or some sign that her feelings were reciprocated. He remained silent. He suddenly felt that if he spoke tears would come streaming from his eyes. And he knew he couldn’t afford to cry. If he was going to have to keep returning to Mr X’s house day after day, week after week, month after month, he needed to keep his emotions locked down tight.
“Don’t worry,” said Eleanor. “I don’t expect you to say you love me back. I know –at least, I think I know – you have feelings for me. For the time being, it’s enough if you’ll just let me be with you. Let me help you.”