by A J Waines
‘Not a thing – you?’
‘The police think he’s either a long way away by now – or that he’s…you know…’
I let out a prolonged sigh.
On the way back, we stopped off at a small lake, set in a ring of pine trees. The thaw had continued; it was a relief to see the solid earth pushing through, restoring itself again. Walking back to the car we took a detour and found ourselves in a group of abandoned farm buildings. Nina had to refer to her map.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I think we should have stayed on the track back there.’ She traced a line across the page. ‘If we turn right, here, we should be okay.’
We followed a tumbling wall along the edge of a path and threaded our way through a pile of old railway sleepers. A trailing rope caught my eye; swinging from the branch of a tree with a thick piece of wood on the end and several knots above it.
‘The boys at my school used to call them “Tarzies” when I was growing up, after Tarzan,’ I told Nina, pointing it out.
‘What’s that?’ she said, pointing to a cream coloured shape behind a clump of trees. We walked towards it. It was a caravan right in the middle of nowhere.
‘It looks really old,’ I said. ‘Abandoned by the looks of it.’
‘The door’s slightly open – shall we have a quick look?’
I stood still. I wasn’t sure I was in an intrepid mood; all I wanted was for everything to be ordinary, safe and straightforward. But she’d already eased open the door.
‘There’s no one here,’ she called brightly.
I stood on the metal step outside while she looked around. From the doorway, it looked like kids might have been using it, with no one to clear up after them.
‘Someone’s been here recently,’ she called out. I stood on the mat inside the door. There was an empty carton of milk on a counter amongst a pile of crisp packets, empty foil containers from take-aways, cans of lager and a newspaper. She read out the date. ‘December 2nd, this year – the milk says sell-by December 4th.’
‘The second of December? Wasn’t that the day the boy was taken?’
‘I’m calling the police,’ she said. ‘They need to know about this.’ She pulled out her phone, but couldn’t get a signal. She stepped outside to get a connection.
I found myself giving the place a visual once-over, being careful not to touch anything. It smelt like my dad’s damp shed with an additional rising current of stale urine.
All the surfaces were covered in unopened packets of food and tins, as if someone had tipped out a bag full of provisions instead of putting them away in the cupboards. Unwashed dishes and two pans caked in sauce from a tin of baked beans were stacked in the sink.
One bunk had been used; there was a sleeping bag and blanket on it, tossed aside. There were no clothes, no other belongings. It looked like only one person had been there, but going by the remaining provisions, they’d had every intention of coming back.
I could hear Nina taking instructions over the phone. ‘Right, okay…no…I understand…of course.’
She came inside. ‘They already know about it,’ she said, sounding disappointed. ‘Forensics have been over it and they think the boy was here at some stage.’
‘Really…?’
She tentatively opened the cupboards under the sink; the drawers between the bunks. She saw my disapproving look. ‘So – it doesn’t matter if we touch things,’ she said.
‘What are you looking for?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. Anything.’
We were about to go, when Nina jumped. ‘Argh – there’s a mouse!’ she cried. She stuck out her tongue and patted her chest.
I gave a light-hearted laugh, but my mind was on something else. I’d sent my eyes instinctively down to the point on the floor where she’d seen the movement and spotted a small loop. A thick black rubber band. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, had I not seen one just like it on Charlie’s wrist. Had Charlie been here with the missing boy?
The police couldn’t have seen it or maybe they’d overlooked it – it wasn’t anything personal, after all. They wouldn’t have known it had any significance.
I didn’t tell Nina and we turned to go. As she referred again to the map, I spotted scraps of torn blue police tape discarded in the bushes, flapping in the wind like trapped birds.
Nina’s phone rang as soon as we found the car. ‘When? Is he okay? Of course. Where was he? Oh. Thanks. I’ll see you soon.’
‘That was Malcolm,’ she said, pulling on to the road again. ‘He’s been speaking to one of the police officers and they’ve had a sighting of the missing boy.’
‘Really? When?’
‘Someone’s only just contacted them to say they saw him being put into a car on Monday evening. Malcolm knows more – he’s got quite chummy with the local bobby. Do you want to come back to the cottage and get all the details?’
Chapter 33
The next half an hour trawled on as I ached to find out more about the boy. Driving back seemed to take an inordinately long time. Finally, the three of us settled with hot drinks, and Malcolm gave us the full story.
‘I’m not sure how much closer it gets the police,’ he said, ‘but they think Brody was handed over to someone near Craigleven on Monday evening around nine-fifteen. The driver took off, but the witness didn’t register the make or colour of the car – it was too dark. The witness was a man in his sixties, apparently he heard the baby crying and a car door shutting, but he didn’t think anything of it until he came back from Glasgow last night and heard the news.’
‘Did they find any evidence, though?’ asked Nina.
‘Yes, the police found a small yellow bootie nearby. Mrs Holland identified it as Brody’s. And there were tyre tracks they’ll want to examine.’
‘Isn’t Craigleven near where we got lost?’ I said. ‘Near the caravan?’
Nina was about to answer when Malcolm spoke again. ‘The sergeant mentioned a caravan. They said Brody had definitely been there and they’re still running forensic tests. They’ve got various items of adult clothing and found a selection of photographs – all different babies. There was also a hand-drawn map of the local area marking out the cottage where Brody was taken. Oh, and scribbled at the side was “9.15pm”, so that links in with the witness.’
‘The handover time?’ I asked.
‘Looks like it. Whoever had him wasn’t exactly smart,’ Malcolm added, tutting. ‘Leaving obvious evidence around like that…’
Malcolm didn’t know Charlie had never made it back to the caravan; he’d probably planned a major clear up before he took off for Europe.
‘So they still don’t know if Brody is alive or not?’ said Nina, her fingers fiddling around her mouth.
‘No,’ he said, softly. He put an arm round her. ‘But it sounds like it was planned and money probably changed hands and, if that’s the case, Brody had a value and it wouldn’t make sense to harm him.’
‘That’s what I need to know,’ she whispered. ‘It’s my fault they didn’t start looking for him sooner.’
Malcolm pulled her to him. ‘It’s not your fault. You weren’t to know.’
‘The police told you a lot,’ I said, surprised at how detailed his information was.
He chuckled. ‘I managed to catch Tom – Sergeant Harris – at the pub. He was knackered – they’re all doing shifts around the clock and he let his guard down probably more than he should have done.’
It sounded like a party was in full swing when Nina dropped me back at the cottage. It was mid-afternoon, but a blast of alcohol fumes hit me as soon as I got through the door.
‘Here she is – the lonely wanderer,’ said Mark as I put my head around the sitting room door.
‘Come-on-in,’ said Jodie, slurring her words so they came out as one. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor waving a bottle of wine.
‘It’s a bit early,’ I said. ‘I’ll join you later.’
Mark muttered somethi
ng I didn’t hear and Jodie sniggered.
‘Join us for a cup of tea, then,’ said Karen. She was sitting apart from them with a mug at her side.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, backing out. ‘I’ll be upstairs.’
‘I’ll bring one up in a bit,’ she insisted. I shut the door without a sound and went to my room.
I’d been trying to read my novel and had fallen asleep on the bed, when I heard the door open. There was a thud as someone tripped over the ruckled carpet just inside the door. I woke and turned over. Karen took hold of the iron bedstead to steady herself.
‘Only me,’ she said, trying to stop the tea from spilling. ‘See how easy it is to slip on these floors? No wonder Char—’
‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘Please don’t.’ I sat upright taking the mug.
‘Can I sit?’ she said and perched on the edge of the counterpane without waiting for a reply. ‘Remember when I used to come to your room at Uni?’
‘I think it was me who used to come to you,’ I said dryly.
She didn’t acknowledge her mistake. ‘We talked about the boys you fancied and worked out little schemes and plans in order to get them to notice you.’
I remembered. ‘It paid off in the end,’ I said. ‘Sort of.’ I looked at her, wishing we could wipe out the last few days altogether. ‘You helped me a lot.’
Her eyelids drooped and her head drifted to one side as if it was too heavy for her to keep upright. There was no sparkle in her eyes, no soft sheen to her skin. Without the smile, she looked like someone who’d battled with life and lost – it was her smile, I realised, that kept her face alive.
I’d changed in the time we’d been apart, but so had she. There were rough edges to her now that I’d never seen before and a brutal calculation in her eyes that unnerved me. I wanted to put it down to the business over Charlie – but it was more than that. I felt like I barely knew her at all.
‘There’s some good news,’ I said brightly. ‘I heard that Charlie had passed the boy on to someone…like you said.’
‘I told you.’
‘It means we weren’t to blame…you know…with Charlie out of the picture. The boy had already been taken somewhere else by then.’
‘Have they found the boy?’
I looked down at the bedspread, tugged at one of the candlewick tufts. ‘No.’
I waited for her to say something reassuring or supportive, but she simply stared blankly ahead. I changed the subject.
‘Do you keep in touch with Mel’s father?’
‘Not really. It’s complicated.’
‘Do you really miss that life – in Los Angeles?’
‘Yes and no,’ she said, noncommittally.
I took a breath. ‘Does Mark owe you money? Is that why he’s here? Does that explain the ten-thousand pounds I found?’
She shot upright as if someone had thrown cold water in her face. ‘Don’t be silly.’ She lurched towards me. I thought she was going to slap me. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t understand any of it, Alice – so just leave it.’
I straightened up, pressing my hands flat down on the bedspread. ‘Who killed Charlie, Karen? Who killed him?’
Her stare set my eyes on fire. She swung round and kicked the door shut with her foot, turned back to me and snatched my arms, pulling me up from the bed to face her.
Her words were clear and precise. ‘You know who killed him.’ Then she shook me so violently that my teeth rattled. ‘Don’t you start going all flaky on me, okay?’ I’d rarely seen her this angry. ‘STOP asking questions and nosing around. You’ll make people suspicious and you’ll say something stupid.’
Her thumbs were making divots in my arms. ‘You’re hurting me!’ I said, trying to pull away. She was way too strong for me. I’d never faced her in this way before. When had she become so aggressive? She had muscles of steel and could have overpowered me in an instant if she’d wanted to.
She dropped my arms and left the room without saying another word.
Stuart picked me up at 8pm and I felt I could finally breathe again. ‘You’re quiet,’ he said as we drove into the lane at the end of the track.
‘Been a long day,’ I said.
It had, but there was so little about it I could tell him. I couldn’t mention Karen’s behaviour – he’d want to know why she was so upset. I found the two things that were on reasonably safe ground: the latest news from Malcolm and finding the caravan.
‘And the police think Brody had been held there?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Not for long. It was abandoned and it didn’t look like anyone was going back.’
‘Did you take a look around?’
‘Yes – the door was open.’
‘And? What did you find?’ There was an urgency in his tone that didn’t fit with simple curiosity.
‘Nothing. It was a mess. Tatty, dirty – like someone had made use of it for a few days and then taken off.’ His shoulders climbed an inch. Was he testing me? ‘Stuart, do you know something?’
He looked startled and took his eyes off the road for a little too long. ‘About the boy? No…’
I pointed urgently at the road ahead, he swerved to correct our position and slowed down.
‘We’ve…stepped right into the middle of something, here,’ he muttered.
An odd thing to say, I thought, but I didn’t answer him; I wanted to get to the pub in once piece.
It was a rowdy Saturday night and I was glad. I wanted to lose myself in the boisterous trivialities of ordinary people living ordinary lives. We found a table set apart in an archway and I bought the first round.
‘What did you mean… “stepped right into the middle of something?”’ I asked.
He took a long sip of Guinness. ‘Did you manage to get the photos?’
I put them on the table between us.
‘Well done.’ He took them out one by one and scrutinised them. I dotted my finger in the froth inside my glass, waiting for him to say something. ‘These could have been taken anywhere – there’s nothing about LA stamped on them.’ He looked closer. ‘In fact, this one wasn’t taken in America at all.’
I leaned forward. ‘Why? How can you tell?’
It was the one with Karen in a kitchen, wearing shorts, with a child holding her hand. ‘Look at the packets on the shelves.’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘See the box that says “cornflour” on the side? In the US, they don’t call it cornflour, they call it cornstarch.’
I considered it. ‘Maybe she…brought it with her from the UK.’ He gave me a cynical look.
‘And there’s this,’ he continued. See here, the blue box of clingfilm on the counter – they call it plastic wrap over there.’
‘Really?’ He looked thoughtful, flapping the photo against his palm. ‘You know a lot about it,’ I said disconcerted.
He looked at the others. ‘She’s lying,’ he said, a misty look in his eyes. ‘These pictures weren’t taken in America.’
I looked down at my drink, about to take a sip, then spoke instead. ‘But why would she lie? Being an au pair over there isn’t exactly impressive – it’s not exactly enviable.’
‘But it’s credible,’ he said. ‘Also, a bit fanciful and glamorous from what you’ve described. A famous actor who fathered her child, but she won’t tell you who it is? Hard to check up on.’
‘Okay,’ I conceded. ‘Maybe it’s because she’s spent the last six years doing some run-of-the-mill office job. Maybe she’s embarrassed and made up the story about being in Hollywood.’
He put the photos back in the envelope. ‘She’s gone to great lengths to hide the truth, don’t you think? She must have brought the photos with her specially, maybe even staged them, because she knew you’d ask. None of you questioned them, did you?’
‘That’s true.’ I nipped my lips together.
Stuart was far away, following his own train of thought and I lost him for a while. He finished
his drink and plonked the empty glass down on the beer mat. ‘Mmm – it’s all falling into place.’
‘Falling into place? What do you mean?’
His eyes flew to mine, as if he hadn’t meant to say those last words out loud. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said.
I always hated it when people said that. It means they didn’t trust you. I looked at my watch, but he was already on his feet ready to order another drink.
I must have been quiet for a while after he came back, because he asked me if I was feeling unwell.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Just thinking that our holiday is half over.’
Perhaps he was overly shy or a proper gentleman – but time was running out between us. Was he married or gay, or just not interested in that way? I didn’t know – but he was shutting me out and I was starting to give up on him. I wondered again about his questions about Karen.
‘Why the interest in Karen’s past, Stuart? What are you looking for?’
He paused and ran his finger around the rim of his glass. ‘I don’t like to see people getting messed about,’ he said slowly.
‘Me – you mean?’
‘Anybody.’
I didn’t understand exactly what he meant, but I could see from the set look on his face that I wasn’t going to get any further.
‘Are you looking forward to getting back to the University – to Edinburgh?’ I asked.
He stretched before he answered. ‘Not to the unruly students, but I’ve missed home comforts – my books, my bread-maker and the cat,’ he said. He pointed towards the nearest window. ‘But how could you not love this landscape – it’s so rich and slow. Oh, I meant to ask, have you taken many photos?’
Taking pictures had been the last thing on my mind. ‘Not as many as I should have,’ I said. ‘By the way, how good are your binoculars? Could I have a look at them?’
I’d been considering going down the loch to check the view of the water from different vantage points. I wanted to know how likely it was that Karen and I could have been spotted in the boat.
‘Binoculars?’
‘For birdwatching. Isn’t that why you are here – to look for birds?’