“I need...” Max’s voice cracked, ‘I need water.” He turned away.
Inspector Keir sighed. “I’ll go.”
“Max, please sit down?” said Detective Brooks. “Are you sure you’ve never spoken with this Corey? We are running a check on your calls, office and landlines too.”
“No I haven’t,” Max replied through gritted teeth and sat back down.
Inspector Keir returned and set a plastic cup on the table.
Max drank it back and slowly crushed the cup in his hand.
“Another thing I’m surprised about is that you hadn’t considered the potential for this sort of development.” Detective Brooks tapped his pen lightly on the edge of the table. “I’m at a loss as to why you didn’t mention such vital details sooner. I can’t imagine Katriina withholding any information that could lead us to Lyssa. I’m sure she’s wondering why you’d deliberately mislead us.”
“Yes, I know,” said Max. “Katriina won’t forgive me, and who can blame her.”
“I understand why Corey is out to get you and your family, but you’re not off the hook. You stole a huge sum of money, and for all we know you finished Roy off, to ensure you could keep it.” He paused. “Am I right?”
“I only wanted to help him,” said Max.
“I’m also wondering if you already knew Roy. Knew about the stash of money and that he would be up Benn Arum when you were. The reason I’m wondering is because we’ve run a detailed check on you and your family, and more specifically, your father. As you are aware, your father is no stranger to money problems, and I’m hazarding a guess that these issues have had repercussions for you and your outlook on money.”
“It doesn’t follow that I’m a criminal does it, just because my dad was?”
“But you are, Max? I’m not getting through to you am I? You’re still in denial. I hate to break this to you, but you did steal the money, money that wasn’t yours to take. Stealing makes you a criminal. You have no idea where it came from – dealing drugs, someone’s hard earned life savings. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms.
Max cleared his throat and spoke steadily. “When I found the bag, I brought it to Roy, tried to talk about it. He woke up and grabbed me. I pushed him off, and I think he fell backwards. His head was already badly injured when we found him though. Ask Katriina.”
“I believe Max, that when you found the money you were only thinking how lucky you were and how much you wanted to keep it. I also believe you knew that if Roy recovered, you’d have no chance of keeping it. I think the minute you found it you began to imagine what you could, would do with it,” he said, and held Max’s gaze.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“But it was Max. Otherwise you would have handed over the money straight away. Wouldn’t you?” The authoritative tone of his voice left no room for argument.
“I didn’t think that at the time, but . . .” Max held his gaze, and twisted his wedding ring.
“It’s a straightforward case of a man in denial Max, and I’ve seen it time and time again in people just like you. Often highly educated professionals, hopelessly self-seeking in the pursuit of their own selfish ambitions, profoundly arrogant and just as deeply flawed,” Detective Brooks said calmly, and then dropped his hand onto the table, like a judge striking his gavel on the courtroom desk. He’d delivered his verdict.
“OK, this is a matter for the courts.” Inspector Keir shut her folder and pushed back her chair. “You can rest assured there will be a full investigation into Roy’s death as well as the money, where it came from and what you’ve done with it since. For now, we need to focus on Lyssa. You will remain with us. We will use your phone, with your help when needed and we’ll start by trying to bring about an email conversation with Corey. See if we can find out where he’s hiding, and hopefully Lyssa, too.”
“I can’t stay here,” Max said, and got up to leave. “I need to be with Katriina and Louis. They need my help. At least let me call her?”
“I think you’ve already done more than enough to help, don’t you, Max?” Detective Brooks replied evenly.
“But I have to make things right.”
“You can still try. You’re our strongest link to Corey, to Lyssa. Are you prepared to do what it takes to find him…Lyssa?”
“I’ll do anything. But I can’t do anything shut in here. You haven’t arrested me.”
“Not yet we haven’t,” said Inspector Keir, before she turned to leave.
Lost for words, Max fell silent.
“Good boy,” said Detective Brooks. “We’ll come back when we need you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Tippelin
Dawn broke as I set off driving and subtle streaks of violet and pink undulated and lit up the sky above Loch Dubh and Applecross, and gave them a surreal, dreamlike appearance. Within minutes, the sunrise created an even more dramatic sky, slashed through with vivid shades of red, which burnished the crests and valleys of the hillsides. Although it dazzled, I knew it didn’t bode well for decent weather. I pleaded for the elements to be kind, for I knew how storms, mist and rain could make walking in the hills so much tougher.
Wide awake now in the unambiguous daylight, I convinced myself that what I’d experienced hadn’t only been a nightmare, but something tangible, something that would lead me to Lyssa. I would have liked to ask for help from the police, but I knew they wouldn’t take a dream seriously. Even to me it sounded ludicrous and hardly a convincing piece of evidence. But something else drove me too. I felt so hurt and betrayed by Max that in my quest there was a part of me that wanted to be far away from him. I was angry and I didn’t care if they’d arrested him and locked him up. As far as I was concerned he deserved it.
Thankfully, my hormones remained low, and despite the occasional wave of nausea, I didn’t think I’d succumb to sickness. One hour in and the previous snapshot of the resplendent sunrise had given way to a typical misty and murky Highland morning. I switched the radio to the local channel and when the news came on it focussed on Lyssa and the latest developments. At least she was still headline news and hadn’t been pushed aside by other stories.
The newscaster said, “Police are urging the public close to Arrochar and Loch Lomond especially, but also throughout the UK, to remain vigilant and to ring the helpline if they see or hear anything suspicious. The investigation is now following significant leads in the area.”
As the news ended, Dad’s phone rang. I grappled around in my rucksack, but by the time I’d located it, it had stopped. A ping indicated a voicemail. Just moments later, it rang again. I glanced down and saw it was our landline. Mum had found my note, and there wasn’t anything else I could tell them right now. Besides, if I stopped to make calls, it would slow me down and I knew they’d only try to discourage me from taking unnecessary risks. Another voicemail arrived. The phone’s charge had run low and I powered it off.
The quiet time allowed me some respite to think things through. Deceased Roy Simpson and his deranged son, Max’s terrible deceit, everything that happened previously and was happening now. It slowly sank in, and despite feeling sick with fear for what Lyssa was going through, I felt more in control than I had since it had all began.
I continued onwards through Inchnadamph, Ullapool, and Drumnadrochit but I felt dangerously heavy-eyed, and stopped at a roadside garage. As I paid for a coffee, I noticed a young assistant staring at me. Her eyes were thick with lurid make-up.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” she said. “Are you Lyssa’s mum, the girl on the news?”
“Ummm, yes,” I said, disarmed by her insensitivity.
“What’s the latest news?” And without waiting for a reply. “It breaks my heart to think of what he could have done to her. I’m sorry for you… for Lyssa.” And she held up her phone to take my photo.
I backed away. “I can’t talk.”
“I hope she’s OK and you find her,” she called.
I head
for the exit.
I started the car, pressed my foot hard on the accelerator and turned onto the main road. The screech of tyres filled the car. Fierce tears blinded my eyes and I pulled into the kerbside. I had to be right. I couldn’t doubt myself or what I was doing. I remembered the calls I’d had and knew I should check my messages. I couldn’t afford to miss a piece of vital news. There were several missed calls and three voice messages.
The first message was from Dad. His voice sounded strained. “Katriina, I hope you know what you’re doing. We’ll call if we hear anything. We love you.”
I wiped my eyes and blew my nose.
The second was from Max.
“Kat, I can’t come home right now. Inspector Keir thinks I can help get in touch with Roy’s son. His name is Corey. Call me when you get this. Please, Kat, it’s important.”
The third message was from Inspector Keir.
“Katriina, I know what you’re trying to do, but you should leave this to the police. We know who he is and you cannot tackle him alone. He isn’t at his home address, and we’ve checked all other likely locations. This man is extremely dangerous.”
I snorted at her final comment.
Such words from a senior police officer was stating the bloody obvious. A child abductor was hardly going to be the sort to invite me in for a spot of afternoon tea, I thought. But I felt more confident about taking things into my own hands and I drove on with added resolve.
I turned to Radio 4 for the national news, but instead a drama about domestic violence had started. I listened for a minute or two before I switched off. The caffeine kicked in and worked its mini-miracle, and I felt re-energized as I continued along the rolling roads through Fort Augustus, Fort William, and Glencoe. Unlike previous occasions, I didn’t pull over to admire the magnificent landscapes or take photographs.
With a sense of hope I finally drove through Tippelin and pulled onto the grassy verge in front of the youth hostel. The wall of wisteria greeted me, green but not yet in full bloom. My overnight stay with the walking group twenty years ago came flooding back, with its terrible and wonderful events. Looking at the building now, I even recalled that the upstairs sash window on the right was the same room I shared with the other girls. I could never have anticipated revisiting the same place under such dissimilar circumstances.
The garden, with its lush, striped lawn, sloped smoothly down to the road on both sides of the short gravelled drive, with a low stone wall that separated it from the verge. Dying daffodils sat amidst brightly tipped tulips in the narrow borders that ran the perimeter of the lawns. Mature trees with burgeoning foliage of olive, khaki and bottle greens stood proudly either side of the hostel, and for a moment I returned to that momentous weekend.
A peculiar tranquillity descended. I’d expected sirens or police officers in the village. I thought I’d see them knock on doors, talk to residents, but there was nothing like the hands on, investigative scenes you see on the news.
I stepped out of the car and felt a strong sense of precision. This was the place to start.
I still hoped to locate the same track we had hiked up all those years ago. I unfolded my map. The area had so many tracks, footpaths and bridle paths. A woman with long grey hair cycled down the road towards me and a small black dog sat in the wicker basket that hung on the handlebars. As she neared, she freewheeled, slowed down and smiled in greeting. For a second she looked as if she was going to stop, and I noticed how the dog’s gaze mirrored the woman’s exactly, before their eyes returned to the road ahead once they had passed me by.
Benn Arum reared up before me like a dangerous wild and dark stallion, its presence formidable and made more so by dense clouds that mushroomed and masked its summit. I estimated it to be a couple of kilometres of gentle slopes before I reached the steeper inclines that led to its rocky summit. Areas of forest and smaller woods swathed the foothills, and although I couldn’t see any farms, the OS map showed that Deeren Farm lay amidst woodland.
I focused in on my pencilled area. A footpath approximately a kilometre further up the lane, which appeared to take a rounded but relatively direct route to Deeren Farm, the farm nearest to the village. The map also showed a long farm track that led up to the farmhouse. Studying it, I realised the track might be a quicker and easier way to reach the farm, but if I took that route, it would be difficult to approach it discreetly or to hide if he came towards me unexpectedly. I couldn’t afford to risk making any careless mistakes that might cause him to become impulsive or violent. I didn’t want to jeopardise Lyssa’s safety. I got back in the car and set off in search of a quiet spot to park.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The Beast Within
Lyssa tried to work out how long she’d been locked in the room. Was it two, or three days?
The cruel deprivation she faced, the lack of light, exhaustion, hunger and thirst all conspired to heighten her confusion. It seemed like forever since the morning; each hour felt like an eternity, as every agonising minute limped painfully on to the next.
With both hands and feet free, she picked up the chair. It felt heavy in her grasp, but she could raise it above her head. She thought about waiting by the door, listening out for him coming up the stairs and then bringing the chair down hard on his head. It would knock him out and she could run away. She set the chair beneath the window, stepped up and looked outside properly for the first time. She pulled the window latch, but found it stuck solid with age old paint. She thought that if she smashed the panes of glass and small wooden frames, she could climb down a drainpipe, or even jump.
She noticed a large outbuilding a short distance away with a broken corrugated roof. The machinery within looked old, rusty and disused. The spring grass grew long, and branches and dead leaves lay strewn about. If it was the garden it was wild and overgrown, unloved, and looked as though it had been that way for a long time. The lush grass gave way to prickly gorse bushes, tall bracken and undergrowth, then a high stone wall with a carriage arch. Beyond the wall stood a fortification of trees, and further still stretched remote, shadowy moorland and a monster of a mountain. Where was the road? Lyssa fought back her disappointment, but she figured that the trees would make a good hiding place when she escaped. She stood still and listened. It seemed quiet - too quiet.
As though he’d heard her thoughts, a key turned in the lock, and the door swung open. He looked at the empty bed then saw her on the chair.
“Get off there.”
Lyssa stepped off and backed into the corner.
“Why hasn’t your dad paid up?” he demanded. “Doesn’t he want you back? Is it ‘cus you’re a pain in the backside?” He grabbed the chair and launched it across the room.
She glanced at the open doorway and edged nearer. He caught her eye, slammed it shut and pulled her over to the bed. “I might’ve given you more chocolate, but you’ve been disobedient and I’ve eaten them all,” he said. “Got some water. Don’t want you dying on me yet.” He unscrewed the lid of a plastic bottle and gave it to her.
Without hesitation, Lyssa drank, but it tasted strange. “What is it?”
“Squash. There wasn’t much and that’s why it tastes funny.”
She drank again.
“That’s enough,” he said, and snatched the bottle.
He picked up the chair and sat down, spread his knees wide and looked at Lyssa with threatening eyes. Every now and then, he tilted his head from side to side and rubbed his hands over the top of his thighs.
An unfamiliar sensation began to creep through Lyssa. Her vision blurred and she felt as though she was floating. His eyes bored into her as she lay down, curled up and tucked her hands beneath her chin.
“A good feeling, isn’t it?” he said.
“What is it?” she asked, as the room turned slowly.
“Vodka.”
Water, juice, now vodka, she thought. She’d seen it in the drinks cabinet at home. Only recently, Louis had gone through the different bot
tles with her and pointed out the alcohol percentage content of each. There were bottles of lager, Guinness, wine, vodka, whisky. She remembered them all and recalled Louis telling her he could have a glass of lager or Guinness now and again, but nothing stronger as it would make him sick. Her mum and dad let Louis have a small glass of something with his meal on special occasions, and without lecturing him, they’d have a conversation about sensible drinking habits. Her parents didn’t always have sensible drinking habits though. She recalled last Christmas Eve, when her parents had too much to drink and were laughing hysterically and being silly, like kids. They were playing charades and her Dad was doing a mime for a James Bond film and had fallen over the back of the sofa making her Mum cry with laughter. It was quite funny at the time, but then Lyssa decided she much preferred them when they were behaving like proper grown-ups.
Lyssa grew sleepier, and as the seconds passed her eyes became scratchy and heavy. She surrendered to the sensations that swirled around her and fell quickly into oblivion, unable to feel her physical surroundings. She could neither see nor hear the beast in the room. At first she dreamt of home, her mummy, daddy, and Louis. Then her loving family vanished, and she felt troubled and disturbed by recent memories.
She looked through the window and saw a log fire that burned in the clearing below, and the bright flames climbed and licked at the night’s shadowy blackness. She heard the snap and crack of twigs and the undergrowth moved and rustled. A monstrous, muscular creature moved into the clearing. The half-man, half-beast’s fiery eyes scoured the trees and buildings for something. Lyssa withdrew to avoid the beast’s gaze. It circled the fire, slowly at first. Then it moved faster – it twisted and turned and lurched from side to side, its arms and face raised aloft. Then, just as suddenly, it ceased its frenzied movements, and knelt down before the fire. It placed its colossal hands on the ground and arched its back up and down in powerful motions. Lyssa tried to turn away, to step back, but her feet were held fast. The beast snorted and grunted. Its voice grew loud and guttural and the vibrations reverberated through the floorboards upon which she stood and made them shudder violently. She grabbed hold of the windowsill to prevent herself from surrendering to the noise. The beast let out a final deafening scream, and its head rotated grotesquely. Its eyes burned as it stared up at the window, straight at Lyssa. She screamed.
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