by Helen Black
‘We’re assuming that man is Petal?’ asked collar-boy.
‘We are,’ said Clem. ‘And I want to know everything there is to know about him.’
‘For a start, we know he was a member of LookingforLadies,’ said collar-boy.
Clem nodded. ‘Which is why Carole-Ann is in charge of more than just feeding you lot.’
Carole-Ann moved among them, handing each of them a printed sheet. ‘I contacted the hosts of the website and asked for Petal’s history,’ she said. ‘This is it. When she joined, when she logged in, what she said, who she said it to.’
‘Basically, it’s her chatting up potential victims, and mostly getting nowhere fast,’ said Clem. ‘There’s nothing else that would be useful to us.’
‘But if we know Petal was online at specific times, we can search around those times for other activity,’ said collar-boy. ‘It might lead us somewhere.’
Clem nodded. It was interesting how the one who had looked like the biggest pain in the arse was turning out to be the most on the ball. ‘Which is why I’ve brought in this little lot.’ Clem pointed to the PCs. ‘There’s a good chance Petal used local internet cafés to ensure everything stayed clean.’
‘If we can just find the right one,’ said Krish.
‘No,’ said collar-boy. ‘Petal won’t have just used one.’
‘Thomas Frasier did,’ Krish replied.
‘He was just the patsy,’ said collar-boy. ‘Petal knows what’s what. He will have used different cafés, different computers, different times. Less chance of being spotted by staff; less chance of leaving a trail.’
‘Exactly,’ said Clem. ‘Which is why I need a team of you to search this lot fast. Anything at all that you think might be even vaguely interesting, bring to Carole-Ann or me.’
The techies drained their cups and set to work, splitting the computers, ordering their tasks.
‘Since you greedy bastards wolfed every last scrap of food, I’m getting some breakfast,’ said Clem. ‘Call me if – no, when – you find anything.’
I’m woken by the sound of voices and I stretch in my bunk. For the first time since we arrived I’m not cold. Not warm either, just comfortably cool.
Through the window I hear the Serbs at the water butt, chatting, before they head off. Then a stillness. No traffic, no planes. In London there is no time of day without buzz and movement. In the dead of night, sirens blare. You tune it out, so it becomes like white noise. God I miss it. Outside, the silence is deafening, crashing on top of me. I sit up to breathe.
‘You okay?’ Ronnie asks from above.
‘Just need a bit of fresh air,’ I say and make my way outside.
The inky denseness of the previous night has been replaced by a murky grey as the sun tries to raise its head. Everything is covered in a film of dew and I enjoy the tingling dampness on the soles of my feet. My clothes have dried and I smell like I slept in an attic.
Ronnie appears in the doorway, hands me a bottle of water and a flapjack. ‘Want to take a walk?’
I pull on my trainers and we head out and up. When we reach the top of the hill, daylight arrives and the skies come alive with gulls calling and wheeling. A butterfly lands on a leaf inches from my foot, close enough for me to see the veins through its parchment wings.
I turn to tell Ronnie and notice she has a rifle slung on her shoulder. ‘Just in case,’ she says.
Just in case of what? Just in case MI5 turn up? Or I try to leg it? I take in the hills rolling into the distance and the ocean stretching into grey infinity. Neither scenario seems likely.
We reach two streams intersecting one another, water babbling, splashing against rocks coated in a moss so vivid green the intensity makes me lightheaded. Ronnie washes her hands in the flow and wipes them down her jeans.
‘Not too far now,’ she says.
‘Where to?’ I ask.
She heads off. ‘You’ll see.’
The climb becomes rough, the carpet of grass turning to stone. We have to pull ourselves up rocks by our hands. The jagged edges jab me through the rubber soles of my trainers. At last we reach a peak and scrabble up. At the top, I realise we have reached our destination and it takes my breath away.
Far below us lies a loch so vast and still and magical it is as if nothing has moved for a thousand years. Mist rises up in a royal blue haze to meet the morning sky. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful.
‘How deep is it?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know if anyone’s ever measured it,’ Ronnie replies. ‘They say there are kelpies in there.’
‘Kelpies?’
‘Shape-shifting creatures who drag their victims down and drown them.’
I laugh.
‘Would you risk it?’ Ronnie asks.
I look into the water, ice clear yet impenetrable. ‘Not a chance,’ I say.
We sit and watch the sun move through the sky, eating our flapjacks. Birds of prey soar above us, and the mist slowly evaporates. Eventually we set off back to the cabin.
Hawk is waiting for us. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Up the crag,’ says Ronnie.
He chews his lip and scratches the back of his neck.
‘What’s that?’ Ronnie points to a spot of blood in the crook of Hawk’s elbow.
He covers it with his hand. ‘Snagged myself on a branch.’
There’s a pause filled only with the sounds of the forest.
‘I’m going to get you somewhere safe in a week or so,’ he tells Ronnie.
‘Why so long?’
Hawk looks at his fingers, now smeared in blood from the cut on his arm. ‘Got something going on.’
‘What?’
He rubs his hand down his jeans, leaving a red smear. ‘Something big. Been planning it a long time and you wouldn’t want to jeopardise that now, would you?’
‘Of course not,’ says Ronnie.
‘In the meantime,’ he points to the cabin, ‘Mi casa, tu casa.’
When Hawk leaves, I slump onto the porch. A week. I thought this might all be over today.
Ronnie looks distracted, kicking at stones.
‘Don’t you think the police are more likely to find us if we hang around a week?’ I ask.
‘Jo, look around you. There are no police here,’ she says.
‘Someone might call them.’
‘Who?’
‘I dunno,’ I say. ‘A passerby.’
Ronnie sighs. ‘The island is uninhabited; there are no passersby. It’s just us chickens.’
‘What about the people who left provisions?’ I ask.
Ronnie shakes her head. ‘They’re not the sort of folk who will call the police, believe me.’
I feel a huge sense of foreboding. Ronnie has put herself and me entirely at the mercy of Hawk.
She crouches on the ground and puts her head in her hands.
‘Ronnie?’
She doesn’t answer.
‘You said Hawk owed you,’ I remind her.
‘He does.’
‘He’s not acting like someone who owes you anything. Can you trust him?’
She looks up at me and I expect a tirade of abuse. Of course she can fucking trust him. She can trust him with her life. Why else would she have come here?
Instead she says, ‘I want to take a look in Hawk’s place.’
‘Why don’t you just ask nicely?’
She gives me a wry smile.
I take a deep breath. Hawk has been very careful at keeping his cottage out of bounds, locking it every time he leaves. And apart from him I haven’t seen anyone going in or coming out.
‘Whatever he’s mixed up in, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want us to know anything about it,’ I say.
She tilts her head, her eyes wide. From her position on the ground and mine on the porch, she seems even tinier than usual. ‘I need to know,’ she says.
‘Why?’ I shake my head. ‘Soon we’ll both be out of here and start our lives again. I
have to get back to London and you have to get away somewhere safe.’
‘I need to know.’ Ronnie swallows. ‘I need to know he’s okay.’
I throw my head back and laugh. Hawk is clearly a grade-A nutter. Mad, bad and dangerous to know. He’s holed up in the arse end of nowhere, surrounded by an international gang of guntoting God knows what.
‘You’re worried about Hawk?’
Ronnie nods slowly. ‘Goes with the territory, I guess.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s my brother.’
The collar of the shirt Isaac’s wearing chafes real bad and for two pins he would change it, but Bert says it’s important to give the right impression to the jury. Each day he brings Isaac a clean one, and a necktie too.
At the start of the week, he gave Isaac a big old smile, told him not to worry. ‘Son, you leave this to me now.’ He seems to enjoy being in the courthouse, chewing the fat with the other lawyers.
The judge seems like a reasonable body. Bert stands real tall when he talks to her and she listens to him and nods. Isaac hopes she does the same to him.
Isaac is led over to the witness stand and asked to take the good book in his right hand, then he swears before God that he will tell the truth. And he does.
He tells them how on that day there were two policemen hiding on their land. That he went out to talk to them and saw them drinking beer. He explains how he went back inside and would have stayed there but for the constant hollering for them to come on out.
‘So I went with my mama to tell them to get off our land,’ Isaac says.
‘And what happened?’ asks Bert.
‘There was kind of an argument between one of them and Mama.’
‘Did you say anything?’ Bert asks.
‘No, sir.’
‘Who fired the first shot?’ asks Bert.
Isaac pauses. He wants to get this straight.
‘To be honest, Mama cocked first, but the policeman beat her to it.’
‘So it could have been your mama or the policeman?’ Bert asks. ‘But not you?’
‘Definitely not, sir,’ Isaac says.
‘What happened next, Isaac?’
‘Mama fell back hurt, blood everywhere, so I shot the policeman.’
‘Why?’
Isaac rakes at the collar with his finger. ‘I thought he might shoot Mama again, or maybe me.’
‘Did you believe he wanted to kill you?’
‘Hell yeah.’ Isaac gulps at the jury. ‘I’m sorry.’
Bert holds up a hand. ‘Don’t apologise, son. I’m sure we can all appreciate how difficult the situation was. Why don’t you explain to the good folks here what was going through your mind?’
‘Lots of things, sir. For one, Mama said that the End Times had come.’
‘And you accepted that?’
Isaac shakes his head. ‘I wasn’t sure. But then when the policeman shot her, I thought it must be true.’
‘So you thought the policemen were the servants of the Devil?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And what did you think they had come to do?’
‘I thought they had come to kill me and my family.’
Bert turns to the jury. ‘And if you consider it, that wasn’t too far from the truth, was it?’
Chapter Eighteen
I sit for half an hour on the porch trying to straighten out my thoughts. Ronnie crouches opposite, her head back in her hands.
Hawk is Ronnie’s brother. I’d suspected something between them, something more than extreme politics.
‘Where is Hawk from?’ I ask.
‘Alabama.’
‘You too?’
She nods.
‘How did you end up in the UK? Glasgow of all places?’
‘I was adopted and my new family emigrated to Scotland,’ she says. ‘It didn’t work out.’
‘Why not?’
‘Everyone thought I needed a new life, to start afresh,’ she explains. ‘But bad shit stays bad shit. It doesn’t change just because you try to leave it behind.’
I catch my breath as I think of Dad and Mum and Davey. ‘And Hawk?’
Ronnie shakes her head slowly. ‘Left all alone, drowning in that sea of bad shit.’
Her face is stricken with guilt and I understand every last wretched drop of it.
‘Let’s do it.’ I get to my feet.
Ronnie knits her brow.
‘Let’s try to find out what the hell your brother is hiding.’
We walk through to the valley, as if we’re doing nothing more important than enjoying a stroll. ‘See anyone around?’ I whisper.
Ronnie shakes her head but I’m not taking any chances.
I nod at the cottage furthest from Hawk’s. ‘You check that one and I’ll take this.’
I jog over to the nearest cottage and rap my knuckles against the door. When no one answers, I let myself in to check each room. Every single flat surface seems to be littered with ammunition. There’s even what looks like a hand grenade on top of the fridge. When I’m satisfied there’s no one home, I wait for Ronnie to finish, then signal for us to approach Hawk’s place.
We stand at the door, glancing left to right. ‘Everything looks clear,’ I say and I try the door.
It’s locked. Of course it is. It was never going to be that easy. ‘Knife?’ I suggest.
Ronnie pulls out her Swiss army knife and extracts one of the implements.
‘I thought that one was for peeling oranges,’ I say.
She pulls a face and inserts it into the lock, twisting and turning it, listening intently. ‘Goddamn double bolt,’ she says, bending so her ear almost touches the lock. At last there’s a click and Ronnie smiles.
I swallow hard and scan the clearing for signs of life. The closer Ronnie gets to success, the more nervous I become. If Hawk catches us, or if anyone else catches us for that matter, I suspect they’ll shoot us first and ask questions afterwards.
There’s another click and the door opens. ‘I’ll go in; you keep watch,’ says Ronnie.
I nod. ‘Give me the rifle,’ I say.
She opens her mouth to protest.
‘You’re not going to need it inside, are you?’ I ask. ‘But if anyone arrives out here, I might just have to use it.’
‘Have you ever used a gun, Jo?’
I’ve never even held a gun before. Not a real one. I once went paintballing on a team-building weekend but I don’t think that counts. ‘Just give me the gun,’ I tell her.
Reluctantly, she hands it over. It’s much heavier than I thought it would be. The way Ronnie swings it around you’d never know how solid it is. The wood of the butt is smooth to the touch, the barrel cool.
‘I’m going in,’ she says and disappears inside.
That chemical smell I’d noticed the previous night escapes again. I survey the valley from left to right, keeping watch for anyone returning.
‘Anything?’ Ronnie calls from inside.
‘No,’ I shout back.
‘With any luck they’re all training.’
‘For what?’ I ask.
Ronnie doesn’t reply but she doesn’t need to. I must be stupid not to have worked it out before. The men, the weapons, the secrecy. It all adds up at last. I grip the gun more tightly, terrified by what I’ve just worked out.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch a shape in the distance and I snap my head towards it. My pulse quickens as I strain to see. A bird glides across the sky on a thermal. Is that what I saw? It looked bigger.
I bring the rifle up to my shoulder and look into the sight, bringing the edge of the horizon closer. There it is again. A dark mass. A boulder, perhaps? I hold my breath and curl my finger around the trigger. The boulder moves.
‘Ronnie,’ I hiss over my shoulder.
No reply.
Without taking my eyes off the shape, I take a step backwards and push the door open with my foot.
‘Ronnie.’
She still doesn�
��t answer.
I take another step into the cottage and am hit by a wall of toxic fumes that makes me bend at the waist, spluttering. Tears spring into my eyes and I have to blink to clear my vision.
When I’ve recovered myself enough to stand upright, I find Ronnie motionless at the door to what must be a bedroom, seemingly transfixed. Gagging, I make my way past a table piled high with hundreds of packets of over-the-counter cold and flu pills. On the floor are twenty or more bright yellow bottles of antifreeze.
Ronnie still hasn’t moved and when I reach her, I can see why. There are no bunk beds in the bedroom. Instead, there is a Formica table weighed down with oversized glass vials set on camping stoves. An intricate set of tubes runs from their mouths to hooks on the ceiling and down into plastic containers on the floor.
‘What the fuck are you doing in here?’
Ronnie and I both spin to the sound and find Hawk in the doorway, his weapon pointing right at us.
Carole-Ann tracked Clem down in the car park, squatting by the boot of his car, rubbing at the dent in the bumper with a handkerchief.
‘What happened?’
‘Don’t ask,’ said Clem. ‘Have they found anything?’
Carole-Ann see-sawed her hand. ‘Sebastian has a theory.’
‘Sebastian?’
Carole-Ann mimed putting up her collar.
Collar-boy was called Sebastian? Well, that was about right.
Clem straightened up, his knees giving an almighty crack and sighed. ‘This had better be good.’
Sebastian was surrounded by balled pieces of paper when Clem arrived. The mess he had created in less than two hours was incredible.
‘I’m told you have a theory.’
Sebastian turned from the PC, pen lodged sideways in his teeth and nodded.
‘We’ve all been checking the times when we know Petal was logged in at LookingforLadies.’ He spat the pen out. ‘A few of us have found him.’
Krish nodded his agreement, as did a young woman with a bees’ nest of blonde hair knotted loosely on top of her head.
Sebastian patted the PC in front of him. ‘For example, this one was used by Petal to speak to Tommy on the twenty-eighth of June.’
Clem grabbed a chair and sat next to the young man.
‘The trouble is, our man didn’t use this PC for anything else that day,’ said Sebastian.