Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3)

by Mikey Campling

  Brian nodded. The colour had returned to his cheeks, but his face was lined with worry.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Trevor said. “The problem is, we’d have to stop your workmates from going up there to take samples, they’d find the bones and we’d be back to square one.”

  Brian sighed and scraped his hand down his face. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose it’s all hopeless then.”

  But Trevor had already prepared exactly what to say at this point. “You know what, Brian? In my official capacity as the surveyor in charge, it’s my opinion that the very end of the site is dangerously unstable.”

  “Is it really?” Brian asked.

  “I did observe some water erosion, and there’s a cleft in the rocks, so, now that I come to think of it, it’s not safe to work there at all. Any drilling or quarrying activity on that part of the site could have disastrous consequences. The whole rock face could come crashing down, and then there’s the chance of a landslip, and subsidence. And there’s a main road running right across the higher ground—there’s a distinct possibility that it could be affected.”

  Brian shifted in his seat. “Is all that true? Only, we need to get our story straight.”

  “Believe me, Brian, when I’ve finished with my report, no one will doubt a word of it. And there’s an added bonus.” Trevor paused and glanced around the room to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “Let’s say, when you started clearing that end of the site, you saw some rocks fall. You were worried, so you came running to me. We went to investigate, and I realised that the whole thing could come crashing down at any moment. You’d just had a lucky escape, so naturally, I took you off the site straight away. And I bought you a drink to steady your nerves.”

  Brian blew out his cheeks in relief. “Yes, I suppose that does sound all right. But you’ll explain it to the foreman won’t you? He won’t listen to me.”

  “Leave him to me, Brian. I’ll tell him how dangerous that end of the site is and he won’t want to go anywhere near it. And as soon as all the other areas have been sampled and measured, I’ll tell him you can all pack up early for Christmas and go home. The men will be very happy with that, especially when I tell them they’ll still get a full day’s pay.”

  Brian positively beamed, and for a moment, Trevor felt guilty at taking advantage of such a simple soul. But then Brian’s smile dropped. “But, what about when they open the quarry?” he asked. “They’ll find everything eventually.”

  “Ah, but will they?” Trevor said. “My report is going to say that they should only work the stone from the two sides of the pit. There’s really no need to use the far end at all. And anyway, when the new quarry opens, the workers will go where they’re told to.” Trevor picked up his pint and gave Brian a meaningful look. “They’ll go where the new foreman tells them to, won’t they, Brian?” Trevor could actually see the realisation dawning on Brian’s face.

  Brian nodded slowly. He took a sip of beer then looked Trevor in the eye. “They’ll do as they’re told all right. You can rely on me.”

  Trevor raised his glass with a warm smile. “Cheers, Brian.”

  “Cheers, Trevor.”

  They clinked glasses and drank, but Trevor put his glass down first. “There’s just one thing Brian—you must not tell anyone about any of this, not under any circumstances.”

  Brian smiled, looking very pleased with himself. But suddenly, Trevor sat up straight and squared his shoulders. And when he looked Brian in the eye, his expression was cold and formal. “And by the way, Brian, it’d better be Mr. Marley from now on. We don’t want to give the game away do we? We can’t be too careful.”

  Brian’s smile froze. “Oh, right, Trev— I mean, Mr. Marley.”

  “That’s the ticket, Brian. Stick to your story and everything will be fine. But remember, this was your idea Brian. If word gets out that you covered this up, you’ll be in terrible trouble and I won’t be able to help you.” He paused. “No one must know what you found up there, Brian. No one. Not ever. So we’ll never speak about this again.”

  Chapter 34

  2021

  I PRESSED MYSELF BACK against the bathroom wall and stared at the man who’d called himself Crawford. “Why? Why do you want to see the stone?”

  Crawford raised his eyebrows. “I might ask you the same thing.” He paused as if to study my reaction. “But I would guess that you want to understand what happened to you. That’s right isn’t it, Jake?”

  I didn’t reply. I set my mouth in a grim line, determined to stay stony faced. But something in my expression must’ve given me away because Crawford smiled.

  “Yes. I see that I’m correct. So this is your lucky day. I’m the man who can give you some answers.”

  “All I want,” I said between clenched teeth, “is for you to get the hell out of here.”

  “But that’s not true is it, Jake? Not really.” He shook his head slowly. “You see, I know about you and the stone. I know about Callisto, and I even know all about your father and his little breakdown.”

  “Shut up!” I spat. “Just shut up and get out!”

  But Crawford carried on as though I hadn’t breathed a word. “It was a shame, the way they treated your father, but I’m sure I could put him back on his feet—pull a few strings.” He looked me up and down. “So long as you’re willing to help me out.”

  I grimaced. “Are you out of your bloody mind? Do you seriously think I’m going to help you? After what you’ve just done?”

  Crawford pursed his lips for a moment then he slid his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a smartphone. He tapped the screen with his thumb then turned the phone around so I could see the screen. “Remember him?”

  Despite myself, I stared in horror at the phone. The screen was filled with a single photo, a mugshot of someone I’d hoped never to see again: Robbo.

  “So you do recall him,” Crawford said, and he lowered his phone. “Robert Thomas Dawson was his full name.”

  “So what?” I snapped.

  Crawford’s expression hardened. “I was there.”

  I shook my head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “In the quarry. I was there, just after you returned and this young man disappeared. Of course, I understood exactly what had happened, but the police had no idea what was going on. They wanted to charge your father with kidnap, murder, unlawful disposal of a body, and more. But I put a stop to all that.”

  “Bullshit,” I sneered. “The police were useless. They didn’t know anything. They didn’t even—”

  But Crawford didn’t let me finish. “They didn’t charge your father because I stopped them. I pulled the rug out from under their feet. I seized evidence. I applied pressure to the right people. I stopped them in their tracks.”

  He stared at me, and I knew he was telling the truth. There was a cold fire in his eyes that burned as bright as ice. This man was capable of anything. Anything at all.

  “All right,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Let’s say I believe you. Why would you protect my dad? What’s in it for you?”

  He snorted. “I couldn’t have the truth coming out about the stones. They must be kept secret. Surely that must be obvious, to you of all people.”

  I looked down at the floor. “No. I don’t know.”

  “Here,” he said. “Look at this.”

  I looked up and he was holding out his phone again. But now the screen showed a photo of a large transparent plastic bag: an evidence bag. And inside the bag was a gleaming metal baseball bat.

  “This is the weapon your father used to assault Robert Dawson,” Crawford went on. “Even now there will be DNA, fingerprints, fibres. And all of it linking your father to Dawson’s disappearance.” He paused and pocketed his phone. “I have this evidence stored safely, but if the police get their hands on it, they’ll charge your father with murder. There’s no doubt about it, Jake.”

  I looked at Crawford. “But if you do that, it
might all come out—the stone, the quarry, everything.”

  Crawford nodded once. “That’s a chance I’m prepared to take.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to think straight, but I was out of ideas—out of options. I took a breath then looked my persecutor in the eye. “And this is the price is it? If I help you, you’ll get rid of the evidence?”

  “I can do better than that,” Crawford said smoothly. “I could make sure your father has a clean record. I could make a few phone calls and put him back on his feet. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  I thought of my dad, spending his days working at the supermarket and his spare time shuffling around his pokey little flat in his slippers. And I remembered the bad times: the days just after I came back, when he wouldn’t get out of bed and couldn’t face what he’d done; the days when he’d kept the curtains closed and tried to fend off his anxiety attacks with extra strength lager. And all along, Crawford had known the truth but had hidden it for his own ends. And worse, he’d had the power to help me and my dad understand what we’d been through. Even a few words of explanation could’ve helped us come to terms with it. But he’d done nothing. Nothing until now. Nothing until it suited him.

  I turned away from Crawford and leaned my forehead against the cold tiles. I needed to clear my head. I needed to think but my mind was a muddled mess. I closed my eyes for a moment, and in that split-second, the truth hit me like a slap in the face: I’d kicked a hornets’ nest and I was about to get stung.

  I turned back to Crawford. “The government, the authorities—they’ll do anything to keep the stones secret, won’t they?”

  Crawford nodded slowly. “Within reason. Yes.”

  “So I was right. They’ve been following me. And they tried to grab me at the station.”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” Crawford said, and there was just a hint of irritation in his voice.

  “But you’re not working for them, are you? They’re trying to keep me away from the stone, but you want to see it. You’re here on your own.”

  A cruel sneer flickered across Crawford’s lips. “It will be better for everyone concerned if you just do what I tell you.”

  “Not until you explain. Why do you want to see the stone? Why do you need me?”

  “I’m not here to answer your damned questions,” Crawford snapped. “The situation is very simple—you co-operate with me fully, and your father will be safe. Callisto will be safe. But if you choose to make things difficult, they’ll both pay the price. Have no doubt about it. I don’t make threats—I simply act.”

  I stared at him. There was no trace of compassion in his eyes, no hint of humanity. He would hurt Cally and my dad without hesitation, and I daren’t think what he’d do to me. But right now, for some unknown reason, he needed my help, and that gave me a glimmer of hope. I could afford to play along—for now. But just you wait, Crawford, I thought, I’ll be looking for my chance.

  I made my face a mask and said, “All right. I’ll do it.”

  Crawford lunged forward and grabbed me by the shoulder. He pulled me out of the bathroom and propelled me toward the bed. “Sit down.”

  I hesitated. “No. I already said I’d help. So just tell me what the plan is and let’s get on with it.”

  Crawford shook his head. “We’re going on a little trip, and you can’t go anywhere looking like that. Sit down and wipe the blood off your face.”

  Reluctantly, I sat on the edge of the bed. I was still holding the towel, so I dabbed gently at my face, avoiding the cut on my cheek.

  Crawford watched me carefully. “It’ll have to do. Now, give me your phone.”

  “I haven’t got one,” I said. “I lost it. I must have put it down somewhere.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake,” Crawford sneered. “Give me your phone now, or the next cut will be deeper.”

  I looked down at the floor. “All right, all right.” I took my phone from my pocket and glanced at the screen.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Crawford snapped. “Touch that screen, and I’ll make you regret it.”

  I sighed then held the phone out toward him.

  “Drop it on the floor then kick it over to me.”

  I did as I was told. Crawford smiled and brought his heel down sharply on my phone’s screen, shattering it completely. He twisted his foot from side to side, grinding the fragments of glass and plastic into the carpet. “Right,” he said. “Let’s go. Stand up.”

  I stood slowly, and Crawford took hold of my upper arm, his fingers digging into my biceps. “Move,” he snapped. “And remember, I’ll have this in my hand at all times.” He raised the knife, twisting the blade in front of my face so the bright metal caught the light.

  I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  “We’re going to move out now,” Crawford said. “Keep your mouth shut and do as you are told.”

  He pushed me toward the door then he opened it and peered outside.

  “Wait,” I said. “Where are we going? Cally is expecting me. If I don’t turn up, she’ll call the police.”

  Crawford looked at me, and his stare was an unspoken threat.

  I swallowed hard. If I wanted to throw him off balance, I’d have to do better than that. This man was completely ruthless, and it would take something drastic to make him change his plans.

  He took another quick look into the corridor, checking both directions. “Move!” he hissed.

  I stepped into the corridor and he bundled me along, his hand clamped around my arm. At the end of the corridor, he halted beside a door marked Staff Only. He opened the door and guided me through it.

  Beyond the door was a shabby stairwell with bare concrete steps leading up and down. “Down,” Crawford said, and he urged me onto the steps, pushing me ahead of him. We moved fast but I managed to keep my footing. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a fire exit.

  “Open it,” Crawford said.

  The door had a metal locking bar and I pushed it firmly, hoping that somewhere a fire alarm might be triggered. But Crawford didn’t seem like the sort of man who’d have left such a detail to chance, and when the door swung open, there was no ringing of bells, no electronic beeps or squawks—just the plaintive squeak of rarely used hinges.

  Crawford pushed me through the open door, and I stumbled over the threshold.

  “For god’s sake,” Crawford muttered. “Just walk.”

  “Give me a break,” I said. “There’s no need to be such a jerk. I said I’d come with you.”

  “Not another word,” Crawford said slowly. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

  I scowled at him, but I kept my mouth shut. We were in an enclosed and dimly lit backyard: dustbins, stacks of plastic crates, and the stench of decay and rancid fat. If I called for help now, Crawford could slit my throat and escape in seconds. It would all be over before anyone could peer out of a window to see what was going on.

  Crawford stood still for a moment and looked me in the eye. Then, apparently satisfied, he set off across the yard, dragging me along beside him. We passed through a narrow alley between two buildings and emerged onto a narrow side street. A few cars were parked along the street, and Crawford led me toward a pickup truck.

  He opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

  I climbed into the cab and Crawford slammed the door behind me. I glanced around the cab, looking for something I might be able to use as a weapon. In the well between the two front seats, there was a small metal flashlight, and I snatched it up as quickly as I could then stuffed it into my pocket.

  Crawford climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He fastened his seatbelt and said, “Put your belt on.”

  I shrugged. The seatbelt seemed like the least of my worries, but I complied. I didn’t have much choice. If Crawford attacked me in the narrow confines of the cabin there would be no way to escape in time.

  Crawford put the pickup into gear and set off.
It was getting dark now, and he switched the headlights on. No doubt he was anxious not to be pulled over by the police. At the end of the side street, Crawford turned right, taking us back along the main road, passing the hotel’s front entrance. I looked up and down the road, hoping there might be someone who could help, a passer-by who might see a signal and understand that something was wrong. But there was no one in sight. The street was empty.

  We drove past the hotel and picked up speed. And that was when I saw a familiar car parked a little way from the hotel.

  A day earlier, I’d dreaded seeing the dark blue saloon with its tinted windows. But now, it offered a ray of hope. If it really was being used to follow me, if the men who’d tried to grab me at the station were even now sitting inside, then they might well understand that something was wrong. And Crawford was about to drive right past them.

  “Stop the car!” I shouted. “I’m going to be sick.”

  Crawford shot me a look. “So what?”

  “I mean it,” I moaned. “I’m going to throw up all over the place. Stop the car.”

  Crawford shook his head and turned his attention back to the road. He didn’t even slow down.

  Thinking quickly, I pressed the button to open my window, holding it down to open the window wide. “Need air,” I said then thrust my face into the opening.

  “Shut the window,” Crawford snapped.

  “No,” I insisted. “I’m going to be sick.” We were passing the blue car now, and I stared at it hard. Please let there be someone inside, I thought. Please let them see me.

  Crawford grabbed hold of my arm and yanked me away from the window. “Shut the window now!” he yelled.

  “All right, all right. I thought I was going to be sick that’s all.”

  Crawford stared at me, his face a mask of cold fury. But before he could say anything, I turned in my seat to look back through the rear window.

  Behind us, the saloon car turned on its lights and pulled out into the road, executing a rapid U-turn to follow us. Yes! I’d done it. But I should have been more discreet. Crawford glanced in his rear view mirror then let out an angry hiss. “You bloody idiot! What the hell have you done?”