Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2)

by Mikey Campling

  Cally gave him an apologetic smile and studied his face. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  Andrew shook his head. “Forget about it.” He picked up the menu and flicked it open, scanning the crowded rows of curly typescript, looking for something to keep his energy levels up. He pulled a face as he skipped over the cakes and pastries. Does everything have to come with clotted cream?

  He realised Cally was watching him, and when he looked up, their eyes met. For a split second, he forgot where he was and what he was doing. Then he remembered his real purpose, and though he knew he should look away from her, he couldn’t.

  He smiled at her. And neither of them said a word.

  “Right m’dears, what can I get you this morning?”

  They both turned with a start and looked up at the waitress. “Oh, I’m not quite sure,” Cally began, but Andrew had started talking at the same time. They caught each other’s eye and laughed.

  The waitress raised her eyebrows. “Do you want me to come back in a minute?”

  Cally blushed and glanced at Andrew. “No, it’s all right,” she said. She ordered them both a coffee and a scone, and Andrew surprised the waitress by asking for his without clotted cream.

  “Just butter and jam then?” she asked.

  “Do you have any low-fat spread?”

  The waitress rolled her eyes. “Anything else?”

  “No, that’s fine thanks,” Andrew said. They watched her bustle off across the café.

  “Oh dear, I think I’ve offended her,” Andrew said.

  “Yes, I think you probably have,” Cally said. “This is Devon, you know. It’s all about the clotted cream.”

  Andrew laughed. He sat back and looked out of the window, watching a crowd of tourists being led around the cathedral by a man in a bright red jacket. The man pointed up to something and the tourists raised their heads as one.

  Cally followed his gaze. “An official guide,” she said. “They’re very good. They really know their stuff.”

  Andrew looked at her. “That means a lot coming from you.”

  Cally shrugged. “I mean it. I’ve met quite a few of them.”

  “Research for your degree?”

  “No. I had a job over the summer holidays, and sometimes at weekends.”

  “Right. Isn’t that a bit, I don’t know, a bit amateurish for someone like you?”

  Cally raised her chin. “He might look like a bit of a joke to you, but those guides really know what they’re talking about. They understand. You know, history to them, isn’t just theories and essays—it’s something real, something alive.”

  Andrew smiled. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, fascinated. There’s another side to this girl, he thought. She had a passion, a fire he’d never have guessed at. “You really love it, don’t you? History, I mean.”

  “What gave it away?” Cally said. She laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on about it.”

  “No, it’s good. It must be great. I’ve never really had anything I was so…enthusiastic about.”

  Cally tilted her head on one side and looked thoughtful. “Enthusiastic—well, that’s one word for it.”

  “I mean it. I think it’s fantastic. You’re very lucky. My work is so…” He let his voice trail away. That was stupid—now, she’s going to ask me about work.

  Cally opened her mouth to speak, but Andrew suddenly looked over her shoulder. He’d spotted the waitress heading in their direction. “Oh good,” he said. “I think she’s bringing our coffee.”

  Crawford stared out of the car window, deep in thought, ignoring the countryside as it flashed by. Peterson, his driver, coughed politely and Crawford turned his attention to him. It must be something important; the man knew better than to make idle conversation.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Crawford, but you asked me to tell you when we were fifteen miles from Exeter. We’ve just passed a sign.”

  “Ah, good. Thank you.” Crawford took out his phone and made a call. When it was answered, he simply said, “Report.” He listened carefully, until he heard something he didn’t like. “What?” he snapped. He listened for a moment and then let out a frustrated sigh. “Just make sure you keep them in sight and keep me updated. I want to know the second they move.” He ended the call and pocketed his phone, shaking his head in disbelief. It was always the same. You put your faith in people and they failed to live up to it. Thank God we’re almost there. If you want something done properly, you’ve got to do it yourself.

  “Two large Americanos, and two scones,” the waitress said. “One with low-fat spread, and one proper one.” Cally tried to contain her giggles as the waitress dispensed their order, and for the next few minutes she and Andrew sipped their coffee and pretended to take an interest in their scones.

  Andrew drained his coffee. It wasn’t as good as the brew from the little place he liked near the office, but it wasn’t bad. He looked down into his empty cup and thought of London and Crawford, and the shoddy equipment they’d given him. The beeping must’ve come from the Taser. Perhaps it had a flat battery. Typical, he thought. But at least the damned thing was silent now. He ought to check it over but he’d have to bide his time and wait for an opportunity.

  He looked out the window. The tour guide was leading his group across the grassy area surrounding the cathedral, bringing them closer to the tearoom. The group stopped next to a statue, and the tourists formed a polite semicircle. A young woman who’d been leaning against the statue, chatting into her phone, suddenly found herself the centre of attention. She hoisted her shoulder bag and walked away, looking around as though not quite sure where to put herself.

  There’s something odd about her, Andrew thought, something furtive. Then suddenly, the woman looked directly at him and a flash of cold certainty surged through Andrew’s veins. The woman had glanced at him for only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough. She was watching them. He stared after her as she walked casually away. She paused for a moment to look in a shop window, but it didn’t fool him. She was part of the extraction team and the others would be nearby. Andrew scanned the wandering tourists, the harried shoppers, the huddles of teenagers. It was useless trying to pick the field agents out. They could be anywhere.

  “You can’t take your eyes off it,” Cally said.

  Andrew forced himself to look away from the window. “What? What do you mean? I was just…”

  Cally smiled. “The cathedral. You keep staring. I’m almost jealous.”

  “Ah yes, it’s very impressive.”

  Cally hesitated. She smiled shyly. “Would you like me to show you around the inside? I’m not quite as good as the proper tour guides, but I do know the most interesting bits.”

  Andrew’s face fell. He needed to get moving, he needed to get her away as fast as possible. He couldn’t let the extraction team take her—it just wasn’t right. There was no need for their brutal methods. He couldn’t let them harm her. But he had to get her away and keep her moving without alarming her. Anxious people were unpredictable and whatever happened next, it was vital she followed his instructions. He couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. “Not really my thing,” he said. Cally’s smile faded. “But I would like to get out of here,” he went on. “We can go and do something else if you like.”

  “What sort of thing? The cinema?”

  “God no,” Andrew blurted. That was just asking for trouble. “I mean, it’s much too nice a day for that. Why don’t you show me the sights?”

  Cally laughed. “This is just Exeter you know, it’s not Paris or Rome.”

  “Even so, there must be something. It’s an old city.” He waved his hand toward the window. “There must be some hidden gems.”

  Cally looked thoughtful. “Well, if you’re really interested, there is something I could show you.”

  “Great,” Andrew said. He pushed his chair back and stood up, snatching the bill from the table. “I’ll go and pay this.” He shouldered his rucksack a
nd started walking toward the counter.

  “Wait,” Cally said. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

  Andrew looked back and smiled. “No, I trust you.”

  As Andrew waited at the counter, his phone began to vibrate in his jacket pocket. No doubt Crawford or one of his henchmen wanted to know what was going on. Andrew fought the urge to answer the call. Instead, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching then turned the phone off. He’d been issued the phone at work, and he knew only too well that there were any number of ways it could be used to track his movements. If he didn’t want the extraction team following his every step, he needed to ditch it, and quickly.

  There was an old-fashioned coat stand on his left, festooned with a variety of coats despite the warm weather. The tearoom clearly appealed to the sort of people who never went anywhere without a waterproof coat. Andrew took a small step to his left, and sized up the coats. There was a man’s waxed jacket with large outside pockets and that would be ideal, but before he could make his move, the kitchen door opened and the waitress appeared.

  She gave him a sharp look. “Can I help you? Changed your mind about the clotted cream have you?”

  Andrew gave her his best smile. “I was just admiring that painting of the cathedral,” he said, and with his right hand he pointed to a framed picture on the wall just behind the waitress. “I’ve always liked watercolours.”

  The waitress turned to look, and without hesitation, Andrew sidestepped so that his shoulder brushed up against the coats. He kept his eyes on the painting. “Are any of the pictures for sale?”

  The waitress turned back around and smiled at him. “Some of them are, but not that one. It was done by an old friend of mine, as it happens.”

  “Really? It’s very good,” Andrew said. “Must be wonderful to have a talent like that.” The waitress glanced back at the painting, and Andrew seized his chance. Without looking down, he slipped his phone into the pocket of the waxed coat and then stepped back to the counter. “But I mustn’t keep you chatting. I’m sure you’re very busy. I was wondering if I could have the bill.”

  After he’d paid the bill, Andrew saw that Cally was waiting for him by the door. She was still chewing and brushing the crumbs from her clothes, and as he joined her, she licked the sticky jam from her lips. “Thank you,” she said. “That was nice.”

  Andrew waved her thanks away. “No problem. Are you ready?”

  “Sure.”

  He opened the door for her and they stepped out into the sunlight. Andrew looked along the street. There was no sign of the young woman who’d been watching them, but that didn’t mean much. There’d be at least four in the extraction team, and whichever way he and Cally went, the team would be one step ahead. If they thought he was trying to lose them, it would only force them into acting sooner. It was best if the team thought they hadn’t been spotted.

  “So,” Andrew said, “which way do we go?”

  Cally hesitated. “Are you sure you still want to go?”

  For god’s sake, Andrew thought, let’s just get the hell out of here. But he forced a smile. “Positive. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Well, in that case, it’s this way.” She indicated with her arm and they started walking.

  Good, Andrew thought. We’re heading back toward the main street. Soon, they could mingle with the crowds and there was at least a slim chance they could get away from the extraction team. “Is it far?”

  “No. Just a ten minute walk.”

  They strolled together in silence for a while, neither of them sure what to say. As they turned a corner and rejoined the busy main street, Cally did a double take then shook her head. Andrew’s stomach tightened. “Seen someone you know?”

  Cally shrugged. “I’m not sure. He seemed familiar, but I can’t place him.”

  Andrew looked back but there was nothing suspicious. “A student?”

  “No. He was older—forty-something. Maybe he’s a lecturer or something.”

  “Right,” Andrew said. But he wasn’t convinced. In his world, it paid to be paranoid. Cally may already have forgotten the chance encounter with a vaguely familiar face, but Andrew knew it was no coincidence. The extraction team had them surrounded, and they were closing in.

  Chapter 27

  2014

  THE MAN WAS BREATHING HARD, his cheeks twitching. He put his hand to his lips, but he didn’t say a word.

  Tom saw the desperation in the man’s eyes. He’s suffered enough, he thought, and he broke the silence. “This is where it happened.”

  “I guessed as much,” the man said. He looked across the ledge. “The police never said anything about a ledge.”

  Tom sniffed. “They didn’t know about it. I never told them. I knew they wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

  “And they didn’t look hard enough. I said so at the time.” The man shook his head. “Unbelievable! It was so important to find this place, but they didn’t even come close.”

  “It’s hard to find,” Tom said. “But even if they came up here, there was nothing to see.”

  The man glared at Tom. “You made certain of that, did you?”

  Tom shook his head wearily. “No. There was just nothing to see.”

  The man gave a short, derisive laugh. “You know, I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. Forensics is pretty good these days. They can always find something, even after all this time.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t do anything to him—there was nothing to hide, nothing to find.”

  “You’d better tell me,” the man said. “Tell me what happened.”

  Tom pointed at the grassy bank at one end of the ledge. “He was standing over there.”

  The man started to turn toward the bank and then hesitated. He turned to face Tom and looked down on the ground. The baseball bat lay on the grass, just behind Tom. The man stepped forward as quickly as he could, putting his weight on his good ankle, and picked up the bat. He gave Tom a cold smile. “Show me. And don’t think I suddenly trust you. I don’t. Not for a second.”

  Tom shook his head. I should’ve known. The boy’s father had held on to his bitter anger for too long; there was no way he’d let it go now. There’s no use trying to reason with him. I’ll just have to tell him what happened and hope he doesn’t go ballistic. He sighed and looked toward the grassy bank. He was already closer to the stone slab than he wanted to be, but the man wasn’t leaving him much choice. “All right,” he said. “Keep your hair on.” He hobbled slowly across the ledge, each step shorter than the last, until finally, he shuffled to a standstill, at least one good stride away from the bank. The man stood at his side. “He was right there,” Tom said.

  The man glanced at the place. “And?”

  Tom tutted to himself. “Can’t you see it? Go closer. You have to go right up to it.”

  The man hesitated. He tightened his grip on the baseball bat. “You first.”

  Tom looked at the ground for a moment. He should refuse. He should not move one millimetre nearer to that bloody stone. But would the man listen to him? No. So what was the point in arguing? Just get it over with. “All right,” he said. Taking care where he placed his feet, he stepped up to the bank and looked down onto the stone slab. Its surface was dull, streaked with mud and littered with gravelly soil and dead leaves.

  The man joined him. “What is it?” But he didn’t wait for Tom to answer. He bent down and swept some of the dead leaves away with his hand.

  Tom held his breath but nothing strange happened when the man touched the dark stone. The man bent lower to examine it. “It looks like a slab of black marble, or is it a dark granite?”

  “No,” Tom said. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not what you think.”

  “I don’t know. Could be gneiss or…” He brushed some of the loose soil away and ran his fingertips over the stone’s surface. He looked up at Tom. “It’s so smooth. It’s perfect—almost like it was carved yesterda
y.” He straightened his back and gazed at the stone. “So this was what he found,” he murmured. “This is why he kept coming in here. He tried to tell me…in his email. He tried to tell me. But I didn’t listen. I wasn’t there for him.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a second. “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t understand.” He turned to Tom. “What happened?” he demanded. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Tom took a breath and fixed his eyes on the stone slab. “He…he fell. He fell on the stone.”

  “You saw it? You were here?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Why? Why did he fall?”

  Tom couldn’t answer.

  “It was you, wasn’t it? You hurt him. You attacked him.”

  Tom held out his hands and spread his fingers. “No. It wasn’t like that. I just threatened him. I went toward him. He backed away.”

  The man put his hands up to his mouth. “Christ! He must’ve been terrified.” He stared at Tom. “I get it,” he said. “You’re trying to tell me it was, what—an accident? He just fell. Nothing to do with you. Is that it?”

  Tom turned his face away. He couldn’t deny it.

  “But you were going to hurt him, weren’t you? Whatever you threatened—you would’ve done it.”

  “I don’t know. I…” Tom’s voice trailed away.

  “Oh please,” the man sneered. “You admitted you’d already attacked him once. I was at your trial. I know the things you’ve done. I know what you’re capable of.”

  Tom’s fingers curled into fists. He glared at the man. “Yes. For once, you’ve got it right.”

  The man gave him a withering look.

  Tom took no notice. “That’s how it was back then. This place was ours. It belonged to us. I had to punish him. I had no choice.”

  “Don’t give me that bleeding heart, peer pressure crap.”

  “It’s true. It’s what I was. It’s who I was.”