Lindisfarne (Project Renova Book 2)

by Terry Tyler

  "Aria's difficult," Rowan says. "Maybe he was going to leave her, and she knew. Couldn't handle it. He could have gone for a walk rather than go home to her, and she could have followed him. Bashed him over the head."

  "Hey!" Ozzy heads over to Jax, and puts his arm around him. "Can we not?"

  Rowan put her hand to her forehead. "Jax, I am so sorry. That's possibly the worst thing I've ever said."

  Jax holds his hand up, in acknowledgement, and I can tell he's going to break down; he walks out of the room. Ozzy shakes his head at us before following him.

  "How about we give the little guy a bit of consideration? Like, not discuss the gories in front of him? Or any of it, come to that?"

  The front door slams, I look out, and see Oz following Jax down the road, turning down towards the castle.

  Kara turns to Dex. "You've got to go and see Travis. Now. I'll come with you."

  Phil stands. "I'll talk to Aria. Best we get it done as soon as possible. People are going to be scared; we've got to keep a lid on this, find out who did it, and get them gone. We can't afford another mass exodus like after Kai was killed. I'm already struggling on the farm."

  "So that's it?" I can't believe my ears. "Whoever killed him gets to just leave, walk away free?"

  Dex holds up his hands. "Well, what do you want me to do, Lottie? String them up? Have them stoned to death?"

  I fold my arms. "Yeah. Either of those would be a fucking excellent idea."

  "I can't handle this," says Scott, and shoots off next door.

  "Nor can I."

  I grab my jacket and catch up with Jax and Ozzy over towards the boats. The day's come out bright, sunny and cold, and we park ourselves on a bench. Ozzy delves into his many layers of faded clothing, and brings forth two spliffs and a half bottle of Jack. The sun shines on the water, and we sit and pass them round, in silence.

  I think stoned is the best place for Jax to be, right now. After a while, Ozzy suggests a walk over the dunes, which is a good plan, as it's away from everything. I want to go with them, but I know I should check on Mum.

  She's curled up on her bed with her arms around her stomach, not crying, but her face is wet and her eyes are red.

  I sit, put my hand on her shoulder. "They're going out to find out who—well, you know. Who did it."

  She covers my hand in hers. "It won't bring him back." Her voice sounds defeated, like there's nothing left in her. A tear rolls down her cheek. "It was Aria or Wedge, anyway."

  I frown. "Why Wedge?"

  "Because he's a psychopath. I think he killed Marcus."

  "Why would he, though?"

  "Psychopaths don't need a reason." She turns her head, buries it in the pillow, and weeps.

  "Oh, Mum." I put my head on her shoulder. "It's horrible, I can't get into my head that it's happened."

  "It's happened." She drags herself up and sits, hugging her knees. "I don't know if I can do this."

  "Shall we go?" I say. "Like Heath wanted us to? Take Jax, too."

  "I couldn't. Not without him." She gives a wail of pain.

  "Do—do you think Dex suspects? About you and Heath?"

  "I don't think so. He's been really sweet."

  "I thought I heard you arguing, earlier."

  "I was just going off my trolley. He was good, though. Patient." She shuts her eyes.

  "Do you want to come downstairs? No one's there."

  "In a bit." She sniffs. "Kara knows. About Heath and me. She guessed. Before, I mean. I can't let Dex suspect. I need him." She doesn't sound like herself. Her voice is all weird. "I need a drink. I think."

  "I'll find you one. What do you want?"

  "Anything. Long as it's strong." She sounds like even talking is an effort. She rests her head on her knees and I know she's sobbing her heart out, but she makes no noise at all.

  Phil comes back and says that Aria went ballistic when he questioned her.

  "Sometimes it really comes home to you how alone we are now." He shakes his head and flops onto the settee. "Oh, for the police. I was as gentle and subtle as I possibly could be and she went off her rocker. She's grieving, badly; it's too soon."

  Dex has taken Mum out for a walk. I could tell she didn't want to go.

  "Travis was less than helpful, too," Kara says. "Well, if it's not him, he's got every right to be pissed off at being questioned, but he's the only one with motive." She sits down next to Phil, and puts her head on his shoulder. "How the hell are you supposed to do this stuff without DNA evidence and CCTV?"

  Am I missing something? "Er, isn't anyone going to question Wedge? He's the neighbourhood psycho, isn't he?"

  "It's a hard one," Phil says. "He's got no motivation, as far as we know; we're fumbling around in the dark here, Lottie. If he did kill Marcus, then yes, it means he kills without reason, not because of some biker club honour bullshit. If he didn't, he'd have every right to refuse to be questioned. Dex should've investigated Audrey's accusations at the time, but that's our fault for not insisting he did, too." He rests his head back, and closes his eyes. "I'm tired. I'll think about it tomorrow."

  At the end of the day, I walk on my own. Down by the harbour I look out across the water and try to think profound thoughts, but I haven't got any; I just feel sad. I mooch over the field towards the priory, stopping at the place where Heath died, but that totally freaks me out. So, because I can't think of anything else to do, I head for his grave.

  It's nothing, though. It's just earth and flowers. Heath's not there, it's just the body that had him inside it. He's in my head, not in the ground.

  I wander right the way round the churchyard and look out at the mainland over the water. The light is eerie, the sun fading to pinky orange, and I think, he'll never see the sun go down, ever again. I feel flat and dead. I guess being in a graveyard doesn't help. I'm walking back round the church when I hear movement; it's Bette, taking a pee under the Hangman's Tree. As she stands and pulls up her jeans she sees me, and gives a half-smile, not at all embarrassed to be caught with her kecks down in semi-daylight.

  "Hey," she says. She's a bit wobbly. Probably too pissed to be embarrassed.

  "Hey." I draw nearer; she's giving me these weird looks, and her eyes keep flitting back to the Monk's Head. Like she's nervous about being seen.

  "Come ’ere," she says. "Got something to tell you."

  "What?"

  She looks over at the hotel again. "Tell Jax I gotta see him. Y' got a watch?"

  "I can find one."

  "Tell him to meet me in them sheds, down by the jetty. Early's best. Tell him eight o'clock the morra morning."

  She's about to stagger off, but I catch hold of her arm.

  "Why? Why do you want to see him?"

  She puts her hand over mine. Grips it. Her eyes are yellowy and red-rimmed, and she stinks of drink, it turns my stomach. "Tell him I know who killed his da'. For real. Tell him. And don't tell no one else. You hear that? No one. You promise?"

  "I promise."

  "Good. 'Cause if you do, I'm not saying owt."

  Then she drops my hand and runs off, back to the hotel.

  I don't tell Jax until I wake him the next morning at half past seven, because I know if I did he'd have dashed straight off and found her, made a scene. I know this, because it's what I'd do.

  We're dead quiet, so as not to wake Mum, Dex and Flora. We pee in the garden, brush our teeth in the kitchen, glug down an energy drink each (use-by date: a year ago), and set off.

  We see Bette's yellow hair through the broken window of one of the sheds. It's dull and damp, muddy underfoot, and I'm looking around to make sure no one is up and about and likely to see us, because Jax won't be thinking of that. All is quiet on the harbour front, though.

  It smells damp and musty inside the shed. Bette's sitting on an upturned box, smoking a cigarette.

  Jax marches straight over. "She says you know who killed my dad." He's shaking.

  "Yeah, I do." She takes a long drag. "I'll
tell you on one condition only."

  "No." He hugs himself; I've never seen anyone shake so much. "You just tell me. Now."

  I put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's hear what she wants." I look at her. "What's the condition?"

  She sniffs. "Well, there's two. The first one is that you don't tell no one, and I mean nobody. The second is that you sort it."

  I frown. "Sort it?"

  She nods. "Yeah. Get it sorted. You, Jax. You know what I mean, don't you? 'Cause you'll want to, won't you?"

  Does she mean what I think she means? Why can't we just tell Dex? Why hasn't she told Dex?

  Jax puts a hand to his gut, like he's going to be sick. "I won't tell anyone, and yes, I'll sort it, don't you worry. Jus' tell me."

  She stands up, and offers him a cigarette, which he takes. I've never seen him smoke, but he accepts the light like a pro.

  "Well?" I say.

  Bette draws in her breath. "It was Wedge."

  Jax sways, and I think he's going to faint. Then his legs sort of buckle, and he flops down on the mucky floor. He starts to cry; I do too, for him. Poor little Jax.

  "Why?" His voice is all waily and sobbing. "Why would he do that? My dad never did anything to him."

  "'Cause he's a psychopath," I say. "They don't need a reason." I turn to Bette. "Did he kill Marcus, too?"

  She grinds her cigarette out on the floor. "Aye, I'm pretty sure he did."

  I put my hand on Jax's shoulder. "Come on, let's go and tell Dex. I know he's been soft on him, but he can't let this one go, not this—"

  Bette draws in her breath. "Babe. You can't."

  I turn. "Why not?"

  She shuts her eyes. "'Cause this is the really shit bit. This is why it's so frigging difficult. It was Dex who asked him to do it."

  My legs buckle, too, and I flop down next to Jax.

  "What?"

  Jax and I look at each other, totally freaked out. I take his cigarette and have a drag; it makes me totally light-headed.

  "Dex asked him? Dex asked him to kill my dad?"

  "I'm afraid so, pet. I know for sure."

  I hear myself wail, "But why?" And that's a stupid question, because I know why, don't I? We both know.

  Jax shouts, "No-oo," like he's in physical pain, and he gets up, and he's walking round like he can't see where he's going, slamming his fists against his head, kicking things. And I'm crying out of shock and fear and absolute fucking hopelessness. Dex used to live in our house, he was like a dad to me—

  "You're sure? You know for definite? How?"

  Bette rifles through her pockets, gets out her cigarettes, and lights another one, and I want to scream at her to tell me, to stop being so calm, and just fucking tell me fucking everything. She blows smoke out through her nose, and looks me straight in the eye.

  "He knew about him and y' mam." She sniffs, drags the palm of her hand up against her nose. "He asked Wedge to get him gone. Wedge, he wanted Cleary to, like, lure him down here by asking for help with his bike. He thinks Cleary's a sap who'll do owt, and keep his trap shut, but for once in his life Cleary stood up to him and said no, 'cause he liked your da', Jax. He said Kai was one thing, that was club honour, but this was a step too far. He told Wedgie to fuck off, said no one would do it 'cause they all liked Heath an' his lad."

  She takes another drag and her bloodshot eyes stare into mine. "Dex said everyone would think it was that Travis, then he could chuck him off the island an' that’d be that. Wedge, he made out like he wasn't going to do it after Cleary told him no, but—well, he did, didn't he."

  "And Wedge told you about this?"

  "No, did he fuck, it was Cleary. Dex said he wasn't having nobody make a cunt of him." She blows a smoke ring. "Well, he's, like, king of the castle, isn't he? He'd lose all his cred if y' mam left him for another bloke." She shrugs. "Frigging men, they're such dipshits. They think we're their fucking possessions. It's not about love. They think it is but it's not, it's just their fucking pride."

  My whole world's turned inside out and upside down, and nothing is what I thought it was. "Dex is a murderer." I feel stunned, like someone's hit me over the head.

  "Well, no, not technically, pet. He ordered it, he never actually done owt."

  "That fucking bastard!" Jax is sobbing, badly. "I'm going to kill him. I am, I'm going to kill him!"

  Shit, does he mean Dex? I don't think Mum could take that. This is so, so bad. "Why would Wedge agree to do it?"

  Bette gives a little laugh. "'Killing's nothing to him, man. You don't know the fucking half of it, you lot. He did for his own brother, an' he's killed others since the virus. Anyone what pisses him off. He's getting something out of this one, though. Dex said he could run the island with him, like, officially, and he'd get good shit to trade at that place they go. For meth an' guns an' that. Prob'ly lasses 'n' all."

  I get the gist.

  My impulse is to run back home, right now, and tell everyone, but even before I stand up, I know I need to hold on. I don't think Mum could take it. I think about those scary demented noises she made when she found him—no. Not yet. She'd go screwy. But if she finds out, later, that I knew and didn't tell her—

  Oh my God, what the fuck do I do? My chest feels all tight, like I'm going to have a heart attack or something. What do I do? Normally I'd go to Kara or Nicole, but I can't tell them, I can't tell anybody. I've got to deal with this whole shitstorm on my own, somehow make the right decisions, but I don't know what the fuck they are.

  There's nobody I can go to. Nobody. Not even Phil. 'Cause no one will agree to keep quiet, they just won't.

  I shut my eyes and imagine telling Mum that Dex ordered Heath's murder.

  NO.

  She'd lose it. She's had too much to deal with, with Gran and Grandad, all her friends, everything that's happened—I thought that Heath dying was the final straw, the last bad thing, but this—

  I want to wail for help, but I can't because this is Jax's pain, much more than mine.

  He's slumped against a wall now, just crying.

  "So, you going to sort it?" Bette says. "We want him gone 'cause of what he done to Kai, but mostly 'cause he's out of control. Cleary reckons he'll go for him next, 'cause he knows. Wedgie, he's got to cover his tracks, and it's getting easier for him all the time. I reckon he could do anyone. Anybody that does owt he doesn't like."

  "Well, why doesn't Cleary just do it, then?"

  "It's not as simple as that. Club politics, man. You cannit off the President without all of yous agreeing." She puts her head on one side, like she's appealing to me. "If Cleary did it, Jez would have every right to do the same to him, 'cause he's the VP. An' it's hard, y'know, pet? He's known Wedge since they were bairns."

  "But it's okay for Jax to do it? Bette, we can't do this, we're just kids!"

  "It's okay, Lottie." Jax stands up and wipes his eyes. "I can. I want to." He sounds dead calm; it's scary.

  "Aye, we thought you would." Bette nods; her voice is soft, and she smiles at him.

  "Jax," I say. I'm not sure exactly what he means—I'm so scared, and my head's gone all swimmy, like I'm not really here. "Just Wedge—don't do anything to Dex. Not yet. It's too much." My chest is rising, falling, my breath coming out in big gulps. "Please, we need to think and talk about what to do." I'm crying, I can't calm myself down. "Please, not yet. My mum—"

  He looks at me, and his eyes have gone so cold. Kind of dead and glazed. "I won't do anything to upset Vicky. I'll deal with Dex later. I will, just not now." He doesn't even look like himself, let alone sound it. He turns to Bette. "I'll do it. Tell me how."

  She grinds out her cigarette. "We’ve got a plan. But you’ve got to keep quiet, the pair o'you. Y' cannit tell a soul. Can you do that?"

  Cleary's got these powerful sedatives, which he's already tested so we know how much is needed and how long they take to work.

  "He got them a while back," Bette says. "When they were over that Club Trop place. Wedge hinted that
he killed Marcus just 'cause he said a few things that pissed him off. We were starting to think it could be either of us, or any of the lads, if we got on the wrong side of him."

  Are they getting Jax to do their dirty work? "Cleary was prepared to do it, before this, then? So let him."

  "It's okay," Jax says. "I want to do it. It has to be me; I couldn't live with myself if I chickened out."

  The sedatives will go in his drink, tonight. Massive amounts, to counteract any speed he might've taken earlier, Bette says. She'll have the back door of the hotel open, at one in the morning.

  "The lads’ll have crashed by then," Bette says. "I'll make sure he goes up to bed when he starts getting tired; I'll promise him something nice." She eyes Jax. "You'll use a knife. You got one?"

  Jax folds his arms. "I want to do to him what he did to my dad. So he knows how it feels when he's going to die and he can't do nothing about it."

  Bette shakes her head. "You're not strong enough. He'd wake up and overpower you, and you'd be dead, not him. You need the knife to the chest, neck and gut, and he'll be too far gone to do owt even if he does wake up. You can't hesitate or start no emotional shite, nowt like that. Do it, quick and deep, and get out."

  "I want him to see me. I want him to know it's me doing it." Jax looks up at me. "I want my face to be the last thing he sees."

  She shakes her head again. "You don't get to have that, sorry pet. If he's conscious enough to know it's you, you're dead. You’ve got to trust us."

  We walk back in silence, aware that we've got the whole, long day and evening ahead of us.

  Back at home, Flora is lighting the fire, boiling water for coffee. We go upstairs and sit on my bed.

  "What you going to do all day?"

  Jax shrugs. "I dunno. Sleep. Walk, maybe."

  "Do you want company?"

  "Nah." He looks at me. "I don't want to talk about it."

  When he opens the door to go back to his room, Dex is on the landing.

  I feel like I've just seen the devil. That sounds over dramatic, but it's how it is. Like there's this big darkness in the house.