by Tom Bale
He knew exactly what was going on.
Leon was desperately trying to shift the blame elsewhere, just as Ellie had predicted he would. But Joe didn’t like the way Fenton reacted to this latest accusation.
‘What did Glenn lie about?’ he asked Leon.
‘You. Fenton said you were dead. Glenn told him to say that.’
‘When was this?’
‘A few minutes ago.’ Leon grinned. ‘It’s not looking good for you now.’
Logic told Joe this was a bluff, although he couldn’t dismiss the idea completely. But why would Glenn break his promise not to contact Fenton or Leon, only to pass on a lie? Had it been a misguided attempt to help Joe?
‘How much is he paying you?’ Leon said to Fenton, who gave an irritable shrug. It was a long way from a denial, and they all saw it. ‘Your job’s to protect the merchandise, I suppose. What a fucking joke.’
Fenton turned pompous. ‘While we waste time, this young woman might be dying. Joe, I suggest we secure Leon until the police can take him away—’
‘You’re not going to call the cops,’ Leon broke in. He gave Joe a scornful look. ‘You haven’t worked it out, have you?’
‘Tell me.’
Leon inclined his head: Joe could see him weighing up the angles. ‘Give me a route out of here and I might just save your life.’
Her first sensation was light, pouring through her eyelids, painful and yet pleasant in its normality. Her second sensation was warmth: of soft, clean bedding wrapped tightly around her. It had to be a dream, didn’t it? A dream where she had regressed to infancy: a swaddled baby, safe from harm.
Jenny wanted to open her eyes, but she was scared. The dream might not withstand such a shock. To wake and find herself back in the cell …
But the cell was flooded. That hadn’t been a dream, surely? The last thing she recalled was the water climbing above her waist, the terrible impulse to surrender to it.
There were voices, she realised. Two or three men arguing; the air charged with their negative emotions: fear, resentment, anger, jealousy, greed. Her mind was too confused to follow the conversation – until one word leapt out at her.
Leon.
They were talking about someone called Leon.
No. The man called Leon was one of them.
He was here.
Jenny remembered the friendly seduction. The drinks that might have been spiked. The glow of street lights sliding beneath the roof of the car.
She began to shake. Very cautiously, she opened her eyes, just a fraction. After so long in darkness, it hurt. She had to wait for her vision to adjust. Finally she was able to see a little of her immediate surroundings: she was in the spacious hallway of an old house. Lots of stone and timber.
And caves and tunnels beneath.
The man nearest to her was the one who had saved her life. How she knew this, Jenny had no idea, but she trusted him instinctively.
Another man, obese and unpleasant-looking, said, ‘While we waste time, this young woman might be dying. Joe, I suggest we secure Leon until the police can take him away—’
He seemed to be talking about the third man, who was standing apart from the other two. Jenny peered at him for what seemed like a very long time, and then she drew on all the strength she could muster and said, ‘That’s not him.’
There was silence, but she couldn’t be sure they had heard her. So she said it again.
‘Please … That’s not him.’
This time there was no doubt. The man she trusted – Joe? – knelt down and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He gave her an encouraging smile. She managed a feeble grin in return.
‘That isn’t Leon,’ she told him.
He looked sympathetic, as though this were an acknowledged symptom of her madness. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said gently. ‘His name is Leon Race.’
Jenny felt a rush of terror, as acute as anything she had suffered in captivity. Her mind must have gone. No one would trust her or believe what she said. There was no hope of living a normal life.
Then the confusion cleared from his eyes, and he said, ‘The man who abducted you, did he call himself Leon?’
‘Yes.’ Jenny was absurdly grateful that he understood. ‘But he’s slimmer. Thick black hair. Much better looking.’
Now Joe’s face had changed. Instead of expressing delight that they’d found a solution to the puzzle, he seemed to deflate before her eyes.
‘Much better looking?’ he repeated.
She nodded. ‘And he knew it, too,’ she said.
Eighty-Seven
DIANA CAME ROUND to a splitting headache, but no amnesia, no confusion. While she was still dazed, Glenn helped her back into the living room. She heard an exclamation from Ellie, then Glenn’s blithe reassurance.
‘She tripped over a shoe in the hall and went flying.’
‘Oh God. Is she all right?’ Ellie came to her side, but Diana shut her eyes for fear of what Ellie might see in them.
‘Yeah. No real harm done.’ Glenn set her down on the sofa, one hand trailing across her face. The touch made her squirm, but it must have convinced Ellie of his devotion.
‘I’ll get her some painkillers. And water.’
‘Sit down. She’s fine.’
Diana let out a moan. Opened her eyes and found Ellie kneeling at her side, Glenn standing behind her. His face was cold, determined. Diana looked away, snatched a morsel of courage and held it tight.
‘Just a couple of paracetamol, please …’
‘Of course.’ Ellie made a face. ‘That’s a nasty bump.’
‘I know. Honestly, I swear I’m going senile!’
Glenn permitted Ellie to leave the room, apparently satisfied that Diana hadn’t given him away. As soon as they were alone, Diana dropped the pretence.
‘That was the only reason you saved Joe?’ she hissed. ‘To sell him to Danny Morton?’
‘I had no choice. Leon wouldn’t go through with it. I’ve agreed five hundred grand, Di. Cash and gold.’ He puffed up, immensely pleased with himself.
‘How long were you planning this?’
‘Cadwell put the idea in my head this morning. Then I came here, and you begged me to get him back … It seemed too good an opportunity to miss.’ A glance at the door. They could hear a tap running in the kitchen. ‘Sorry about your head. I need you to stay calm, say nothing to Ellie till the deal’s done. Then you won’t see me for dust, okay?’
Diana nodded, as though she accepted his terms. ‘Why didn’t you keep Joe here?’
Glenn sniffed. ‘I was gonna go with him, deal with him on the way. It took me by surprise when he said I should stay here. One against three, there wasn’t much I could do.’ He shrugged, automatically giving her the kind of winsome look that she’d once found so disarming.
She sighed. ‘You really can’t think on your feet, can you?’ Her tone was so loaded with regret that it gave no offence. ‘And Morton’s on his way?’
‘He was near Bristol when I called. He’d been searching for Joe there.’ Glenn checked his watch. ‘Maybe an hour or so now, that’s all.’
‘And where will he find your money at such short notice?’
‘I dunno, do I? That’s his problem.’
‘Oh, Glenn. You’re being taken for a fool. Have you any idea of the kind of man you’re dealing with?’
He sneered, but she could see the doubt in his eyes. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘No, you don’t. You’ve thrown away everything you had for a few empty promises.’
‘Half a million quid, that’s not peanuts,’ Glenn snarled. ‘Either way, Joe was going to end up dead.’
Ellie returned with the paracetamol and a glass of water. Aside from her concern for Diana, she didn’t seem to sense anything wrong. Kneeling once again, she took out two tablets and helped Diana sit up to swallow them.
Scowling, Glenn settled in the armchair that Ellie had vacated. It was the chair nearest the door: not the subtlest o
f moves.
Ellie snorted, said in a light-hearted voice: ‘Hey! You pinched my seat.’
Glenn just looked at her and grunted, and Diana had a sudden insight: he was psyching himself up for more brutality. He wouldn’t allow either of them to leave until the handover was complete. Even then, would he be prepared to let Diana go when she knew what he’d done?
No. He’s got to silence me, she thought. And whatever he does to me, he has to do to Ellie.
She sat up straight, took another sip of water and put the glass down. She could feel Glenn’s gaze burning into her, but she wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t look at Ellie, either, who had picked up another magazine and sat in the other armchair. Diana felt overwhelmed by guilt. Ellie shouldn’t have to suffer for Diana’s misjudgements.
‘I do believe the rain’s easing off,’ she said with brittle good cheer. When Ellie looked up, she added: ‘Perhaps you should see if there’s a clear route home?’
‘It’s pissing down,’ Glenn said, glaring a warning at her.
Ellie nodded. ‘I’m fine here. Better to wait till Joe gets back, at least.’
Tense silence for a minute or two, which Diana found all the more unbearable for her past cowardice. She had been weak for so long; clinging to a bad relationship because she was scared of being alone: so pathetically frightened that Glenn might abandon her for a newer model that she’d turned a blind eye to all his negative qualities.
‘Will Joe find Kamila, do you think?’ she asked him.
‘Dunno. She’s bound to be dead, though, after all these weeks.’
‘I’m surprised you never mentioned this tunnel before. You must have been working on the strongroom when we …’
She faltered. Across the room, Ellie seemed to bury herself deeper in the magazine.
Glenn said, ‘Maybe. Can’t remember.’
‘But didn’t you ever wonder if there was a connection, once you heard about the missing women?’
‘Never occurred to me. I haven’t given it a thought in years.’
‘I don’t mean recently. What about the girl that Roy was trying to find? That was around the same time you were building it.’
Her voice changed, turning flat on the last couple of words. She prayed he wouldn’t pick up on it. Another insight: this one had struck her like a punch in the chest. Ellie was staring at her as though she’d felt it too, a mental shock wave.
Aggrieved, Glenn said, ‘Are you trying to say I knew what Leon was up to?’
‘No.’ Diana shook her head quite vehemently. ‘Not at all.’
She met Ellie’s gaze again, and just for a second she saw all the same doubt and fear that must have shone in her own eyes. Like an inadvertent glance in a mirror during some dreaded ordeal; a reflection to crush the spirit.
More silence. Diana listened to the rain on the window, knots exploding in the fire. Some of the candles would need replacing before long. Another unwanted thought began to worm its way into her consciousness.
Maybe Joe’s not coming back. Maybe Leon got the better of him …
Ellie sighed, slid the magazine half off her lap and contemplated Glenn with a strange, dreamy smile.
‘What will you tell Alec?’ she asked.
Glenn flinched. His son despised him for cheating on Ellie and, for all Diana knew, probably despised her, too. The subject wasn’t raised often, but occasionally Glenn had bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t have the sort of father–son relationship that he felt was his due.
‘Tell Alec what?’ he said, exasperated.
‘About the women. How many were there, in all?’
Glenn regarded Ellie as though she’d let him down by raising such an indelicate subject in the presence of his current partner.
‘You mean girlfriends? You want to talk about the women I’ve shagged?’
‘Not girlfriends, no. Unless that’s what you call them.’
Another disbelieving look, this time shared with Diana, inviting her to wonder just what his loopy ex-wife was getting at. But Diana didn’t react: every muscle in her body might have been encased in stone, the way in a nightmare you watch a tragedy unfold, helpless to intervene.
‘What I mean is,’ Ellie said, ‘how many women will Joe find in the tunnels?’
‘How should I know?’
Ellie shook her head, her lips pursed with an inexpressible sadness. ‘Because you killed them.’
Eighty-Eight
IT WASN’T LEON. It was Glenn. A crushing revelation; all the more so because Joe had suggested – practically insisted – that Glenn stay behind with Ellie and Diana.
Almost as shocking was the knowledge that Glenn had managed to conceal his true nature for so long. Joe knew that when a killer was unmasked, the women in his life were often tainted with the accusation that ‘they must have known’, when in fact they had no idea of the crimes their partner was committing.
We see what we want to see, he thought. And what they had seen was what Joe himself saw in Glenn: a good-looking ladies’ man, a rough and ready charmer.
Joe hadn’t wanted to exhaust the woman – she told him her name was Jenny – but he gave her a brief description of Glenn, and right away she confirmed it was the man who’d come on to her in a pub in Exeter, and possibly spiked her drink.
‘He called himself Leon. He bragged a lot. How rich he was, how successful. I thought at the time it must be bullshit.’
Joe was aware of Leon edging closer to listen. He seemed genuinely appalled, particularly when she told Joe the date on which she believed it had happened.
‘She’s been down there for ten days?’
‘Probably. And she’s not the first.’ Joe sighed. His anger with Leon was a reflection of the anger he felt with himself. ‘How come no one else knew about the tunnel? Surely you saw it when he was fitting out the basement?’
‘I hardly ever went down there.’
‘Weren’t there other tradesmen?’
‘Glenn did most of the work himself. He was in and out for months, and I was happy to leave him to it.’
‘And since then? When he was bringing them food and water.’ Joe shuddered. ‘Visiting them.’
‘You’ve seen how it is. There’s always people coming and going. Some of ’em live here, more or less. If Glenn wanted to sneak down to the basement when it was quiet, nobody would be any the wiser.’
Leon was telling the truth, but he seemed rather too eager to talk about it, Joe thought. Which jogged his memory of the conversation before Jenny’s disclosure.
‘What haven’t I worked out?’
Leon shrugged. ‘You got anything to offer me?’
As Leon taunted him, another voice cried out: ‘You murdering son of a bitch!’
Patrick Davy. Wild-eyed and soaking wet, his wrists slick with blood, coming in fast, swinging the cricket bat with fury and determination.
Joe shouted at him to stop, but it was useless. Davy didn’t acknowledge it; probably didn’t hear a thing. Too intent on his target.
And his target didn’t stand a chance. Hampered by his injured wrist, Leon moved stiffly, trying to twist and duck at the same time. It made little difference to the end result. The bat connected with his temple. The noise was astonishingly loud and vivid: a hard resounding crack that made Joe feel sick.
Leon was looking at Joe as the bat struck: a look of sad, imploring self-pity. His body hit the floor with a shuddering force. Davy was drawing back for another swing; this time he heard Joe’s cry and hesitated.
‘The bastard would have killed you today. You don’t owe him any mercy.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ Joe told him. ‘I don’t know how much you heard?’
‘Not a lot. I managed to get the cuffs off, then I went out the window, retrieved the bat and climbed back in.’ Davy was matter-of-fact about it. What he’d left unsaid was that he could simply have run away, abandoning Joe to his fate.
Joe started to thank him, then noticed Fenton edging towards the fron
t door. He grabbed the fat man by the collar and hauled him back. ‘Sit down,’ he said. Davy emphasised the order by prodding Fenton in the gut with the cricket bat.
‘Is the girl okay?’ he asked. Jenny’s eyes were closed once more, but her breathing was steady.
Joe described what he’d found in the tunnels, then explained that it was Glenn who had been responsible. Not Leon.
‘Ah, shit. But he still deserves what he got. For Alise, if nothing else.’ Davy gazed at Leon’s prone form. ‘I don’t see what Glenn was playing at, letting you come here when he knew what you’d find.’
‘I suppose it was because everything pointed to Leon. The location. The history of violence, the way he’d tortured Alise. And if Glenn was using Leon’s name when he met these women, he must have planned to frame Leon from the start.’
‘Jesus. From what I saw of the guy, I never put him down as all that bright.’
‘Me neither. He managed to fool us all.’
‘So what now?’
Joe nudged Fenton with his foot. ‘Tie this one up, for a start.’
While Davy fetched the plasticuffs Joe examined Leon. He was alive, despite a badly fractured skull, but it seemed far from certain that he would survive. Joe decided that he wasn’t going to lose any sleep over the outcome, either way.
They cuffed Fenton’s wrists and ankles, ignoring his repeated claims that he’d taken no part in any criminal activity, and was firmly on Joe’s side.
‘So tell us what Leon meant. You’re “protecting the merchandise”. What kind of merchandise?’
Fenton looked gravely at Joe, at Davy. At the cricket bat. He was not a brave man.
‘You,’ he said. ‘It’s the same deal that Leon had intended to make.’ Fenton paused. Swallowed. ‘Glenn’s selling you to a man named Danny Morton.’
In a garbled rush of information, Fenton explained how Joe had been surreptitiously photographed on his first visit to the property. The picture had been circulated among Leon’s acquaintances, and finally somebody who knew Joe’s true identity had come forward and supplied the link to the Mortons.
As Joe listened, he was starkly aware that he had no one to blame but himself. ‘When is Morton getting here?’ he said.