Lost Souls

by Neil White

  Sam took a few deep breaths before continuing, looking at Harry. And now you want to protect him? He is a killer, but now it’s more lies, one more false alibi.’ Sam shook his head in frustration, in anger. ‘It’s your grandson, Harry. Doesn’t that mean anything?

  Harry swallowed and then he sat down.

  Everyone turned round when they heard a woman’s voice.

  ‘Luke was here all morning,’ the voice said.

  As Sam looked up the stairs, he saw a woman coming down. He knew it was Luke’s mother; he had seen her at family functions. Luke had her cheekbones, delicate and defined, but her eyes were red, ringed by dark circles. ‘Luke had nothing to do with your son going missing,’ she said.

  ‘Why should I believe you?’ asked Sam bitterly. ‘You would do anything to protect your son.’

  She came towards Sam and took his hands in hers, looked into his eyes, and said calmly, ‘But I wouldn’t do anything to hurt yours. I hope you find your son, but if you are searching for him, stop wasting your time looking at Luke.’

  ‘Shut up,’ snarled Jimmy. ‘You stupid bitch. Keep your fucking mouth shut.’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘I’ve had enough of lying. He’s gone too far now. A child has died. I won’t let that happen to another one.’ She squeezed Sam’s hand, and said, ‘We are doing what we can. Trust me.’ And then she walked away.

  As she went, Sam looked around at Jimmy. He had a different expression in his eyes. The anger was gone, replaced by fear. And, from the way his gaze followed her, Sam guessed it came from something his wife had said.

  Harry swallowed hard, and it was panic Sam saw in his eyes, while Luke looked calm, unconcerned.

  ‘So where am I looking, Luke?’ asked Sam quietly, the menace soft but obvious. ‘What is this all about?’ Sam looked at Jimmy, and then at Harry. ‘Do I look again at Terry McKay? What about the girl who died, the one Terry lied about? Do I look there?’

  ‘If you say anything,’ said Harry, ‘I’ll lose everything. But don’t think about me. Think about Helena. It’ll destroy her.’

  ‘Go see her now, Harry. She’s already destroyed.’ Sam looked at all of them. Harry looked away. Jimmy met his gaze, but he looked angry. Luke’s smugness faltered, just for a moment, but when it came back it was mixed with arrogance.

  ‘You’ll stick by Jimmy, even when your own grandson is at stake?’ asked Sam, as he looked at Harry.

  Harry sat down on a kitchen stool and put his head in his hands. Sam had his answer.

  ‘Shame on you, Harry,’ Sam spat.

  He turned around quickly and left the house.

  The hall stayed silent for a few moments, but it was Luke who broke the deadlock. He looked at his father and asked, ‘So now what are you going to do?’

  Chapter Fifty-two

  I was waiting by my car when Laura arrived. When she came towards me, I greeted her with a kiss. ‘What’s the game?’

  She stepped back in mock surprise. ‘Jack, how could you?’

  I smiled at her. ‘You make it hard for me to say no, but that’s the answer until you say we’re working together, sharing information.’

  Laura came forward and kissed me this time. ‘You’re too suspicious.’ When I didn’t respond, she said, ‘Okay, like you said, quid pro quo.’ She put her hands on her hips and then said, ‘Egan won’t look at the dream club as a line of inquiry. Not officially, anyway.’

  ‘So you’re it?’

  She shrugged her shoulders and grinned. ‘Quite a little task force, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s powerful,’ I agreed, ‘but if you’ve come to me, it’s because you need me, so I’m in charge.’ I tilted my head in the direction of the King house. ‘Follow me.’

  We set off walking towards the King house, looking just like a young couple going for a stroll. I didn’t ask much as we went, just about the post-mortem results and Egan’s response. As we got near to the King house, I veered off the path and headed towards the tree that I’d climbed before.

  ‘Where are you going, Jack Garrett?’

  The full name. That usually meant trouble.

  ‘I’m going to have a look around.’

  ‘Why don’t you try the front door?’

  I shook my head and grinned. ‘Sometimes you show a distinct lack of imagination.’

  Laura looked like she was about to walk away.

  ‘If I get in difficulty, you leave. No one knows you are here,’ I told her.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Laura asked.

  ‘If I tell you, will you try to stop me?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘So you’ll understand why I’m not telling you.’

  I got to the tree, but kept on going. Laura stayed with me, but I could tell she was getting nervous.

  Jimmy King’s house was surrounded by a high brick wall, so that his property sat in the countryside as if it had been dropped there. I made my way quickly to the back, to the wall just behind the outbuildings I had seen earlier. Once there, we seemed to be hidden.

  I turned to Laura.

  ‘Eric Randle painted something not too long ago, a picture of a house with two gables at the front. This case keeps on coming back here, and when you look at Jimmy King’s house, it has two gables at the front. Now, it isn’t that accurate when compared to the painting, but it’s worth a look, and I’m starting down here.’

  ‘No, Jack, you can’t go in there. King will have security, he’ll have cameras. And from what I’ve heard, he’s a violent man.’

  ‘But what if I’m right? If I am, the last place the camera will point is down here.’

  ‘Jimmy King isn’t the murderer, or the person abducting children.’

  I nodded. ‘I know, but he doesn’t seem keen on us finding the real culprit.’

  ‘It’s “me”, not “us”. I catch them, you report them.

  ‘Sometimes we have to swap positions. I’ll tell you what I find afterwards.’

  I went to put my hands on top of the wall, but it was too high for me. I looked around for a toehold, but then I felt Laura’s hand on my arm.

  ‘Stop, Jack, there’s something you don’t know.’ When I looked at her, she continued, ‘Sam Nixon’s son went missing this morning. It looks like an abduction.’

  I opened my mouth in surprise. I looked at the wall, and then remembered what I had seen not long before: Sam Nixon at the house.

  ‘You might foul up a crime scene if you go in there, if you think there is any connection with the abductions.’

  ‘Or catch a killer,’ I said, and then jammed my foot into a toehold in the bricks. I leaned against a nearby tree and then threw myself at the wall. I pulled myself up until my stomach was on top and I could see into the garden. As I balanced there, I looked down at Laura and asked, ‘What would you arrest me for if I’m caught?’

  ‘Being found on enclosed premises, as soon as you drop down on the other side,’ she said. ‘Just a fine in all likelihood. We can sell some of your vinyls to pay it.’

  ‘And if I get inside this building?’

  Laura raised her eyebrows. ‘Then you’ll be a burglar, and for that I might just have the house to myself for a few months.’

  I winked. ‘You’d better not miss the arrest then,’ I said, and then I dropped over the wall.

  I knelt down for a few minutes after I landed. I was in long grass, straggly and unkempt, the patch behind the fence that was never cut. I listened out for a noise, anything to tell me I’d been heard. It seemed silent.

  I wondered whether I had done the right thing. I would find it hard to justify being there. Freedom of the press wouldn’t cover me, and it would make things difficult for Laura.

  But when I thought about Sam Nixon’s missing boy, and the lost look in Mary Randle’s eyes, I realised that I had to go on.

  I looked around for a window, some other way in, but all I could see was pebbledash, covered in lichen blown down from the trees. I went to the back of the buildi
ng and edged along. My footsteps made soft swishing noises in the grass, but to me it sounded loud, revealing, all the time waiting for someone to appear around the corner, some hired thug or the police.

  I got to the first corner without any problems. I put my head slowly around the side, ready to duck back if there was someone there. As the garden came into view, I realised that I could see all the way down to the house. I felt a jolt, a nervous jump. That meant anyone in the house could see all the way down to me.

  The building I was leaning against was next to an old wooden shed, and there was a small gap between, maybe only a foot wide. I could squeeze in, just, and it gave me the best chance. It created a shadow, and if I saw movement, I could just stay still. But it also gave me my worst chance, because if someone blocked off the ends, I was trapped.

  I took a deep breath and thought about what to do. It didn’t take me long to decide. To go round would leave me too exposed.

  I squeezed in between the shed and the garage and began to shuffle along. I stumbled on some old planks left in the long grasses. They clattered together, the noise echoing along the gap. I stopped to see if anyone came to inspect. No one did.

  I carried on, my hands scraping the side of the building, the peddledash unblunted by the wind and rain, protected by the old shed. It felt sharp and raw.

  I found myself at the end of a long lawn, green stripes that marked out Jimmy King’s country dream, surrounded by flowerbeds, lovingly tended. That was all just framing for the house at the end, the bricks bright and red, the ivy taking over the front, not the back. The walls seemed higher now that I was in the garden, and I knew that I would have little chance to escape if anyone came towards me. I thought briefly of Terry McKay, but I shook the image away.

  I looked round the corner, along the front of the outbuilding. The door was old wood, with green flaky paint and dusty windows. I could see that there was a padlock on it, but it looked rusty and weak. I strained to hear sounds from inside. I thought I could hear faint noises, the odd rustle. I pulled my ear away and wondered if I’d just imagined it. Was Sam Nixon’s son in there?

  I looked again at the padlock. It looked breakable.

  I scoured the ground for something to use as leverage. There was nothing, but then I remembered that I was only trying to write a story. Don’t break in, don’t get caught, don’t go to prison. I thought about Laura on the other side of the wall. What was she doing right now?

  My nerves made my breath come quickly and sweat prickled my top lip. My heart took over from the sounds of the countryside.

  I heard a snap, the sound of a footstep. I whirled around and saw nothing. Only the flutter of a bird’s wings broke the scene.

  It was too quiet. I didn’t like it.

  There was a window next to the door. I knelt down and crawled underneath it, tried to stay silent, listened out for any whimper, any shout, any threat. I heard nothing. I was in full view of the house now. I couldn’t see any movement in there, but I knew that could change in an instant.

  I felt in my pocket for my camera, just to reassure myself that I was equipped, and then realised that if I was going to go in, it had to be then.

  I rattled the padlock, and was surprised to see the latch swing open. The padlock had been hanging loose.

  All I could hear was the light breeze brushing the leaves of the trees.

  I stood up, just so that I could get a grip on the door. I moved to one side, but realised that I was in front of the window. All I could see was myself, reflected back. I didn’t know whether I could be seen by anyone inside. I nudged the clasp to one side and started to pull on the wooden door. It swung towards me slowly, the hinges making a steady whine. I was still hunched, but as the door opened enough for me to get in, I slipped inside.

  I pulled the door closed behind me. As I gave my eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness, my nose was filled with gardening smells: creosote, fertiliser bags, mown grass-heads left to go dry on the floor.

  As the interior started to come into view, like buildings appearing from the fog, I saw that it looked ordinary. Tools lined the walls—spades, forks, hoes, and shelves of lawn treatments and weed-killers. I reached for my camera, ready to take a picture once the darkness cleared, when I heard movement behind me.

  I turned towards where I thought it had come from, my throat tight now, knowing that I was not alone. I was about to say something when I sensed a sudden movement behind me. A strong arm grabbed me from behind, strapped tight across my chest, and I could feel the heat of someone’s breath on my ear. Then a hand went across my mouth, and I knew I couldn’t shout out for Laura.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Laura paced on the other side of the fence, angry, nervous, worried.

  She checked her watch. He had been over the fence for more than five minutes. If there had been nothing there, he would have been back now. If he had been caught, she was sure he would have made a noise.

  She looked back towards the wall and stamped her foot in frustration. They had both made a big investment in each other, and if he was in trouble, she was going to help him. But she could put her job in jeopardy if she was caught effecting an illegal search of some local big-shot’s property. And anyway, she was wearing a new grey suit. It wasn’t built for climbing over walls.

  Laura paced in a tight circle, her hand pulling her hair to the top of her head. She looked skyward, as if the answer might be printed on a cloud. Then she let her hair tumble down and sighed. She had no choice, she knew that.

  She hitched up her trousers and got in the same way as Jack, by digging her toe into the wall, using the tree to lever herself up, and then clambering over the wall. When she landed, she looked down. She brushed off some brick dust, but no damage.

  She edged along the side of the shed, assuming that Jack had gone the same way, keeping an eye out for movement from Jimmy King’s house. It seemed quiet, no one keen to enjoy the late-afternoon sun.

  As she got to the front of the shed, she listened out. She felt her stomach take a lurch when she thought she could hear murmurs, whispers from inside. Her mouth went dry. Someone had Jack.

  Her mind filled with images of him, hurt, trapped, scared. She swallowed as she thought of him.

  She looked along and saw that the door to the main outbuilding was open a crack. That was where the sounds were coming from.

  She crept towards the door, keeping her head down, below the level of the window. She listened out again, and she could hear a voice. And it wasn’t Jack’s. She reached out for the door and gripped the frame, closing her eyes in silent prayer. She put her warrant card in her hand, the sight of a police crest might be enough to buy her some crucial seconds.

  She flung open the door and leaped into the building, her warrant card held out in front of her. She was about to shout ‘Police!’ when she stopped, her mouth open in shock.

  Danut, the gardener, was there. Laura remembered him from her visit with Pete. He was sitting down and facing Jack. Danut turned round quickly, and he looked just as shocked to see her.

  Jack didn’t. He grinned and held up his cup. ‘What took you so long?’ he said, and then he turned to Danut. ‘Have you got an extra cup?’

  Laura relaxed and shook her head in disbelief. She hoped for Jack’s sake that her suit was fully intact.

  I tried to smile an apology at Laura. I looked towards Danut and said, ‘This is Laura. She’s my partner.’

  Danut looked at Laura, and then back at me. Wariness crept into his eyes. ‘You told me that you are reporter. But she is police,’ he said. ‘She came here before, when Luke was at police station.’

  I looked at Laura’s warrant card, still in her hand. There was no point in denying it.

  ‘She is police,’ I said, ‘but she hasn’t come to arrest you.’

  Danut’s eyes flickered between us both as he stayed silent. He didn’t look convinced, and I saw that Laura had her hands on her hips.

  ‘Tell Laura what you’ve to
ld me,’ I said to Danut.

  He looked at me nervously, but I nodded and smiled, encouraging him to carry on.

  Laura sat down on a metal garden chair.

  ‘On that morning,’ Danut began, his English broken, the Romanian accent making his speech come out like gun-bursts, ‘when you came with your colleague, I had taken car to valet.’

  Laura nodded. ‘You told me then.’