by Dan Waddell
The details of who's there aren't public knowledge. He's as safe there as anywhere.' He looked back at his watch once again. 'Look, I must shoot. Keep me informed how this line of investigation goes. Find me some proof of a definite link and we'll have a chat about this again. We're desperate for some kind, any kind, of breakthrough.' He looked at his watch. 'The performance is due to start in half an hour,' he said to Susie.
'I'll phone a cab,' she said.
'No need. I'm driving.'
'OK, give me a second.' She left them alone once more.
Foster drained his beer. 'Going anywhere nice?'
'The opera. Don Giovanni. You seen it?'
'Not recently, no.' He put the beer down on the side.
'I'll leave you to it then.'
Harris nodded. 'Enjoy your weekend.'
Fat chance of that, Foster thought as he made his way down the hall and out. The sound of your slurping lips kissing Susie will be echoing through my mind.
'Do you have satellite TV?'
They were the first words that Gary had spoken since Foster collected him from the care home. All the way back he sat sullenly staring out of the window, his desire to be hostile quenching any curiosity about where he was being taken. Foster had turned on the radio, found a station that was playing something urban and gritty that he believed Gary might like, but eventually turned it off after he found the beat so banal and repetitive that he'd switched back to a station playing classic hits. Gary did not stir.
You're coming to my place. Not for long. Just until we get something else sorted,' Foster had told him. Again, no response.
It was late when they got back, and Foster took Gary into the lounge and introduced him to the television.
Yes, I do,' he said in reply to Gary's query. 'God knows why. Just more channels with nothing worth watching.'
He handed Gary the remote. 'Find yourself something to watch. As long as it's not pornographic or violent.'
There was a childlike glimmer of excitement in Gary's eyes as he took the thick piece of plastic from Foster. He turned the television on and went straight to the screen listing the available channels.
You know what you're doing then,' Foster said.
Gary shrugged. 'I've stolen loads of these. Is that the new Sony plasma?' he added, nodding towards the television.
'It
is, yes,' Foster said.
'Thought so. They're the lick,' he said enthusiastically.
He looked at Foster for the first time with something other than disdain. You must be loaded.'
'Well, I had a bit of time off work recently. Upgraded my home entertainment system. Which reminds me.' He grabbed the remote off Gary, hit mute then handed it back. 'If one item from this house goes missing then I'll find you and make sure you go to a young offenders'
institution for a very long time. A really nasty one. You get what I'm saying?'
Foster had already performed an inventory in his mind of all the possessions Gary might steal, and the TV and stereo were the only likely ones. They were both insured, so that didn't matter. His father's cellar, or what little remained of it, wasn't, but he guessed Gary had not yet developed a taste for vintage claret.
Gary hit mute and the sound returned. "I ain't gonna nick nowt off no copper.' His eyes locked on the screen then glanced back at Foster. 'Just why's you brought me here anyway? You not a fucking nonce, are you?'
'No,' Foster said wearily. 'I'm no nonce. And when you're here in my house I'd be grateful if you watched the language. I brought you here because I'm interested in keeping you out of trouble. I think you can help me with the case I'm working on, and you can't do that when you're up to no good.'
"I ain't fuck ... I ain't helping no police, man.'
'Even if it helps find your sister?'
Gary paused. His eyes went back to the screen. He scrolled down to the movies and brought up the options.
Foster left him to it and went into the kitchen, rustled around in a drawer, pulled out a pile of takeaway leaflets and went back to the room. Gary had settled on an action movie. Foster really couldn't be bothered acting as censor.
The kid was beyond being corrupted anyway.
'Pizza, Chinese or Indian?' he said, brandishing the menus. 'There's even one that delivers all sorts: burgers, pizza, chicken, pasta, you name it.'
'Burger,' Gary said without hesitation. 'Don't want nothing that stinks. Can I have it with cheese? No onions, though.'
'One cheeseburger,' Foster said. He took the phone from its cradle in the hall and wandered through to the kitchen. He dialled the number and while he waited for an answer he took the cork from a bottle of Bordeaux and found a glass. He was about to fill it to the brim, remembered he was in effect responsible for a child, and poured himself what he considered a half measure. A heavily accented young man took his order for two cheeseburgers and two small bottles of Coke and said it would be with him in forty-five minutes. Foster took his wine and went back to the sitting room.
Until the doorbell rang with their food, they didn't speak a word. Gary stared at the screen as if in a daze, a stray finger occasionally wandering distractedly up his nostril en route to his mouth. Foster resisted the temptation to say that he should save his hunger for his meal and instead sipped at his wine and tried to work out what the hell he was going to do next. Gary was here. Safer, he felt sure, than at the care home. But he could not stay here indefinitely. Tomorrow was Saturday and Foster wasn't supposed to be working. He could have Gary for the weekend but he'd need a plan for the week. If it came to the worst -- if Naomi hadn't been found and there weren't any new leads -- he could drop him at the care home during the day and then pick him up after work.
There was also the small matter of how he was going to tell him about the murders of his aunt, uncle and cousin.
That could wait.
They ate their burgers in silence. For such a small, skinny boy he knew how to put away his food. Must have hollow legs, Foster thought, immediately hearing his mother's voice, which used to level the accusation at him.
Gary hoovered up his burger, all his chips and didn't refuse when Foster offered him a few of his. He also guzzled the Coke and belched loudly and without apology when it was finished. Foster cleared away the detritus.
When he returned, the film was over. Gary was already flicking through the various screens to see what was up next. He looked up at Foster.
You live here on your own?'
"I do, yes.'
You got no wife or kids?'
'No, I don't.'
'Why not?'
Foster heard his mother's voice again. Disconcerting when it was conjured up by the voice of an elevenyear old boy.
'Let's just say that I'm not the marrying kind.'
You're a cockmuncher?' A look of horror spread across his face. 'Man, I knew you was a nonce.'
'Listen, I'm not gay. Not being married doesn't mean you fancy men. I've had lots of girlfriends. I just haven't settled down with any of them. And don't use words like cockmuncher. It's disrespectful.' Have you heard yourself?
Foster thought. Allowing yourself to become affronted by a child. Great. Now I've managed to sound like both my parents in the space of two minutes. 'I've got a daughter, actually.'
Where is she?'
What is this, twenty questions?' He saw Gary's face darken. He felt a twinge of guilt. The kid was at least beginning to communicate with him. He softened his tone. 'Sorry, sorry. She lives in Scotland with her mother.
I've not seen her since she was a baby'
'How old is she now?'
'Fourteen. Fifteen in December.'
Gary's eyes widened. You haven't seen her in all that time? Man,' he added, shaking his head. 'If I ever have a kid then I'll never let it go anywhere. I'd keep an eye on it all the time.' He looked down at his hands. "I know why you brought me here.'
You do?'
Yeah. You think I'm in danger.'
Foster paused. There w
as no point lying to the kid.
He was hardly naive. 'How close were you to your Uncle Martin?'
He wrinkled his nose. T met him a few times. And my cousins. But I haven't seen them in ages. Mum took us round there once before she died. Why?'
'They've been found dead. All of them apart from Rachel.'
'Oh.' He didn't seem to know how to take the news.
We think your uncle got mixed up with some bad people.
We don't think you're in danger, too. But we want to keep you safe for a few days, just to make sure.'
Were they murdered?'
Yes, they were.'
And you're going to catch the people who killed them?'
'I'm going to help catch them. Another police force is working on it.'
Gary looked away at the far wall, absorbing what he'd been told, the hard carapace falling away to reveal the child once more. Foster felt an inkling of sympathy. This kid has faced nothing but woe and misery. Who could blame him for kicking against the pricks the way he did?
He halted that line of thought. Is that what looking after a kid does? he wondered. He'd only had one under his roof for a couple of hours and already he'd turned into a politically correct hand-wringer; the sort who excuses vile behaviour by bleating about the troubled backgrounds of those who commit it.
He was on the verge of delivering a lecture, something sanctimonious about how the tough hand life had dealt him didn't mitigate all his crimes and it was time to take responsibility, when he saw the kid was about to say something.
He saved the sermon.
'Leonie knew this would happen.'
'She knew what would happen?'
'That something would happen to Uncle Martin.'
'She did?' He edged forward on the armchair. 'What did she say, Gary?'
The boy sat in silence, eyes downcast now. Foster restrained himself, trying not to bully the kid, force him to clam up.
Eventually Gary spoke once more. 'She said it was a secret. That I couldn't tell anyone.'
'Something has happened to your Uncle Martin, though.
And your aunt and cousin, too. Something bad. I need you to tell me so we can help find who it was and stop them before they do it again, and so we can keep Rachel safe.'
Gary continued his silence. It was clear to Foster he was weighing up breaking his sister's confidence. Foster tried not to appear too desperate, though he felt like shaking him to get at the truth. Gary knew more than he had let on, he was certain. By yielding this once, Foster hoped it might break the seal and the rest of what the boy knew would seep out.
'Leonie said that we'd strayed from a path. Because we'd strayed we was to be punished unless we got back on it. She said I would be all right because she was back on it soon and I would be, too. But Mum, Uncle Martin, Uncle Dave, they wasn't and they was gonna suffer.'
'Did you ask her what she meant by suffer?'
He shook his head. "I just knew it was bad, innit? Then Mum died . . .'
'Do you know who she meant by "we", Gary? When she said "we" had strayed from a path?'
He shrugged. 'Our family, I think.'
'Did she say what this path was? Was she talking about Jesus?'
He nodded his head. 'It was all about Jesus. Jesus was gonna come back. I didn't understand it but he was gonna come back and some people wouldn't be OK because they weren't ready but we'd be ready.'
Foster knew the key to all this lay tangled in the details of the man who had visited Leonie Stamey - the same man he suspected had visited Katie Drake.
'Do you remember anything else about what she said, Gary? Anything at all?'
The boy thought for some time. Foster could see he was tired and it was getting near midnight. He would desist in a minute, let him get some rest. He'd made up the spare bedroom, his old room when he'd lived at home as a kid.
"I can't remember,' he said sullenly. Then he smiled.
'She started dressing funny.'
'Really? How?'
'She just started dressing funny. Like she used to wear short skirts and tops and things like that. But then she stopped. She wore like long dresses and tops. There was some girls who was her friends who kept teasing her about it and stuff. Then she wasn't friends with them no more.
Said they was wicked and she didn't mean good wicked, she meant bad. They said she was a stuck-up bitch. One of them punched her and she didn't fight back. I was amazed because she was a good fighter, Leonie. No one used to mess with her before then.'
'Did she tell you why she changed the way she dressed?'
'No. Think it was something to do with what the man said. She changed a lot,' grinning almost, putting much emphasis on the last word of the sentence. The smile disappeared from his face. 'She said she'd make sure I was safe,' he added softly.
Well, she's not around, Gary. It's up to us to keep you safe.'
The eyes burned with hatred. You think she's dead, don'tcha?' Voice rising with anger.
Foster held his hands out. "I don't know, Gary.'
Well, I know. She isn't.'
'Because she promised to come back for you?'
'Because I've heard from her.'
Foster almost did a double take. 'Since she disappeared?'
No response.
'Gary, if Leonie has been in touch with you then I need to know.'
Again, the boy didn't speak but stared ahead at the wall.
Foster rubbed his face. 'People have died, Gary. You can help me find the people who are doing this. You can help me find the fourteenyear-old girl who went missing last week.' Still no reaction. You can help me find Leonie and stop anything happening to Rachel.'
Gary shook his head slowly; he looked as if he might cry. "I promised.'
Foster sighed. 'Please, Gary.'
Another slow shake of the head. The kid was a stubborn mule.
'If you don't, I'm going to have to take you in for obstructing the police.'
You don't scare me. You think I've not been arrested before?'
The kid had a point. More than a hundred times, if his charge sheet was to be believed.
"I can help you find Leonie, Gary. Then you'll be safe.'
Silence. His eyes appeared to brighten, as if lit by hope.
But he still wouldn't talk.
'Sleep on it. Let's talk in the morning.'
Her mother forced the corners of her mouth into a smile but she could not hide the sadness that seeped out from her sorrowful eyes, like gas from an unlit lamp. Sarah stood in the heavy dress; despite its prettiness, for all she cared it could have been a suit of tar and feathers. Her younger sisters twittered playfully around them, delighted at the prospect of a wedding and an open house.
'Will there he dancing?' Henrietta asked excitedly.
'Will there be food?' asked Emma, who, at six, was still to lose the puppyish layer of fat that encased her body.
At least the open house might involve some laughter, though not hers. In the pit of her stomach she felt nauseous. The prospect of the house emptying and of being taken to his chosen place to consummate the marriage -- the bile and terror rose just thinking of it. The last few nights the dream had been the same. He leaned in for a kiss.
Those rotten teeth, those stained yellowing whiskers, the hairs like spider's legs protruding from his fleshy nose, the sickly sweet odour that filled the room, it was like no nightmare she had ever had before.
Yet soon it would be real.
She could tell that her mother saw it all. But she could not question it. She was to be her father's gift to the most respected man of the town and there was nothing that could be done to change it. Her mother tried to explain what an honour it was. How she was serving the calling of the Lord. But she cared nothingfor this Lord that tore her away from the people she loved and turned her into a breeding mare for some slovenly old fool. She had never been the most pious of children, though she had tried. She read the book, she memorised the doctrine and covenants, she listened to th
e Gospel in church, and all the time closed her eyes, willing herself to submit, to believe, to make it all worthwhile, but the nagging doubt and injustice that lodged like a tick in the back of her mind refused to be quelled.
"I, too, stood where you are now,' her mother intoned. 'I, too, experienced the same fears and doubts that you are feeling. You are but a child, albeit a strong one, Sarah. He is a good man who will make sure you are very comfortable. Far more comfortable than I ever was. Particularly back then. In your own way, you will come to love him.'
Sarah swallowed the urge to laugh, to bellow, to scream, 'No, I WON'T!' Instead she looked at her mother, at that dark-skinned mournful face, lined with hardship and struggle. She had been found as a young girl, left for dead at the massacre of Bear River, buried under the carcasses of her kith and kin. A. kind man of the faith, not long since off the boat from the old world, had found her. She had been taken back to his family, newly settled, where she had worked as a domestic servant but been cherished like one of their children.
The faith had saved her, offered her hope, a new family, afresh start.
No wonder she agreed to be wed to Sarah's father when she was chosen. It was time to repay the debt.
They hugged. Hot tears stung her eyes but she kept them in. 'Oh, Mother,' she said. Her mothers hands ran down the back of her head, like they had many times before, as a means of comfort. She wondered if it was to be the last time they would do that. She could not help it. The tears broke free and she began to convulse, to sob.
Her mother gripped her tighter.
'Shhh,' she said softly. 'It will be all right. It will be all right.'
Sarah could not admit why she was so sad. That it was nothing to do with that sweating warthog she was supposed to marry. That it was because she would never see them all again. She knew it would be all right.
She knew he would come for her.
5
A shot of pain woke him. One leg was curled underneath the other and he'd tried to straighten it in his sleep, but the arm of the sofa was in its way and a gentle collision was enough to cause him discomfort. Foster rubbed his face, preparing himself. A chink of light through the curtains told him it was morning, the end of one of the longest nights of his life -- and there had been many. He knew when he sat up his aches and pains would scream for attention and the stiffness would be with him for a few hours afterwards. His battered body was no longer fit for sleeping on couches, but with Gary upstairs in the spare room, he wanted to be ready if the boy tried to run away.