by Mark Tilbury
‘Liar.’
‘I don’t care what you believe.’
‘You will.’
‘Are you aware of the parable of the dog with a bone? The one that sees its reflection in a river?’
Frank wasn’t.
‘The reflection of the bone looked so much bigger and juicier than the one in the dumb mutt’s chops. So it dropped the bone in the water and ended up with nowt.’
Frank snorted and hiccupped at the same time. A reflex that brought about a prolonged coughing fit.
‘My advice to you is don’t drop the bone.’
Frank wiped tears from his eyes and tried to recover his composure. ‘You’ve got a lot more to lose than me.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
‘When can you let me have the money?’
‘When I’m good and ready.’
Frank felt his guesthouse in Brighton downsize itself to a beach hut. ‘I need it now.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve got expenses.’
‘Like what? Your make-believe girlfriend?’
‘She’s not “make-believe”. She’s real. She’s fucking gorgeous, too. Gorgeous like a model.’
‘Goodbye, Crowley.’
‘Wait! We ain’t finished—’
The Target disconnected the call.
Frank stared at the phone as if it had just slapped him. A part of him wanted to call back and carry on the negotiations. But he wasn’t very good with words. Especially when the booze had turned his tongue slippery.
But he was good with his hands. Yes, sir. And the Target would do well to remember that. Hands were just about the deadliest weapons a man could possess.
Chapter Twenty
Geoff Whittle sat behind his desk and formed a steeple with his fingers. ‘Go back to Sunnyside and talk to Connie Sykes again. See if she can shed any light on this money Crowley’s going on about.’
Ben wasn’t convinced. ‘How would she know anything about that?’
‘People blab. Boast. Talk about things. She might have heard something.’
‘She won’t like it.’
‘It doesn’t matter whether she likes it. We’re not trying to win a popularity contest. Most people get fed up answering questions, especially if it’s going over the same old ground. But if you’re afraid of upsetting her...’
Ben held up a hand. ‘Okay. Okay, I’ll go back to Sunnyside – for what it’s worth.’
Maddie smiled. ‘Don’t forget my Christmas card.’
‘I wouldn’t hold your breath, love. He’s got a head like a sieve.’
‘Sieves are good for sifting things,’ Ben said.
‘And just remember to keep your private lives and work separate. I don’t want you two falling out and refusing to talk to each other.’
Ben squeezed Maddie’s hand. He resisted an urge to kiss her, smiled, and then walked out of the office. It was getting tiresome listening to the Grand Old Duke of Relationships offering advice. Especially such wise words as, “for Christ’s sake don’t go getting her up the gut”. In spite of his father’s blunt comments, Ben had been walking on air since Maddie had kissed him. Four days, seven hours and twenty-something minutes ago. Right here in this hallway. Hardly the night of a thousand stars, but as far as Ben was concerned, the most romantic setting in the most romantic movie ever made.
Maddie was his girlfriend. His! How grade-A cool was that? He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. Hey, world! It’s me! Ben Whittle. The awkward git who still stammers when he’s flustered. I’m going out with the girl of my dreams. Useless old Stutter-buck has finally got something to sh-shout about. Something worth having. How do you like that? Not so useless now, eh?
He took his parka from the coat stand and the stepped outside into a bitter cold wind. One week until Christmas, and he still hadn’t bought any presents or cards. It would have to be vouchers for the family this year. He didn’t have time to go hunting in Oxford for gifts.
What about Maddie?
Maybe he could nip into Feelham and get her one of those giant stuffed toys.
She might not like stuffed toys.
A ring?
Too soon.
Clothes?
You don’t know her size.
Chocolates. All girls like chocolates.
Not if they’re on a diet they don’t. And Maddie seems pretty picky with food.
Ben parked in the courtyard at Sunnyside and tried to focus on what he was going to say to Connie Sykes. Or, more importantly, how he would broach the subject of Frank Crowley. He took a deep breath and let it out between clenched teeth. Connie Sykes would probably send him packing, anyway. There was something about the woman that had made him feel uneasy when he’d interviewed her. He didn’t know what, exactly. It was just…
Gut instinct?
Maybe. As for Maddie, he was getting too far ahead of himself. He’d even imagined getting married and having children, for God’s sake. Three children. Named them, too. Rebecca, David and Chloe. How dumb was that? They all lived in a small cottage in the countryside. Rose Cottage. Pink and yellow roses growing around the front porch. A small back garden with swings and rockers and a paddling pool. Summers spent lazing in the sun, watching the kids run and play and splash each other in the pool. Iced lemonade in a large crystal jug. Walks in the countryside picking blackberries for Maddie to make an apple and blackberry pie.
But, of course, Maddie would blow him out long before this dream was ever realised. As soon as she got to know all his nasty little habits. Spent time listening to his rather pessimistic view of the world. In all honesty, they were probably just clinging to each other because of what had happened at Penghilly’s Farm. There was bound to be a fancy medical term for it. Survivor’s syndrome, perhaps. Human beings liked to stick labels on things. It helped to give a reason to the inexplicable.
Ben looked at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. There were bags beneath his eyes. They looked like small dark hammocks. His right knee, neck and shoulders were hurting like hell. He sometimes exceeded the recommended dose of painkillers, just to get relief. Especially at night.
He opened the car door and stepped out into the courtyard. Snow swirled in the wind and dusted the roof of the building. He hurried up the steps to the main reception and rang the bell.
A young girl with short dark hair and a pretty smile opened the door. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I was wondering if I could have a word with Connie Sykes.’
‘She’s not here right now.’
‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’
‘She won’t be long. Are you here for a job?’
‘No. Nothing like that. I work for Whittle Investigations. We’re looking into the disappearance of Hannah Heath.’
‘Hannah? Oh, God, that was terrible. Come in. You can wait in the rest room, if you like.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. I’m Lisa, by the way.’
‘Ben. Ben Whittle.’
Ben followed her into the rest room. He sat down in a high-backed chair close to a bay window overlooking the courtyard. An old man was sitting opposite him. He was asleep, his chin almost resting on his chest.
‘That’s John,’ Lisa said. ‘Connie’s dad. He’s got late-stage dementia. He doesn’t know much about it, bless him. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great. Milk and two sugars, please.’
Ben looked around the room. It wasn’t at all as he’d expected. Light and airy. Cream curtains and pale yellow walls. A large plasma TV screen secured to the wall above an ornate mahogany fireplace. An imitation fire glowing in the hearth.
Ben looked out the window. The snow was getting heavier now. Still not quite settling, but threatening to. He would have to drive carefully. God help him if he crashed the old man’s car.
Lisa returned and handed him a mug of coffee. ‘It’s only instant.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve g
ot to get on. I’ve sent Connie a text and told her you’re here.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She didn’t reply. But don’t worry; she shouldn’t be long.’
Ben sipped his coffee. He still didn’t know what he was going to say to Connie. He could hardly ask her if she knew anything about a bungalow out in the sticks, could he? As far as Ben was concerned, Crowley had only taken Maddie out there because he was trying to impress her. Something better than his mobile home.
You don’t even have a mobile home. Just a dingy little room in your parents’ house. Maddie had better hold onto her hat and get ready to be swept off her feet.
Ben couldn’t argue with the thought. He’d never be able to afford his own place. House prices had risen way above his limited means. It was either stay at home, or pay a ridiculous amount of rent to a private landlord.
‘The whizz-bangs are coming!’
Ben jumped and spilt some of his coffee. ‘Shit.’
Connie’s father stared at him from across the room. His bald head glistened with sweat. His eyes looked as if they were about to pop from their sockets. ‘The whizz-bangs are coming.’
Ben put his cup on the table and wiped the front of his parka. What did he do now? Try to engage with him? Ignore him?
The old man coughed. A long drawn out wheeze that rattled against his ribs like wind-chimes from hell. His hands clawed at the arms of his chair. His eyes looked as if they were hitched up to wild horses. ‘The whizz-bangs are coming.’
Ben stared out the window at his father’s BMW. There was now a thin layer of snow on the bonnet. If he didn’t get going soon, the road to Feelham might be too dangerous to negotiate.
Stop looking for excuses to scarper. The snow’s more or less melting as it hits the ground.
The old man stood up and shuffled towards him. His laboured breathing sounded like gravel trapped inside a cement mixer. He reached out and grabbed Ben’s arm. Ben let it go limp. Surrendered it. He didn’t want to get involved in a tug-of-war with his own arm.
‘The whizz-bangs are coming.’
Maybe he was referring to the snow. ‘Are you looking forward to Christmas?’ Duh! How dumb was that.
‘The whizz-bangs…’
What did Lisa say his name was? Jim? James? Something short like that. No – John. That was it. Maybe if he called him by his name he might respond. ‘Do you like Christmas, John?’
John Sykes wasn’t saying. He pushed up the sleeve of Ben’s parka and groped his left arm. It was as if he was trying to decipher the goosebumps on Ben’s arm.
Ben tried to pull away, but John Sykes gripped it tight and stared deep into Ben’s eyes.
‘The whizz-bangs!’
‘I don’t understand, John. I don’t know what you mean.’
Spit bubbled in one corner of John’s mouth. ‘The whizz-bangs are coming.’
What the hell were whizz-bangs? Fireworks? Bombs?
John dug his nails into Ben’s arm. ‘The baby’s blue!’
Ben’s heart fell into his stomach. ‘Baby? What baby?’
He suddenly let go of Ben’s arm and grabbed his hand in a vice-like grip. His lungs sounded like knackered bellows trying to breathe life into a fire. Spit flew into Ben’s face. ‘The baby’s blue. The baby’s blue. The baby’s blue.’
Ben tried to pull away, but John held on. ‘The... baby... is... blue.’
‘What baby?’
A slight pause as John Sykes revved breath into his lungs. And then, ‘The whizz-bangs are coming. The whizz-bangs are coming.’
Suddenly, a woman’s voice shouted across the restroom. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘The whizz-bangs are coming.’
She rushed across the room and grabbed John’s hand. ‘Come on, Da. Leave the man alone.’
Da wasn’t listening. ‘The whizz-bangs...’
Connie Sykes fixed her good eye on Ben. ‘What in God’s name are you doing in here?’
‘I’m sorry. I was told to wait here for you. He just came up to me and started talking about whizz-bangs. Then he grabbed my arm.’
Connie tried to prize her father’s hand away from Ben’s by focussing on one finger at a time. ‘Who… told… you… to… wait… in… here?’
‘One of the staff.’
Connie loosened two fingers. ‘Well, she shouldn’t have. You have no business here.’
‘The baby’s blue.’ Weaker now. As if the words were coming from inside a crusher.
‘Don’t be silly, Da. You’re talking gobbledegook again. Let go of the man’s hand.’
‘The whizz—’
‘There aren’t any whizz-bangs here, Da. The whizz-bangs are all gone now.’
Ben wrenched his hand free. ‘What the hell are whizz-bangs?’
Connie held onto her father’s hand as if it might leap into action again at any moment. ‘Never you mind.’
A whining noise in the back of John Sykes’s throat.
‘How dare you come in here upsetting him like that? How would you like it if I came into your house and started throwing my weight around?’
Ben was about to argue that he wasn’t doing any such thing, but then thought better of it. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Frank Crowley.’
The whine in John’s throat gave way to several choking sobs.
‘If you come anywhere near Sunnyside again, I’ll call the police. Is that clear?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset any—’
‘Your sort never do, do they? Nosing about in other folk’s business.’
‘We’re just trying to find out what happened to Hannah Heath. I’d hardly call that poking my…’
‘Come on, Da, let’s get you back to your room.’
‘Can we talk once you’ve settled him down? It won’t take long.’
‘Get out of here. And don’t come back.’
‘Do you know if Frank Crowley is about to come into any money?’
Connie turned to face him. Something flickered in her eyes. Recognition? And then it was gone. ‘I don’t know the first thing about that oaf.’
‘Maybe you heard something? Staff talking?’
‘No.’
Ben was pleased with himself. He’d engaged a hostile witness. ‘Have you noticed anything unusual about him lately?’
‘Everything about him is unusual.’
‘You don’t seem very fond of Mr Crowley?’
‘If you want tittle-tattle, go and talk to the staff. No, actually, don’t. I’m banning them from speaking to you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re a nuisance.’
‘I’m just trying—’
‘Let me guess. Hannah’s mother’s paying you a king’s ransom to find her daughter, and you’re trying to justify your ridiculous costs by asking pointless questions. Am I close?’
‘We’re trying to find Hannah. That’s all.’
‘Anyone with half a brain knows the girl is dead. She was more than likely dead within twenty-four hours of going missing. Stop wasting everyone’s time. And stop giving false hope to her parents. If you want my opinion, her body will be found by a couple walking their dog. Or some kids playing somewhere that they shouldn’t. Just leave her parents alone and let them come to terms with their loss.’
Ben looked away.
‘Now get out of here before I call the cops. I need to get Da back to his room.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Maddie finished her phone call to Crowley to confirm their meeting. She walked back into the office. ‘All sorted. I’m meeting him at seven in The Three Horseshoes.’
Geoff looked at his watch. ‘That gives us half an hour.’
‘I don’t know why he doesn’t just move into the pub and be done with it,’ Ben said. ‘At least his breakfast would be on tap.’
‘Is he still all right to take you home?’ Geoff asked.
Maddie nodded. ‘Yeah. More than happy.
’
‘He would be, wouldn’t he?’ Ben said. ‘The chance to get you on your own.’
Maddie didn’t tell Ben how Crowley’s breathing always sounded heavy, as if he was making an obscene call. Or how his pathetic jokes always seemed loaded with innuendo. ‘He reckons he’s had a spring clean. I can’t wait to see it!’
‘He’s probably just sprayed air freshener about and bundled all his crap into his wardrobe,’ Ben said. ‘I wouldn’t open any doors if I were you.’
‘He also wants me to meet his mother,’ Maddie said. ‘Go to her place for some tea.’
‘His mother?’ Ben said. ‘Bloody hell, next thing you’ll be telling me he’s proposed.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ Geoff said. ‘It’ll give you a chance talk to her. See if she can tell you anything interesting about him.’
Maddie nodded. ‘And see if she knows anything about the bungalow.’
‘Good thinking,’ Geoff agreed. ‘Especially after Ben drew a blank at Sunnyside.’
‘It’s not my fault Connie Sykes’s dad grabbed hold of me.’
Geoff grinned. ‘Got you by the whizz-bangs!’
‘What in God’s name are whizz-bangs, anyway?’ Maddie said. ‘They sound like fireworks.’
‘I don’t know,’ Ben said. ‘Just a load of gobbledegook. But the blue baby thing is freaky. What with Hannah being pregnant.’
Geoff took a bite of a rich tea biscuit and spilt crumbs in his beard. ‘Means nowt. He’s got dementia. I’d forget about Connie Sykes and Sunnyside Nursing Home for now. We need to focus solely on Crowley.’
‘The blue baby,’ Ben persisted. It sounds like a dead baby. Like it’s stopped breathing.’
‘It could also mean it’s got the blues because it’s lost its rattle,’ Geoff said. ‘Forget about it. You just get yourself parked at the bottom of Constitution Hill and be ready if Maddie needs you.’
‘Okay,’ Ben agreed. ‘But I still say it’s a big coincidence that Hannah Heath’s pregnant, and Connie Sykes’s father starts going on about a blue baby.’
Geoff peered over the top of his glasses at Ben. ‘So what are you saying? The old man knows something?’