by Danuta Kot
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. We saw the fire. We drove back and we saw the fire, that’s why I was—’
Call-Me-Mandy’s face was openly disbelieving now. ‘So you’re so scared of the people following you, you come back to the place where you were the day before, just for what? A bed for the night?’
‘Yes. Kay would have put us up.’
‘I’ll tell you why I think you came here, Becca. You lost your rag with Kay McKinnon. You went back to her house and you set the fire. Now you’re sorry and you’re scared. You do things when you lose your temper – it’s on the record. You get into fights, don’t you? And this isn’t the first fire that’s happened when you’re around.’
Becca was shocked into silence. She’d come here about Jared, about the girl on the caravan site, not about this. What were they thinking? How could they? She’d done the right thing by coming here, and this was how they treated her?
‘So you come over here – you’re worried about Mrs McKinnon, I get that, but now you’re coming to us with some story about a phone call and a girl’s name, but mostly to tell us that Jared Godwin was at the cottage. Only he’s conveniently vanished.’
‘I called him. He said he knew who the girl was – the girl who’d been attacked. He said he was on his way to York, and then he didn’t get here. That’s what happened.’
‘You called him? I thought you’d lost your phone.’
‘I called my phone. He’s got it.’
‘Convenient.’ A murmur from Call-Me-Mandy.
‘Just go back a bit. He said he knew who this girl is and you should go to the police. So who is she?’ Dave said.
Becca shook her head. ‘He didn’t say.’
‘He asked you to come and talk to us, but he didn’t tell you this girl’s name?’
‘He didn’t have time.’
Dave shook his head. ‘Stop treating me like I’m stupid, Becca. I’m getting a bit tired of this. Listen to me. You want to give your foster-mum a fright. Godwin may or may not have helped you. It all goes wrong, you stick around to make sure she’s OK – you did the right thing there, Becca, but Godwin does a runner, doesn’t want to know anymore.’
‘He was coming here to pick me up.’ She had to convince them.
Dave’s voice was relentless. ‘No he wasn’t. There’s some things you need to know, Becca. Godwin’s not your friend, he never was. He makes his money on the internet. He’s got sites on the dark web – we can’t access those at the moment. He keeps them well protected and maybe you should ask yourself why. But he puts stuff out on the regular web – he’s got to do that to get people onto his site.’ He held up the tablet. Her own face smiled at her from the glossy images. ‘This is from his open site, Becca. You might want to think about what he puts on the hidden site. This is what Jared Godwin does.’
Becca shook her head. She’d come here knowing she shouldn’t, and now everything was shifting under her feet. Who to trust? She didn’t know anymore.
Those pictures. She only had Jared’s word he hadn’t looked at them. She only had his promise that they’d been texted to him. Maybe that was all part of . . . part of what? Was she trusting these pigs against Jared? Jared was OK. He . . .
In an unwanted memory, a snatch of conversation came back to her, Jared saying he’d been neglecting his website and needed to post something to get his visitors back.
Pictures. Photos. Bexgirl’s photos.
That would do it.
She wasn’t going to let Dave and Call-Me-Mandy see they’d got to her. Jared might not be the person she thought, but she knew who they were. They were pigs and they were just like the rest. She stood up. ‘I’m going.’
‘We haven’t finished talking to you, Becca. Sit down.’
But she’d been down this road before. They thought she’d set the fire at Kay’s but they didn’t have any evidence. They couldn’t have, or they would have arrested her. She’d done nothing wrong and more to the point, they couldn’t prove she had. ‘You can’t make me stay.’
‘Best to get this sorted out, Becca. It won’t look good if you leave now.’ That was Call-Me-Mandy, and Becca fired her anger directly at the other woman.
‘For who? It looks fine to me. I’m not some sad kid who doesn’t know anything, not anymore. For a start, I know what you can do and what you can’t do, so what you can do is arrest me or piss off, both of you. I’m going.’
And in a strange way, telling them like that was just as satisfying as smashing up the room and smacking their smug faces. Better, really, because they couldn’t touch her for it.
There was a moment of tense silence, then Dave stood up. ‘OK, Becca, but don’t forget. Jared Godwin is trouble. Keep out of his way, or you may find yourself back here. Next time, we might not be on your side.’
‘And that’ll be different how?’
‘You don’t want to know, Becca.’ A last shot from Call-Me-Mandy.
Expecting to be stopped at any moment and maybe locked up in a cell, Becca walked out into a day of grey skies, icy cold and nowhere to go.
Chapter 50
Jared waited, shivering and sweating in the darkness, his stomach a pit of nausea. Flu? He hadn’t had flu, or even a cold, for years, but his resistance must be rock bottom right now.
His head pounded and he groaned against his sleeve to muffle the sound. If he had his pills now would be the time to take them, but they were in his fucking car, as useful as if they’d been on the other side of the world.
But the pills had stopped working properly weeks ago. He’d solved the problem by taking more, and then by washing them down with whisky or whatever alcohol was to hand. And it was now over twenty-four hours since he’d taken any. Time to get real. The pills wouldn’t help because the pills were the problem. This wasn’t flu. This was withdrawal.
He closed his eyes. If he really wanted to get straight, he’d just have to suck it up.
Suddenly, he was alert. His survival instincts acted like a reflex and he kept his head low to the ground. What was it?
The sky was just starting to lighten, the faint grey of early dawn appearing. The moon was past its apex, brilliant and remote. He could see lights moving through the trees above him, the steady glow that suggested someone was walking rather than running. Two people moving along the path near the top of the gully. Voices drifted down, fading in and out among the trees.
‘ . . . doesn’t know anything. What the fuck did you go and . . .’
‘ . . . expect me to do? I told you, for fuck’s sake!’
‘Pull a stunt like that again . . .’
‘Don’t take that . . .’
‘Or what? I pay you enough and you’ve fucked . . .’
‘ . . . worked out didn’t it? No one’s been . . .’
‘ . . . thing at Kettleness. You’d better . . . and get it right this . . .’
They were passing just a couple of metres above him now. Jared lifted his head slightly. The line of the path ran along the top of the gully and he could see the walkers. They were silhouetted against the sky, two of them. Jared thought he could make out the bulk of Greaseball, but the other . . . for a moment, the light of the setting moon caught the face, but it was no one he recognised.
As Jared watched, he saw a third figure behind the other two, too far back to be involved in the conversation. This figure was mounted on a bike that he was riding slowly up the steep rise. As Jared watched, this figure turned away and vanished. He couldn’t tell if the biker was with the other two or just an early morning rider on the path.
He was too tired to begin to make sense of what he’d just heard, but it sounded as though they were going to Kettleness. They might go to the cottage first – as Jared knew all too well, GBH’s car was in the lane, and he didn’t want to go anywhere near the place while that insane cunt was around.
He had no choice. Becca was out there somewhere, broke and with no way of contacting him, apart from . . . He checked her phone. Th
e battery was dead. Now there was no way to contact her at all. He told himself he didn’t need to worry. What she’d probably do was stick around in York with her friend Kay, and Kay would help her get back.
But Becca was a fighter, and he suspected that as far as she was concerned, he’d gone missing. Was she charging across the moors right now to his rescue? That sounded much more like her than sitting in a hospital ward waiting for help. So if she was doing that, where would she go first? Probably to the cottage. Could she be there right now? Jared was scrambling to his feet as the thought occurred to him.
No. She couldn’t. It was almost two in the morning when they’d talked. Becca would have waited for him at the hospital, and she wouldn’t be sure he wasn’t coming until three fifteen, three thirty. She’d probably give him a bit more time than that. OK. Suppose she’d followed that crazy plan to hitch, and suppose she’d got a lift at once, and suppose the driver was mad enough to take her to the cottage: it would still be after five at the very earliest before she got there. He checked his phone. It was almost five now – he needed to move.
On the other hand, she might go to Kettleness. It would make a lot of sense because then she could pick up her car. It was a difficult place to get to if you didn’t have transport, but he’d put his money on Becca getting there somehow.
His whole body ached. Despite the cold, he was sweating. All he wanted to do was lie down somewhere and sleep. He tried to force his exhausted brain into some kind of action. He needed to be at the cottage in case Becca turned up there – that was the most likely place. But he needed to be at Kettleness as well, in case she went there. And from what he’d just heard, that was where the danger was likely to be.
Shit, shit, shit. He had to make a decision. OK. First, the cottage. Leave a message for Becca, pick up his car, head to Kettleness. That was the one place he was certain she would go to. Her car was there.
Jared hesitated, looking for the flaw. His whole plan was full of them, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Limping slightly, he set out across the fields, moving carefully and keeping off the skyline. GBH and his friend might still be around somewhere. They’d go back to the cottage to pick up the car, but Jared doubted they’d stick around, not with daylight close.
He kept low as he came to the open fields, moving from shadow to shadow. The cottage stood at the edge of the village. It was in darkness, and he couldn’t see any cars close by. He went past, to the lane where his car was parked, and watched for ten minutes. There was no movement, no sound, and the other car – GBH’s car – was gone.
This would be where they would expect him to come back. If they were lying in wait, this was where they’d be.
He moved closer, warily, every hair on his body standing upright.
His hand was feeling in his pocket and closed round his keys.
If he could get into the car and away before they could catch him, then they’d follow him, leaving the cottage clear for Becca.
He slid over the fence, the hedge snagging at his clothes, and slipped round to the car door. He was moving quickly now because if there was anyone there, they would have seen him for sure. Bracing himself for the sudden glare of headlights, the sound of a racing engine, he slipped the key into the door – and then he realised.
There was no reason to be bothering with stealth anymore. It was too late for that. The car was sunk low onto the ground. The tyres were slashed to ribbons and the windscreen was shattered. This car wasn’t going anywhere.
Jared stood, waiting. If they were here, they’d seen him. Come on, then!
Nothing.
It looked as though they’d gone. It must have been sheer bad luck last night that he’d walked into them. But he was still stuck. If he was going to get to Kettleness, he needed transport. And . . .
He opened the boot. Someone had been through everything and his laptop was gone. Shit! But he’d worry about that later. His camping gear was still there, still packed in his rucksack. It was pulled about, but nothing seemed to be missing. He swung the rucksack onto his back, then reached in through the driver’s window and felt around in the side pocket. Relief filled him as his shaking hand closed around the pill packet. Now was not the time to go through withdrawal. He could just pop a couple, get himself sorted for the moment, then . . .
What the fuck was he doing? He’d screwed up because of the pills and now he was thinking of taking more? He could function through the withdrawal, but the pills? They were worse. He moved to shove the pack into his pocket – a safety net, in case he needed them later – then realised that if he had them, he’d take them. He held them in his shaking, sweating hand for a long moment, considering them, then wound his arm back and threw them as far as he could into the undergrowth.
Might be a few high rabbits around tonight.
But he couldn’t raise a smile. He needed to get out of here and his car was fucked.
There was a garage at the cottage – this Kay woman must have a car. That would do it, if he could get it started. He followed the road down to the cottage – no point in climbing fences if he didn’t have to. The garage was to one side, and the door, an up and over, wasn’t locked.
There was a small VW, and – better and better – a motorbike. Over the years, Jared had learned a range of useful skills, and hot-wiring a bike was one of the simpler ones. A quick rummage through some of the boxes stored there soon produced the requisite small piece of wire.
He checked the bike over. It looked fine, as long as there was fuel. If there wasn’t, he could freewheel it into Whitby, get some there. He found the ignition wire, followed it down to the connector, pulled it apart and inserted the short wire. There was a faint pop, and the engine came smoothly to life.
At last, something was going his way. Under the aches and the sweating, he felt the first touch of hope.
The bike had enough fuel to get him where he wanted – these things could go forever on half a tank.
OK, transport: check. Now he needed to leave something for Becca. At his car? If they came back, they’d see it. The house then. He left his rucksack by the bike and went back to the cottage. The window he’d used before slid open more easily this time. Grimacing at the sour smell of burning, he slipped across the sill and back into the cottage.
How to let her know where he was? A note? Genius, Jared. They wouldn’t see that, would they? As he thought about it, his gaze was moving across the table, the windowsill, the phone table, looking for the photograph he’d seen earlier, the one that had sent him off half-cock, blathering on to Becca about what he’d found instead of . . .
It had been on the windowsill; he’d knocked it over but that’s where it had fallen. And now it was gone. They must have worked it out, Greaseball and his mate, and taken it. It didn’t matter. Jared knew what he’d seen.
And now he knew what he could leave for Becca. There was a laptop on the table and the usual spaghetti of chargers, headphones and other detritus that tended to gather around computers. No one would notice a phone among that lot. He rummaged through it and found a standard charger with a USB connector. He attached Becca’s phone to the laptop – the power to the cottage was switched off, but the laptop should be charged and if it was, it would give her phone enough of a boost to put some life into it.
Then he texted her: K whatsit. And her phone gave a ping of acknowledgement.
He hesitated. Leaving the phone was leaving behind her best opportunity of contacting him, but he had to provide for two places. He’d be at Kettleness where her car was. If she came to the cottage first, then with luck she’d find the phone and know he’d been here, and the message would tell her where he’d gone.
Belt and braces. She might be set up to collect her voicemail remotely. He called her number again and said, ‘It’s me. I’m going to pick up your car. I’ll stay up there tonight.’ He left his number – she wouldn’t know that without her phone, and that was the best he could do. He left the window slightly open for her to find
– she probably wouldn’t have a key and anyway, the front door was boarded up.
He wheeled the bike out of the garage and straddled it, getting the feel of the weight and the balance. It was a good bike, a serious bike, not one of these blinged-up hairdryers kids went round on. This Kay was starting to reveal unexpected depths. He ran a quick check over the controls, freewheeled to the road, then, with a light twist on the throttle, he opened up the engine and headed north towards Kettleness.
Chapter 51
When Kay woke again, she felt better. The sun was shining, the ward was bright with daylight and she was surrounded by the bustle of the early morning. Cautiously, she sat herself up, waiting for the pounding in her head to start again, but it didn’t.
She took stock. Her eyes still felt sore and swollen, as if she’d spent the night in tears. Her hands and arms were bruised, but other than that, she was in reasonable shape.
A quick check of her locker showed she had nothing with her – no purse, no phone, no keys. Nothing. For the moment, she was dependent on the hospital to get her what she needed. And what she needed more than anything was a phone. She needed to find out what had happened to her cottage and what had happened to Milo.
A more immediate problem was the need for a pee. She pressed the call button but, after waiting ten minutes, decided no one was going to come. Kay swung her legs out of bed and sat up. She was wearing a hospital gown that tied inadequately up the back and she would give the rest of the ward – and any other observers – a bad fright if she walked off down the corridor dressed like this.
Moving carefully, she pulled the curtains round her bed, took off the gown and put it on back to front, creating a makeshift dressing gown that wasn’t exactly elegant, but was decent. Feeling a bit more protected and freed from the trappings of medicine, Kay made for the bathroom.
She managed an all-over wash, drying herself with paper towels. Her image in the mirror was not reassuring. Swollen, bloodshot eyes, no make-up and dirty, unbrushed hair was not a good look, but there was nothing she could do about that until she got back home