by Danuta Kot
But . . .
Maireid had never turned up, and Shaun Turner – someone she barely knew, if she knew him at all – had left a message for Kay, Maireid’s foster-mother.
A few days after that, a girl was attacked on the caravan site.
And Shaun was on the phone to Kay again the next day.
Maireid . . . Oh, God.
And there was more. He’d presented himself as a colleague of Matt’s who’d only just heard about his death. Had he known Matt at all, or was that story of their working together a lie from start to finish? She wanted it to be a lie. She didn’t want Matt’s memory tarnished by any contact with something she could barely bring herself to imagine.
She had to get out. Her gaze shot to the door. It was heavy and solid, and the last time he’d looked in, she’d had no warning: she’d heard nothing through it to suggest he was coming. How long was the drug supposed to keep her under? How long before he came to check again?
She prowled the room, desperately trying to think of a way out. The bathroom was windowless, the door was locked, the skylight was out of reach. When she found herself studying the floor and walls in the hopes of finding an escape route, she knew she’d run out of options.
There had to be a way. If she could just think.
There was a sound from the door. It was the handle, turning, and then the faint, sticky sound of a tight-fitting door being opened. As she slid back onto the bed, she wondered why Shaun needed soundproof doors. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make her breathing regular.
‘Kay?’
Feet moved towards the bed, and she could sense him looking at her. Then she heard the clunk of something being set down on the bedside table, and he moved away. The door closed, and she was alone.
She sat up, noting that the near-empty water jug had been replaced by a full one, and her phone was beside it. He’d given her back her phone – did that mean she was being paranoid after all? He was on the up and up; he wasn’t drugging her, holding her captive? But when she picked it up to call Maggie, she saw there was no signal. She walked round the room, trying different places, different angles, but got nothing.
Messages. Had anyone been in touch? She opened her messages folder. There was nothing new, but that didn’t mean anything – a message could easily have been deleted.
Right. Shaun probably wouldn’t be back to check on her for a while. Now was the time to do something. It was all starting to come together. She was remembering now. Shaun had asked about Becca the night before.
Becca had to be his target. Becca had worked at the drop-in and was somehow linked to the caravan site at Flamborough where Maireid – Kay didn’t want to accept it, but she knew the unnamed girl must be Maireid – where Maireid had been so badly hurt. Becca knew something.
It would be so simple for him to send Becca a text from Kay’s phone, asking her to come here. Becca would think it was from Kay and be there like a shot, then Shaun could do whatever he wanted with both of them. Becca could even be on her way here now.
The thought made her jumpy with panic.
She pulled on her clothes, shoving money, keys and her phone any old way into her pockets. Then she opened the drawers and dumped the contents on the bed – flimsy, lacy lingerie, some heavy belts, stuff she’d think about later, not now – took out the drawers and dragged the heavy piece of furniture across the room to stand under the skylight. Something small and metallic rolled off the top and onto the floor with a clatter. She glanced down. It was a key, too small to notice, too small to be the door key. She tensed, then shrugged. If he came in now, she couldn’t hide what she was doing.
Then she lifted the chair up on top of the drawers. Together they would give her enough height to swing the window open, then maybe she could pull herself up and out.
She climbed up onto the drawers, then, feeling insecure and unsteady, climbed up onto the chair. Once she straightened up, she could hold onto the window frame, which gave her a bit more balance.
She gripped the latch that opened it.
It was locked.
Hell and damn. There was no way she could restore the room so Shaun wouldn’t notice – she’d given herself away for nothing. What could she do? Break it? It was safety glass. She’d need a hammer. At least. Who’d be so paranoid as to lock a high skylight?
Someone with something to hide.
She stood on the chair looking round the room, then saw something on the floor and remembered the small key that had fallen off the drawers when she moved them.
She dropped down onto the floor and picked the key up. Sending up a silent prayer, she climbed onto the chair again, glancing at her watch once she was balanced and holding the frame. She guessed that it had been almost an hour since Shaun had last been in here. How long before he checked again?
The key fitted the lock and turned smoothly. The window swivelled towards her, almost unbalancing her, and the cold air rolled in. She breathed deeply, letting it clear her head, then gripped the sides of the window firmly and tried to pull herself up.
No chance. She just didn’t have the upper-body strength to pull her own weight up through the open window. She could try calling out – but she was pretty sure there were no houses close by. And if there were, who paid attention to shouting and screaming these days anyway?
She could try attracting attention by throwing things out of the window, but for that to work, she’d need to know there was someone out there she wanted to attract. Otherwise, she’d bring Shaun up here again, and that would just make things worse.
And then it came to her: a plan. Maybe it wasn’t the best one but it was the only one she had. Climbing down, she got the water jug and then climbed back up on top of the chair. She wound her arm back, took aim, then threw the jug as high and as far out as she could.
She was rewarded a second later with the shattering sound of breaking glass.
Jumping down, she went and stood to one side of the door and waited.
Chapter 67
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Jared kept saying. ‘For fuck’s sake.’
He wanted to go straight to the police, even though they didn’t have the pictures, but Becca wouldn’t. ‘They won’t believe us,’ she said.
‘Look,’ Jared said for about the fifth time, ‘we’ve got the photo of the girl. If we tell them about the mine, they’ve got to check it out. And they’ll stop that little scrote before he disappears. You want that, don’t you? If we don’t go to them – now – it’s going to happen to another girl.’
Becca knew that, but after what had happened in York, everything in her was saying no, or at least not yet. She couldn’t trust the police. Not after the way they’d treated her. She had to talk to Kay first. Kay would know what to do.
‘I want to go and see Kay. She asked me to and I said I would.’
‘And what can she do? Come on, Becca. She’s hurt, she’s old – we have to go to the police.’
‘You go. I’m going to see Kay.’
‘Oh for— Look, it isn’t safe for you to be running round on your own.’
‘Fuck you! Who made you God?’
‘No one. Jesus, will you stop being so touchy? It isn’t safe for either of us to be round here on our own, right? Greaseball and his mates are out there. And your friend Liam. If he gets into a bad situation with Greaseball, do you think he’ll keep quiet? He’ll save his own skin and sell us. He’ll probably do that anyway.’
She didn’t want to admit he was right. ‘Paige won’t grass us out.’
‘Paige will do exactly as she’s told. That little shit is pimping her, and she’s just sitting there and going Yes Liam, no Liam, so don’t expect any loyalty from her.’
Becca was determinedly packing her stuff into Kay’s car. Her own car, with the taped windows, might attract too much attention. She wouldn’t look at Jared – she didn’t want to let him persuade her. He was wrong, she knew he was wrong but she couldn’t explain it. ‘Kay will want her car back. I’ll
go and see her, then we can go to the police.’
‘Yeah, yeah, we see Kay and then you’ll think of another excuse not to go to them. For fuck’s sake, Becca, this is dangerous.’
‘Come with me. Then we won’t be running round on our own.’
‘For God’s sake, Becca!’ He seemed really angry, took a breath. ‘Right,’ he said, more gently. ‘We’ll do this. But I’m following you on the bike, because whatever happens, after you see Kay, I’m going to the police, OK?’
She opened her mouth to object, then closed it. Part of her thought Jared was right. But another part – the part that kept remembering that police cow Call-Me-Mandy’s face with that disbelieving smile – that part knew the police were the last people to go to now. If they’d got the pictures, it would have been different, but . . .
She needed to see Kay, talk to Kay. Kay would know what to do. Jared following on the bike was a good idea. If that scary caravan guy – what did Jared call him? Greaseball? – if he found them, they’d be in trouble. It would be easier to get away on the bike. Jared said it was powerful and fast. ‘OK,’ she said, to show she had heard him. ‘You can follow on the bike.’
Jared wasn’t happy, but he gave a brief nod. She slid into the car, then hesitated. She had no idea where to go. The address Kay had sent her was in Whitby, but she didn’t know where.
She reached for her phone to open the map app, then stopped. She couldn’t. Not without Liam knowing where she was going. Did Kay have a map book? How did you get around if your phone wasn’t an option?
Jared was beside the car, straddling the bike. She pressed the button to wind down the window.
‘Is sitting here all day part of the plan?’ he said.
She muttered, ‘Fuck off,’ under her breath, and saw Jared roll his eyes. She turned the key in the ignition and shoved the car into gear. She’d get to Whitby and find the place. She’d manage.
But Jared was leaning in through the open window, stopping her from driving away. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Whitby.’
‘OK, that’s a start. Where in Whitby?’ He waited, then said into her silence, ‘You do have an address?’
‘Yeah. Course. What kind of . . .?’
‘Look, she’s got built-in satnav, your friend. Use that.’
She’d never used one of these satnavs. She waited for Jared to go on being arsey and patronising, but he leaned in further, muttering, ‘Can never sort these things out. What’s the post code? OK, let’s try . . . there you go.’
The screen lit up, the road rolling away in front of her. ‘You want the voice?’ Jared said, fiddling with the buttons so he could see the whole route.
Her confidence came flooding back. ‘No. Let’s go.’
Chapter 68
The door opened. Kay stood behind it, waiting. Hardly even breathing.
‘Kay?’ Shaun was standing in the doorway. ‘Kay? Are you . . .’ He must have seen the construction under the skylight because he broke off and strode into the room, looking up at the open window. She heard him curse under his breath as she slid round the door and out.
There was a flight of stairs in front of her. She fled down them, moving as silently as she could. As she went, she realised she should have closed the door behind her – the key was probably in the lock, she could have trapped him.
Too late now.
She made it to a carpeted landing with a corridor leading to another flight of stairs. There were doors along the corridor, closed and silent. Run? Find a hiding place?
Decide, she told herself. Pick a direction. No hiding, just get out, get out.
There was a shout from above her. ‘Bill! BILL!’ and the sound of feet on the corridor below.
Someone was coming up the stairs. They’d see her just standing there. She had to do something!
She pushed open the door on the left and slipped into one of the rooms, a bedroom, holding the door shut behind her as feet pounded past along the corridor, towards the stairs she’d just come down.
How much time did she have? How long before they realised she couldn’t possibly have got out of the skylight? All her instincts made her want to huddle in a cupboard or under the bed, but they’d find her in minutes. She had to get help. She had to find other people.
She checked her phone. The signal was back, just barely. She pressed the emergency button, but she could hear feet on the stairs above her.
No time! She ran down the stairs and found herself in the entrance hall at the front door.
The way out.
Quick! she barked instructions to herself. Don’t panic! The door looked heavy, with stained-glass panels and brass hinges and bolts. There was no key in the lock. She tried the handle: it didn’t move. She was locked in. Trapped.
The sound of pursuit was close.
Decision-time again. Run and hide? Or spend the time trying to open the door?
Get out! She had to get out.
She pulled the bolts and unlatched the Yale. Her gamble paid off. She didn’t need the key. The door swung open. Then she was in a porch; with another door in front of her – more bolts; she fumbled with them, and then she was outside.
Almost safe. Keep going. She stumbled down a flight of stone steps onto a gravel drive, looking round for the nearest house, the nearest road, anywhere she could get help.
There was nothing in sight.
There were no houses, no neighbours, nothing.
But she could hear the sound of a car. There was a road. She had to get to the road!
Behind her, someone shouted.
Then she was running, her feet slipping in the loose gravel, no plan anymore, just the mantra the road, the road, get to the road. She could hear feet pounding behind her, closer and closer and then something snagged her ankle and she fell, her face smashing down onto the gravel. The pain flared, instantly, across her face and body, everywhere the sharp stones cut into her.
She raised her head, half stunned, watching blood drip onto the ground. She put her hand up to her face. It came away red. She couldn’t get up – she couldn’t move.
A pair of booted feet came into view. One of them lifted, and she braced herself for the kick she knew was coming.
‘Leave her!’ Shaun’s voice, sharp.
‘We can’t let her go.’ Another male voice. Bill, Kay thought.
‘I know.’ Shaun sounded almost sorrowful. ‘Just . . . keep it clean.’ She heard crunching, saw a second pair of feet, then Shaun knelt down beside her and spoke almost tenderly. ‘I’m sorry, Kay,’ he said, his voice tinged with regret. ‘I tried to keep you out of it, but you just kept getting involved.’ He stood and spoke to the other man. ‘Enough. Deal with it.’
She heard the sound of feet moving on the gravel and struggled to get to her knees. She could see what must be Shaun’s feet moving away. The other, booted feet took a wider stance, as if the other man – what had Shaun called him? Bill? – was steadying himself. She couldn’t fool herself. She knew what deal with it meant.
He was going to kill her.
She looked up at him. He was pointing a gun at her, at her head.
He was going to shoot her; she was going to die.
Everything was moving slowly, with a clarity and brightness she had never known before. She could hear a high-pitched cheeping not so far away – a meadow pipit? This early in the year? Matt would have loved that.
That soft susurration: that was the sound of the wind blowing through the dry winter grasses. How many times had she heard that whispering breath, walking the moors with Matt? They must be in open country, far away from the town. The air tasted clean and fresh and cold.
The feet moved slightly, taking a firmer stance.
Remember! This is what the world is like. Beautiful and peaceful, with birds calling and the grass singing in the distance. Kay ached with yearning for it, to see it again, to be on those open moors, not here, sprawled on the gravel like some broken-down old woman.
The screech
of tyres and the bang! came together. Something hit her – hard – on the head. She struggled for clarity, to make some sense of what was happening, but there was just darkness, confusion, noise. Pain. She was rushing down a dark tunnel. Stay! She told herself. You have to stay here!
But the tunnel was too powerful; the darkness was too strong. It carried her inexorably away.
The turn was sudden and sharp. Becca felt the back wheels skid in the gravel as she turned up into a steep drive. And it was there in front of her, a scene out of her worst nightmares.
One man, on the phone, by a house.
Kay lying on the ground.
The man Jared called Greaseball standing above her, a gun pointed at her head.
She didn’t even stop to think. She floored the gas and the car smashed into him, throwing him back against the house. Becca was thrown forward, over the steering wheel, then back, hard, against the seat. Everything went dark for a moment, the world spinning. She opened her eyes, tried to pull herself together. Greaseball was staggering to his feet, pulling himself up against the brickwork of the house. Her foot stamped on the gas again and drove the car straight towards him, into the wall. The impact threw her forwards, the seat belt biting into her, her head smacking into the steering wheel and bouncing back.
Then there was silence, and then someone was screaming.
Chapter 68
Becca’s head hurt, her body ached, the car horn was blaring, someone was screaming. Nothing made sense. She eased herself back from the steering wheel, wincing at each movement. Kay. She had to get to Kay. Her fingers fumbled as she unbuckled her seat belt, pushed open the door, climbed shakily out of the car.
Kay was hurt. Becca didn’t look at the man she had rammed. She ran across the drive to where Kay lay on the ground with blood pouring from a wound on her head, deep cuts on her face and hands. Becca pulled off her jacket and put it over Kay, using her scarf as an improvised pad to try and stop the bleeding.
Had Greaseball shot Kay before Becca crashed into him? She didn’t know. Everything was confused. Things were happening around her. A man was shouting into a phone, running between the crashed car and Kay on the ground. Gravel crunched under moving feet.