by Danuta Kot
What was the best way forward? What was the best way to help Becca? Take the whole story to the police? He’d have done it, if it wasn’t for Becca’s experience in York and Liam’s broad hints – supported by what Jared had seen himself – that someone high up was involved. With the mine entrance collapsed, where could they find the evidence they needed, to get the police looking in the right places?
Hang on, hang on, hang on. He’d been assuming the people who dumped the bodies had dug the mine out, but the mine wasn’t crucial – it was just convenient. Digging it out was a big job and you’d have to know what was in there to know it would be worthwhile – and no one did. The mine had been buried for decades.
Who dug out the mine?
Urbex. Urban explorers.
They made it their business to find out about lost places, buried places. There were internet forums with pages dedicated to old mines and tunnels. So some of them would have come looking for sure. And when they found the blocked entrance to the mine on the cliff face?
They’d have dug it out. They’d do it for – this was what they always said on the forums if anyone bothered to ask – they’d do it for the lolz. For the fun of it. To go into the mine, just because they could. They would have explored it, taken pictures and left, leaving no trace apart from an obscure opening in the cliff.
He knew this, because he was one of them. And if they’d done it, he could find them.
The girl from behind the counter dumped a plate on the table beside him, along with a knife and fork. She muttered something about ketchup and waved a vague hand behind her, then shuffled off.
He suddenly realised he was hungry, and dug his fork into the chips, which were lukewarm and rubbery, but good enough. He crammed them into his mouth as he worked out the best way to do this. He uploaded the original video, the one from the tablet Becca had found that had guided them through the tunnel, and added a description of the chambers.
Then he downloaded a TOR browser onto his phone and went to the dark web forums where he was known – explorers were secretive people. They didn’t give away their locations or their identities, or not often. He posted a link to the video and his message: Need to confirm location. Urgent. Phoenix.
He wasn’t sure how this would help him, but if he and Becca were going to get corroboration of their story, their first hurdle was proving the mine still existed. Then he sat back. Nothing to do now but wait.
That’s what he was doing, several cups of coffee and two hours later, when his phone rang. He checked the display: unknown.
‘Yeah?’ He spoke cautiously, wondering if someone was tracking him.
‘Is that . . . Jared? Becca’s friend?’ A woman. ‘My name is Kay McKinnon, and I think we need to talk.’
Chapter 71
By the time the ambulance got to Scarborough Hospital, Kay’s memory was returning. She still couldn’t remember anything about that morning and whatever had happened to knock her out – the paramedic said something about being knocked over by a car, but that triggered nothing at all. Her recollections of the previous day were hazy – Shaun had picked her up from the hospital, she could remember that – but every time she thought about Shaun, tho ught about contacting him to let him know she was OK, to find out what had happened, her whole system went on alert, telling her not to.
If Kay trusted anyone, she trusted herself.
What she did know was that Becca was in trouble. Becca, apparently, had driven her car straight at a man, crushing him against a wall. The man was dead. She, Kay, was supposed to be collateral damage from that event. Becca was now a major suspect in the fire at her cottage.
It was all nonsense, of course. It was time Kay stepped in. Even without all her memories back.
As soon as the paramedics wheeled her out of the ambulance and into A & E, she told them she was leaving. OK, she’d been knocked out; OK, she probably had concussion, but if she waited for the medics to give her the all-clear, it would be too late. Becca had been arrested, and if there was one thing Becca couldn’t cope with, it was being locked up. But given the charges against her, it was going to be tough getting her out.
To help Becca, Kay needed her contacts, and she needed information.
Telling herself she felt fine – her head was aching, but she could get something from the chemist for that – she checked herself in the mirror in the loo. What she saw almost sent her back to A & E. Her face and hair were a mess of dried blood and dirt. It was impossible to see what was injury and what was just the aftermath of the accident. No, it hadn’t been an accident. That she did know.
She tried cleaning her face with a damp towel, but all that did was spread the mess around. In the end, she washed her face using the harsh hospital soap, then dunked her head under the tap, scrubbing her hair with her fingernails to free it of all the muck. The wound on her head stung and ached like something that shouldn’t be ignored, but it didn’t start bleeding again. It could wait.
Just cleaning herself up made Kay feel better. She no longer looked like the walking wounded – more like a bag lady. Good enough. She tidied herself up as best she could, then checked her pockets to see what she had with her. Her handbag was probably on the ground at Shaun’s somewhere.
Oddly enough, all her stuff – her money, her phone, her cards – was in her pockets. Now why would she have done that? She had a sudden memory flash of running, of urgently pressing the emergency button on her phone, and then it was gone.
It was a simple matter to get a taxi from the hospital to the nearest car-hire firm. After about half an hour of box ticking, she left in a Megane with the fiercest braking system she had ever encountered.
OK, she had transport. Now she had to decide what to do next.
She wasn’t herself, that was the problem. Her mind kept slipping away and her head was still aching fiercely. She had concussion and shouldn’t be driving, she knew that, but she had to find out what had happened. She should go to the police, but something inside her was saying no. Where would they have taken Becca? Whitby, surely. She turned the car north, still not sure of where she was going or what she was going to do.
There was something she knew, something she’d forgotten, and until she worked out what it was . . . The frustration made her bang her fist against the steering wheel. The horn sounded and several people looked round. The driver in front of her raised a finger.
She pulled into the side of the road. She couldn’t drive and sort this out at the same time. Calm down. Think! What she really needed to do was talk to Becca, but Becca wasn’t accessible. Kay had tried her phone and it had gone straight to voicemail.
She checked her messages, to see if there was a new one from Becca. There wasn’t, but there was a text that gave her a contact number for this Jared person.
Kay tapped the phone against her teeth. What role did this man have in Becca’s latest debacle? Reluctantly, she clicked on his number. It rang for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to respond, then a cautious voice said, ‘Yeah?’
‘Is that . . . Jared? Becca’s friend? My name is Kay McKinnon, and I think we need to talk.’
Chapter 72
There was only the terror. It was dark – she knew it was dark even though her eyes were tight shut. If she opened them, she’d see Him coming towards her. It would be dark but she could always see Him.
She had to stop Him. She had to stop Him. She’d screamed so much her throat was burning but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, He’d come, but her voice was raw and thready – once the barrier of the screaming had gone, He’d be there. She dragged her nails down her face and banged her head against the wall.
Stop Him! Stop Him! Stop Him!
There was a rattle and a clunk, and a voice said, ‘Come on, Becca. This isn’t helping. We’ll have to restrain you if you don’t quiet down. It’s for your own good.’
It’s for your own safety, Becca, your own safety, Becca, your own safety . . .
You know that’s not true
, not true, not true . . .
She slammed her head against the wall to shut the voices out.
And then the door was open and she could breathe again, and two people were forcing her to her feet, their voices a meaningless jabber. There was only one thing that mattered. The door was open. It mustn’t be closed. It mustn’t be locked again.
She’s bleeding . . .
. . . bloody nutter . . .
. . . did you see . . .
. . . come on, Becca, this won’t . . .
. . . who’s on duty . . .
She couldn’t be locked up, not again, not anymore. There was only one thing she could think of to stop them. ‘I did it,’ she said. ‘I did it.’
Jared recognised the woman who came through the door as Kay McKinnon immediately. She was a small woman with red hair shot through with grey and she came into the café like a one-man SWAT team, glaring at Jared as he rose to introduce himself. Just the kind of woman who could have coped with an adolescent Becca.
‘Right,’ she said, her voice abrupt and business-like. ‘You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. This had better be good.’
He’d opened his mouth to protest, but she was right. He did. He started with his experience in the tunnel, the caravan site parties, the attack and the apparent pursuit of Becca. Her lips tightened when he mentioned the attack on the girl.
‘Maireid,’ she said. ‘My foster-daughter. Yes, I guessed. Go on.’
He explained about Becca’s insistence on going to see Kay before they went to the police. ‘I thought she was being paranoid.’
‘With Becca, paranoia’s not impossible.’
He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘This time, though, she was right. I should have got in the car with her – I should have driven, I knew she was upset. I got there too late, but there was this guy marching around like he was in charge. I saw him act like he was mates with the police that were there. I know him. I don’t know who he is, but he was there that night they tried to run me down – him and the guy we call Greaseball. The one Becca hit with the car.’
‘The one Becca killed. Just a minute. You said . . .’ Her face had gone white and she sat down suddenly. ‘Shaun. It’s coming back. Oh good grief . . . I . . .’
Alarmed, Jared leaned forward. ‘Are you all right? Do you want me to get you some water?’
She stood up abruptly and pushed past him, heading for the ladies’ toilets. Ignoring the sign on the door, he went in after her. She’d been knocked cold this morning, and she looked awful. The cubicle door slammed shut behind her and he heard sounds of retching.
He waited until there was silence, then he tapped on the door. ‘Kay. You need to see a doctor.’
There was silence, then he heard the sound of the cistern flushing. She came out of the cubicle, pushed past him and went to the basin, where she rinsed her mouth and washed her face. He hovered, feeling clumsy and useless. When she had finished, she looked up at him.
‘I remembered,’ she said, her voice empty. ‘I know exactly what happened.’
Brushing aside his offer of assistance, she marched back into the café. Jared saw the waitress watching them with an expression of deep suspicion. ‘It’s OK,’ he said, deliberately inexplicit. The last thing he wanted was an officious manager descending on them. He ordered more coffee, getting Kay a cappuccino and spooning sugar into it with vague recollections of the best way to treat shock in the elderly.
Then he listened as Kay told him what had happened to her.
‘The last thing I remember,’ she said, finally, ‘is that . . . that thug, pointing a gun at me. I was on the ground and he was pointing a gun at my head. Shaun came over, told him to do it. And then he tried to kill me. And Becca . . .’ Her eyes reddened and she shook her head impatiently. ‘She must have seen what he was going to do. She drove the car straight into him. She saved my life.’
This was the evidence they needed. ‘We can go to the police,’ he said. ‘You can tell them what happened.’
He expected her to jump at the idea. Instead, she hesitated, then shook her head slowly. ‘Shaun will have had time to tidy up by now, inside the house at least. Look, he was a senior officer for years. That will be why the emergency services responded – and fast. He still advises them sometimes.’
‘Are you sure?’
She shook her head impatiently. ‘Not sure, no. I’m just going by what he’s told me, but we can’t take the risk. Don’t you see? I’m an old woman, I’ve been widowed recently and I’ve been injured twice in the past couple of days. At best they can call me delusional, say I’m suffering from concussion. You? Is there any reason they might have to think you’d be lying? Have you got a police record?’
OK, that was telling it like it was, but he could see where she was going, and she was right. ‘No, but I’m not exactly a respectable citizen.’
‘Then we need more. Tell me the rest.’
He stifled his impatience – all the time they were talking, Becca was . . . He didn’t know what was happening, but he remembered her fear as she talked about being locked up, and his promise to her, the night they spent together. He ran through the story as quickly as he could. ‘I see why they wanted me off their patch at the caravan site. They weren’t sure how much I’d seen that night. But I don’t know why they went after Becca – the emails, driving her off the road – they didn’t just want her out of the way. They wanted her dead.’
Kay McKinnon sighed. ‘I think I do. I was the one who started asking questions – and I got Becca the job at the drop-in. It must have looked as though I had an idea of what was going on and put a spy in there just around the time Maireid found that video. Then Becca started asking questions as well. When she turned up at the caravan site with you, they put it together and they decided we all knew too much.’
‘The drop-in? The place Becca used to work? So these traffickers sent the emails to get her thrown out?’
‘I don’t think they did. I think it was that lad Liam. You said he was pimping a couple of the girls, then Becca befriends one of them. So Liam put a stop to it. Also, the way he must have seen it, Becca out of work would be a recruit for his sordid little business. This coffee is disgusting,’ she added. ‘If I wanted a cup of boiled milk and sugar I’d ask for it.’
‘Sorry.’ She reminded him of all the head teachers he’d ever encountered – great if they were on your side, terrifying if not.
‘You say the mine’s inaccessible?’
‘It is now.’
‘And Liam and his crony have run off with Paige? That’s another loose end needs dealing with.’
‘I think the girl, Paige, might be talked into telling the police what she knows, if we find her.’
‘I don’t think so. She’ll just do what she’s told. So, what was your plan?’
‘Whoever dumped those girls – it wasn’t them who dug the mine out in the first place. That’s hours – days – of work, and you need to know what you’re doing. You need to know it’s there, for starters. I’ve put out an internet call – I think I can find out who did. They’ll have pictures. If they have, it will help to prove those chambers exist. But that’s all. There’s no way anyone else is going to get back in.’ The cliff was too unstable for any more digging.
Only the mine, and the dead girls in there, one with a bullet through her head, couldn’t be explained away. Kay had her story of being imprisoned, but there was only her word for it and she had concussion. It could all be seen as the delusions of a lonely old woman. The man with the gun? There was no concrete proof of anything. Jared’s story of going into the mine, backed by Becca – they couldn’t check it either, and both he and Becca had dodgy pasts.
A good defence team would demolish a case that was as thin as that. And Becca was trying to defend herself against a possible murder charge.
The tablet chimed. A message. He brought up the screen.
--Phoenix wldnt tell anyone els but jst 4 u we dug it out 2 yrs ago flooded but water drain
ed did u use cliff entrance check out the map & pix we think anther entrance is open cos of draft but couldn’t find Chem6
There were attachments and a URL. Jared clicked on it and found himself looking at a page of cave maps. Slowly, he scrolled down – they were the kind of maps that would mean nothing if you didn’t know the terrain. He stopped as one of them came up on the screen. Unnamed mine, Kettleness, from a survey done in 1975.
That was the one.
There was the cistern, there was the entrance on the cliff – marked blocked on the map, and beyond that was a further tunnel.
Jared traced the map with his finger. There was the chamber behind the cistern, the place where the dead girls lay. According to the map, the tunnel ran past the chamber and deeper into the cliff where it came to a dead end. He and Becca had only gone as far as the chamber. What lay beyond that, what might be hidden further down the tunnel, he had no idea.
He tried to mentally overlay it on the landscape he remembered. The map was rudimentary. It gave no real indication of distance and the direction wasn’t pinpoint accurate – you wouldn’t be able to get a compass bearing from it – but even so, an idea was starting to form in his mind.
He went on to Google Maps and found Kettleness. Kay watched him in silence. He zoomed in until he was close to the cliff, and tracked the path he and Becca had followed. The cliff face wasn’t visible, but he could locate the point where the mine entrance was. A few hundred metres inland, he could see the shadow of the cutting where the tunnel entrance lay. In his head, the map of the mine hung in the air; he adjusted it for scale, rotated it a bit to fit the landscape, then let it drop onto the map . . . sink into the landscape, and . . .
Gotcha!
The mine fitted like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle into the land between the tunnel portal and the sea. The mines were closing as the railway was built. The last alum mine at Kettleness closed in 1871. The railway opened in 1883. How much had the railway engineers known about the work of the Kettleness miners?