“Well, he seemed to think he’d got a witness who’d seen someone entering his shed…or something like that.”
Tom stopped himself from mentioning the name which had been written on the note. If the person was capable of planting evidence and maybe even killing a young girl then he didn’t want to put what was left of his family at risk. When Grace had first disappeared he had considered Phil to be the ‘good cop’, preferring him to DS Cook who gave the impression of being sly. But since the day he turned up to arrest him, placing him in prison for three months as he awaited trial, his view of him had changed.
“Anyway, have you got any updates for me? Any fresh leads which will find my Grace?”
Tom changed the subject. The atmosphere suddenly felt heavy and tense when he mentioned Anthony Fletcher’s suicide and he didn’t want anything to get in the way of Grace’s investigation. He sat, silent and numb as Phil explained how his daughter’s case was to be kept open but they had no more fresh evidence. The pain of Grace’s disappearance hit him as hard as the day it had happened, and it wasn’t until Phil had finished explaining that he realised tears were streaming down his face.
“You can’t just give up on her. She’s out there, somewhere. She’s still alive, I know it,” he said, his voice meek from choking back his emotions.
“I’m sorry, Tom. We’re not giving up and I promise you, whenever new evidence comes in, however small, we will follow it up immediately.”
He placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder as he let himself out of the house and got back into his car. His hands felt slippery as he gripped the steering wheel and he just managed to turn the car around the corner when he was forced to stop. Getting out, he ran around to the nearside pavement with only a second to spare as his stomach lurched, throwing out its contents into a nearby drain.
“This has to stop,” he whispered to himself between gasps. “It’s killing me.”
Chapter Sixteen
As the day drew on, Phil worked on the symptoms of his feigned illness making obvious regular trips to the bathroom. Aware of Katherine’s all too acute powers of observation and her tendency to lurk, he made sure each time he paid a trip to the bathroom he carefully simulated the usual groans someone with a stomach bug would make. By the time lunchtime came around he was curled up on the sofa underneath the duvet from the spare bedroom.
“Do you think you’ll be okay by tonight?” Katherine asked, kneeling down beside him and placing her hand on his forehead.
“I’m not sure, love. I don’t want to spread it to Jane or Henry,” he moaned, looking at her through half-closed eyes.
“You don’t have a temperature. I think I’ll ring them and cancel just to be on the safe side.”
Phil’s eyes widened but he tried not to seem overly concerned so as not to arouse suspicion. Tonight was the perfect time for him to visit the mysterious road in Broxbourne where he had tracked Jason. If he blew it, then it might be months till he got another opportunity to slip away without her knowing.
“No, don’t do that. It’s Henry’s celebration dinner and I don’t want you to miss it. I’ll be alright on my own, you go and have a good time.”
She didn’t answer for a moment and he knew she was turning the pros and cons over in her head.
“Honestly, love. It’s just a bug. I just need to sleep and get it out of my system and I’ll be fine.”
Katherine wasn’t sure. She had been looking forward to the evening as she loved spending time with her friends over at Muswell Hill but she didn’t want to appear cold or uncaring.
“You might be alright later, though,” she said, hoping he was going to reassure her the bug had almost run its course, but Phil shook his head.
“It would be awful if I went and then embarrassed myself in their bathroom. Send my regards to them both and tell them I’ll see them next time, okay?”
Over the years he had come to know Katherine better than she knew herself and he was fully aware the thought of her being in the slightest embarrassed in front of her posh friends would fill her with horror. Accepting his last excuse, she kissed him on the forehead and stroked his wavy black hair.
“If you’re absolutely sure,” she said, trying her best to look the concerned wife.
“I’m sure. Now go and get yourself ready, you don’t want to be late.”
The familiar energy which he never managed to purge raged through his body as the impatience of waiting for Katherine to get ready for the meal caused the time to move slowly. Eventually, her footsteps moved down the stairs and relief swept over him as the click of her evening shoes against the wooden floor of the hallway approached.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” she whispered, once again stroking his forehead and he nodded and groaned just enough to let her know it wasn’t life threatening.
He forced himself to remain on the sofa, his body stiff with anticipation as the engine on her Mini Cooper revved and faded into the distance. Like a shot, he flung back the duvet and peered through the window to double check his ears hadn’t deceived his judgement and relaxed slightly when he viewed the empty spot on the driveway beside his car.
It would take him just over half an hour from his house to where the tracker had pointed to at Broxbourne. He squinted up at the sky as the last of the spring sunshine dulled and he estimated it would be twilight by the time he arrived. If he set off more or less straight away he would easily be back in time for Katherine arriving back from the dinner. He lost no time checking he had his wallet and phone and quickly tying up his trainers. Five minutes later, he was on his way weaving out of the suburbs and heading towards the A10.
The motorway journey was quite clear with it being an off peak weekend time and it wasn’t long until he filtered off and followed the directions to the small town of Broxbourne. He tried to recall if he had ever visited the place before, but nothing in the vicinity triggered any memories even from his childhood, and he noted the slowness of pace compared to where he lived. His eyes flicked between his sat nav and the road as it guided him to where he had programmed it, and as he got nearer he recognised the area from the images on Google Earth. The roads narrowed and he soon found himself on the familiar country lane running parallel to the outskirts of the forest.
“Where is it?” he muttered, ducking his head down to see above the windscreen for any signage. “It’s got to be around here.”
The road was empty and so he slowed his speed to a crawl so he wouldn’t miss the obscured private track he had seen on the map. After a couple of minutes, it suddenly came into view and he braked hard. The road behind him was still clear and he studied it for a moment and caught sight of himself in the rear-view mirror.
What am I doing?
A flash of uncertainty surged through him as he focused on the private road shaded by overhanging trees, the twilight giving it an eerie feel as it wound off to the right and disappeared. For a moment he debated whether to turn the car around and go home as his mind split between reason and overwhelming curiosity. He put his car in gear ready to turn back around and head back, but the pull of the private road and where it led was too strong to resist. Now he had come this far, if he didn’t take a look he knew it would play on his mind forever. One last check in his mirrors for any approaching traffic and before his mind had time to convince him otherwise, he turned into the private road and slowly crawled down it, into the darkness. Soon, he was at the bend and he drove carefully round, his eyes wide as he watched for anyone who would question why he was there. The road continued, deeper and deeper down the edge of the forest, getting more and more isolated till after about half a mile a set of large wrought iron gates appeared between two stone pillars.
Only the ticking over of the car engine broke the murky silence as Phil observed the formidable gates through his windscreen. A shiver ran down his back and he spun his head around to check the rear passenger seats.
“Too many late night horror films,” he whispered to himself and he sat upright to su
mmon his courage.
The last of the daylight had gone and the trees created a thick canopy blocking out any light from the moon and stars. Remembering he was a detective constable and shouldn’t be feeling imagined fears, he forced his mind to think on a logical level and fished out a torch from the glove compartment. One last check around and he opened his car door and stepped out onto the track leaving his headlights on full beam and engine running. The ground was soft as his weight pushed down into the slurry of decomposing leaf debris beneath his feet. Fresh tyre tracks ran alongside, disappearing beyond the gates and he automatically followed them until the gates stopped him from going any further. The car headlights created beams of light as they shone through the bars, piercing through and illuminating a section of the road beyond till it disappeared once again into impenetrable blackness.
“What is this place?”
He shone the torch down the centre of the gates to see if there was a handle to open them, but they were locked. A heavy rusty chain had been wrapped around the centre bars three times and securely fastened with a new, shiny, padlock. He clutched at one of the bars and shook it back and forth causing the chain to clank and rattle. They were firmly locked and with only one horizontal bar running along the centre of the gates he knew it would be beyond him to climb over the unforgiving spikes at the top. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he peered into the darkness, wracking his brain as to where the road led. The stone pillars were covered in green moss, strangled with ivy as it thrived in the damp, sun-deprived atmosphere.
“If there was a house beyond the gates then its name may be on the pillar,” he whispered, thinking out loud as he shone his torch.
The ivy was thick and covered most of the stone pillar, so he grabbed a handful and tore it away. Suddenly, a faint indentation in the moss beneath caught his eye. He squinted and ran his finger over the shape.
“S.”
Yanking away more of the ivy, a few more letters came into view and he rubbed and scratched at the moss to reveal what they spelled.
“St Jude’s.”
Phil frowned as he pondered what St Jude’s could be. Maybe it was an old stately home falling to bits, sealed off to keep people from getting injured? But what was Jason doing here? He didn’t want to leave without knowing the answers however as he angled his wristwatch toward the headlights he realised time was running out. Reluctantly, he returned to his car and turned it around to retrace the road back in the direction of Broxbourne.
The initial fears of mythical creatures and ghouls were now a distant memory and had been replaced by questions. What was St Jude’s? Why had Jason been there? He was deep in thought and concentrating on steering his car along the slushy track when headlights met him in the distance as a vehicle turned the sharp bend near the exit. He flushed with panic.
“Shit.”
What if they stopped him, asked him why he was there? As the vehicle turned the bend, his headlights allowed him to briefly identify it as a charcoal grey transit van until he was blinded by its headlights on full beam.
“What the…” Phil shouted out, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the glare. “Dip your bloody lights.”
The van revved as it accelerated and he tried to focus on the grass verge so he didn’t leave the road. He grappled with the wheel, trying to slow down so his vision would keep up with his speed which now seemed terrifyingly fast as his tyres slid on the layer of mud every time he tapped on his brakes.
“Christ,” he yelled as the van accelerated faster. “There’s not enough room. He’s not pulling over.”
The car shook as his near side tyres connected with the grass verge and Phil held the wheel even tighter so he didn’t hit one of the trees lining the road a few feet away. He held his breath, sure there was going to be the crash of metal as the vehicles collided but the van raced past him clipping his rear wheel arch. He stopped and let out a gasp as he watched red tail lights disappearing into the distance in his rear view mirror. He took a moment to regulate his breathing as he consciously felt his heartbeat slowing down and calming, and after a minute he realised he was still gripping the wheel. Prising off his hands, the blood slowly returned to his whitened knuckles as he opened and closed his taut fingers, and the shock of the encounter gradually turned to anger.
“Bloody idiot, driving like that down a narrow road,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “I’ve a good mind to follow him and charge him with reckless driving, not to mention hit and run.”
He toyed with the idea, his anger toward the driver giving him a sense of injustice, but time wasn’t on his side. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to be there so if he did arrest someone he would be putting himself in an awkward situation.
“What were you doing down the private road, officer? Oh, nothing much. Just checking out a location from my colleague’s car which I put a tracking device on,” he said to himself as he imagined the scenario.
Going back down the road in pursuit of justice would open a can of worms and so he denied his desire for revenge, instead continuing to crawl to the exit and make his way home. His mind raced on the journey back, adrenaline fuelling the need to inspect the damage to his car and he leapt out as soon as he pulled up onto his driveway.
“Shit,” he hissed when he saw the state of the silver Volkswagen Golf, slathered in mud and clumps of grass.
Katherine would be home soon and there was no way she wouldn’t notice the state it was in. Panic swept over him and he dashed into the house, pulled a bucket from the cupboard under the sink and filled it with warm water, adding a small splash of car shampoo. Tomorrow he would take it to the car wash but he needed to get the driver’s side clean so she didn’t question why he’d been out and where. He worked quickly, aided only by the street lighting which cast an orange glow across the paintwork until he had managed to clean off the fresh mud. The tiles of the herringbone effect driveway were wet and bubbles from the shampoo rested on the surface. Shooting back into the kitchen, he filled the bucket with clean cold water to swill them off and spread the water evenly with a sweeping brush.
Maybe it’ll be dry by the time she gets back.
He made sure to put everything back where it belonged and wiped away the pools of water from around the sink while he still had time. Katherine was a creature of habit and she usually liked to be home just before midnight whenever they went to Henry and Jane’s house. By his reckoning, he had a twenty-minute snapshot of time to get himself into bed and back into the character of sick husband. He did a final check around so there was nothing to arouse suspicion, then hurried upstairs to put on his shorts and t-shirt, clean his teeth and get himself into bed.
Unable to purge the adrenaline from the evening, he lay in bed waiting for the sound of Katherine’s car to arrive back, and true to form the headlights illuminated the bedroom ceiling a few minutes before midnight. He held his breath, listening for any pauses in her movements, signs she may have noticed the wetness of the driveway but to his relief, she headed straight for the door. Now all he needed to do was to fake sleep whilst he figured out how to get the car back to its former state. One thing was certain though, he was definitely going to return to the private road and find out what lay beyond the gates.
Chapter Seventeen
Early morning mist hovered over the manicured lawn as Eleanor Harris sat in the comfort of her orangery sipping her Earl Grey tea. It was the best part of the day and she savoured the peace and tranquillity her country style house provided with its reputable distance between herself and the neighbours. Even the exclusive tinkle of the fine bone china cup as she placed it back onto its saucer gave her a small feeling of pleasure as she gathered her thoughts in readiness for the Easter service and the dinner she was hosting afterwards. Lamb, a traditional choice, had been delivered fresh from an exclusive butcher yesterday afternoon ready to be cooked to perfection by Frances when she arrived at 10am. She missed hosting dinner parties. They had played such a huge part of her social life when Derek
had been alive. Fine dining, the best wines, designer evening dresses and jewellery went hand-in-hand and whilst she would never admit it, was the part of her twenty-six year marriage she missed the most.
She moved elegantly over to the dark, polished oak cabinet and picked up the picture. Perfectly centred on the top shelf, its guilt frame held the last photograph of Derek with his two sons.
“I wonder what you’d say if you were still here,” she said, quietly observing his gaunt image then alternating between each son.
Philip, his dark hair, striking facial features and slim build stood to his father’s left, while Guy stood proudly on the other side wearing his mortar and gown. She scrutinised the differences in the young men.
“Opposites in every way,” she murmured.
She shook her head in despair and tutted softly. They had both been raised the same and given the same opportunities, yet Guy had seemed to sail through life and his career with ease while Philip continued to struggle upstream. She pursed her lips to contain her disappointment as she placed the photograph back in its exact spot and let out a sigh. The grandfather clock in the hall struck the hour, bringing Eleanor back from her thoughts and reminding her to begin getting ready for church. Frances would be arriving shortly and she prided herself on never being seen in her dressing gown, even on a Sunday.
By the time she swept down the wide oak staircase, Frances was already busy peeling vegetables and marinating the joint of lamb and she popped into the kitchen to check the meal was running to plan. The dining room table had already been laid and she inspected every piece of cutlery for water marks as it sat perfectly beside each Royal Doulton fine china plate and cut crystal wine glass. Napkins were expertly folded into twists with peaks, standing proudly on leather place mats as they circled a low arrangement of daffodils and yellow chrysanthemums. A sense of pride and satisfaction engulfed her as she stood back and observed the fine display. It was perfect, just as she expected.
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