‘You told me when we first met that they liked to control women. That they were, “smug bastards”. What have they done to you, Cora? I know there’s something there.’
She wouldn’t look at Alex as she took a squashed packet of cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one.
Alex sighed. What a bloody contrary woman she was. Was now the time to bring up the photo of Lewis Rider and her brother she had found? ‘Look, if you’re expecting me to go out of my way to help you, then you have to give me something in return.’
‘Have to? I don’t think so, Alex. Besides, you’ll be getting your story, won’t you?’
‘Will I?’
‘A front seat.’
‘I’m seeing Jamie Rider tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ she said sharply. ‘Why?’
‘He’s coming to my sister’s preview for her art exhibition.’
She blew five perfect smoke rings. ‘Where’s that then?’
‘In Gisford.’
‘Did you ask him to go with you?’
‘Yes.’
She stood up. ‘Then you’d best go and get yourself ready, hadn’t you?’ The spikes were out again and had been sharpened even more.
Alex sighed. ‘Cora, I wish you’d tell me about the Riders. I might be able to help.’
More smoke rings. ‘I doubt it.’
‘Do you think they’ve got something to do with Rick’s disappearance?’
‘Think?’ She laughed harshly. ‘I fucking well know.’
‘So tell me,’ pleaded Alex. ‘Look, I know I messed up by not taking him to hospital. That’s why I’m here.’
Cora looked at her steadily and for a moment Alex thought she was going to spill all.
‘I found a picture,’ she said quickly. ‘Of Lewis Rider leaving court, twenty-four years ago. Your brother was in it too.’
Cora winced, opened her mouth. Then closed it again.
‘Was that to do with you, Cora?’
Cora gave nothing away. Frustrating, to say the least.
‘Why was your brother in the picture?’
‘You ask too many questions, Alex.’
Alex could hardly speak. ‘But you wanted me to get involved.’
Cora looked straight at her. ‘Did I? Did I actually ever ask, or did you hang on to my coattails wanting to “do good”?’
‘That’s not fair, Cora.’ Alex tried to quell her rising anger. Cora was worried and tired. She didn’t know what she was saying. She mustn’t let it get to her.
All the air seemed to leave Cora. ‘It’s not your fight, Alex. Really.’
‘What do you mean? Rick brought me into this by giving me your number. You made me interested in the plight of people who are homeless. I’m interested in Fight for the Homeless too because I’m not entirely sure it’s the charity it says it is.’
‘What do you mean?’
Alex shook her head. ‘I don’t know yet. But David was acting cagily when I went to see him after Rick disappeared. And then there’s Sadie.’
‘Sadie?’
‘The receptionist from David’s office. She’s dead. Killed by a hit-and-run driver.’
‘What?’ Any remaining colour drained from Cora’s face.
‘She phoned me up wanting to talk. She was frightened. I should have gone to her straightaway, but she said she would meet me after work and then never turned up. The next thing I heard was that she had been killed. Cora, the hit-and-run vehicle was a white van. And nobody could read the number plate—’
‘Because it was smeared with dirt?’
Alex nodded. ‘And the van went backwards and forwards over Sadie’s body. Making sure she was dead.’
‘And you think it’s somehow connected with Rick? Because of the van?’
‘It has to be, don’t you see? Look, I know there are hundreds, thousands of white vans in the country, but in my book it’s too much of a coincidence. We saw a white van going round to where Rick was sleeping, then Rick vanishes. Rough sleepers are disappearing. Sadie, who works for a charity for the homeless, is killed, conveniently, by a white van just before she is coming to talk to me. Come on, Cora, it’s all linked. And I have a feeling the Riders are in the mix there somewhere.’ She looked at Cora despairingly. She had to get through to her somehow. ‘You’ve got to talk to me.’
Cora was silent for long minutes. She played with the cigarette packet, turning it over and over in her hands. ‘I don’t know how much I can trust you, Alex. You’re a journalist. I know you want a story out of this. But whose story?’
‘Yours, Cora. Yours and Rick’s and Tiger’s and Martin’s. Nobby too.’ She clenched her fists and took a deep breath. How could she make Cora understand that she was speaking the truth?
Cora blew out a breath. ‘Let’s just say Lewis Rider tried to ruin my life. I tried to ruin his. Tit for tat. Being the sort of man he is, he won’t ever let that go. Even though he won.’
‘And what sort of man is he?’
Cora remained mute.
‘What game are you and Rick playing, Cora?’
Cora stood. ‘You go and meet your precious Jamie Rider, Alex, and I hope you have a good evening. Perhaps you could ask him about that summer, twenty-four years ago and what happened after.’ She laughed, but it was a false laugh. ‘But I don’t expect he will tell you the truth. He’s his brother after all. I want you to go now.’
Alex nodded.
‘And, by the way—’
Alex, at the door, turned.
Cora stood, eyes blazing. ‘It’s not a game. It never was.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DAY FIVE: AFTERNOON
Rick stood at the edge of the lay-by just before the roundabout that fed onto the A12, holding out his thumb, ignoring the anthracite skies and the fine drizzle. Did lorries stop for hitchhikers these days? Did people even hitchhike? He was still in pain, so if he could get a lift even a little of the way he had to go, it would help. He had to be careful, though, who he accepted a lift from. At least he’d been able to swap his slippers and hospital gown for a pair of trainers and jeans and a shirt from the Relate charity shop he had passed.
The woman behind the counter had thrown in a thick jumper as well. He hoped she wouldn’t remember him, though why anyone would think of asking about him in a small charity shop in the centre of Ipswich he couldn’t imagine.
The only trouble was, he only had a few pounds left.
It didn’t matter. He knew who he was now. He was more than his name, more than Rick Winterton. He was Cora’s brother. He had been in the army. He had been married. He had children. He had a life. Yes, he remembered he had fallen on hard times, that his time in the army had affected him, had sent him almost mad for a number of years. How long had he been on the streets? How long had it been since Helen – yes, Helen, the woman with the golden hair and the sweet smile – how long had it been since she’d been part of his life?
That part was still hazy.
He knew he had escaped from the island. That he had watched people die there and he had vowed to get away and tell the world. Slavery. Exploitation. That’s what it all amounted to. He looked at the pink skin of his healing burns. He remembered how he had got those, too. How he had been chained up, put to work like an animal. And he knew he had to get back to the island to pick up the evidence he had collected. No one would believe him without those pictures. If he went to the police, the family would only clear up the evidence before the coppers got there.
He shivered as he remembered how one of the men he was imprisoned with had heard the guards talking about him. Somehow his cover had been blown and Lewis Rider had discovered who he was. That he needed to be got rid of. That’s when he knew he would have to escape somehow and get his evidence to the cops. The trouble had started when he realized he would have to swim to the mainland so would have to leave his camera behind. He laughed. How fucking naive he’d been. Thought he could get onto the island with his spy camera bought off the Internet and get off again without any
problem. He had underestimated them all. But he managed to bury it and escape. He was going to contact Cora. She would help him.
But then he’d crashed that sodding Land Rover and lost his sodding memory and now he had to go back and retrieve the camera.
Cora. She had changed so much. She had been a lively teenager, keen for new experiences, to seize the world and see what it could give her. But then Lewis Rider happened and Cora lost her spark, and he swore that one day he would get their revenge. But that day had never come. Until now. And now it was much more than revenge.
A large lorry carrying hundreds of squawking chickens wheezed to a stop in the lay-by.
‘Where are you off to, mate?’
‘I need to get up the A12 a bit – somewhere near Gisford?’
‘No problem. I’m going to Wickham Market. Hop in. Shouldn’t take long. Could’ve walked it, mate.’
The lorry driver, big and burly with tattooed knuckles, nodded to a bag on the floor. ‘Some sarnies and a couple of packets of crisps in there if you’re hungry. You look as though you could do with a bit of a feed. There’s water, too.’ He patted his obvious belly. ‘You get hungry doing this job.’
Rick smiled. His stomach rumbled. ‘Thanks.’ Bending down, he took out a cheese sandwich and some cheese and onion crisps. Food had never tasted so good. It seemed to have been days since he had finished the last of the muesli bars. And he hadn’t stayed long enough in hospital to sample any of its meals. He washed it down with a bottle of water, thinking an explanation was in order. ‘Yeah, I know I could have walked. Truth is, there are some people who I don’t want to see. Looking for me. Want to be out of sight as much as possible. Women. You know?’
The lorry driver chuckled. ‘Tell me about it. No, don’t. Too depressing. So, what’s at Gisford, then?’
‘People I need to see. Something I need to sort out.’
‘Another woman?’
‘Got it in one.’
‘You’ve been in the wars though. I can see those burns on your hands from here. Must’ve hurt.’
Rick curled his hands into fists. ‘Yeah. A bit.’
‘How did you get them?’
‘Bonfire. Petrol. Being stupid, really.’ Too many questions. Far too many questions.
‘Right.’
Rick closed his eyes, hoping the driver would take the hint, even if it was only for a few minutes.
All too soon he heard the clicking of the indicator and they were turning off the A12.
‘This is where you’re going to have to hop out, mate.’
The lorry pulled up by the side of the road. ‘Take a bottle of water with you,’ said the driver.
‘Thanks,’ said Rick, as he slammed the door.
The lorry trundled away.
He took a deep breath and began walking. Again.
Would Gary and his sidekick still be looking for him? He guessed so, but would they realize he was on his way back to the island? Surely they would expect him to try to get as far away as possible.
Filled with fresh determination and fuelled by the sandwiches and crisps, Rick put his aches and pains to the back of his mind. He thought it would take him three to four hours to get to Gisford, and it would be well and truly dark by then. He just had to be careful, keep a look out. The road was busy – traffic, cyclists, pedestrians. For the moment he felt safe.
But he soon realized that trying not to think about how much his body hurt wasn’t going to work. Realistically, he had been beaten, starved, filled with fuck knew what sort of crap to keep him sweet and it had taken a great deal of will and effort to lift him from that lethargy. Not to mention a vicious car crash. And his body and mind had paid a price. A few hours’ sleep in a hospital bed was not going to cut it.
His arm had begun to throb, but the stitches the nurse had put in were holding. He probably hadn’t had enough antibiotics to stave off infection, so he would have to be careful. At least he was warm now and hypothermia was not a danger. How he had survived the last few days, he had no idea. Inner strength and determination. Grit. All three.
Across a roundabout and the road was a little quieter. There was no pavement, and he was walking on the muddy verge. Past a pub that was doing good business, despite the fading light. Smoke was curling out of its chimney, and welcoming lights shone out of the windows. Soon, he promised himself, soon he could go back to a normal life.
Whatever that was.
The road narrowed. He sat down, tempted to take off the ill-fitting trainers, but he knew if he did that he would never get them back on again.
Neat houses with neat hedges and gardens began to appear either side of the road, then he was out in the countryside again, with ploughed fields either side.
He sensed a change in the air. Colder, sharper, a tang of brine, perhaps? He knew that smell, it brought back his childhood. The land was flatter, the sky wider, space opening out, the vegetation scrubbier. The drizzle had stopped. For now.
The light was fading. He had to keep walking, but he had to be more careful – he was getting near, and there was only one road in and one road out.
Houses. One painted Suffolk Pink. A couple white. Beams. All thatched. Why was he noticing those details? To keep his mind occupied, to stop him thinking about the constant ache in his legs, his arm, and the pounding in his head that had returned.
Gorse bushes, trees. Hedges. Was that where he had hidden that first night? How could he remember that, he’d been barely conscious then.
The wind was getting up.
The cheese sandwich and crisps seemed like a very long time ago.
He imagined himself eating crumpets dripping with butter. Unsalted butter. Perhaps some jam. Or maybe a bacon sandwich with ketchup between two slices of soft, white bread. A mug of tea. He could taste that tea. Eating in front of a fine fire, piled high with logs, enveloping him with heat.
Keep walking. Keep walking.
More cottages huddled together. Cars parked outside. A blue car to match a blue garage door. A petrol station. Ferry Road.
He had arrived.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DAY FIVE: EVENING
There was a quiet buzz of conversation in the art gallery as Alex and Jamie walked in, his hand warm on the small of her back. As if she was a possession. It irritated her. But she had to keep calm, smile, relax and remember the evening was an ideal opportunity to do a bit of digging, find out more about the family business. And more about Cora. Especially about Cora. It had to come out naturally, though, not like an interrogation.
‘Alex, Alex, it’s so good to see you.’
Sasha came over, waving a glass of wine and looking stunning in a shimmery green dress that clung to her curves and showed off her blonde hair and pale skin. It had the long sleeves her sister always favoured. Alex knew they were to hide the silvery threads of scar tissue where she used to cut herself when she was at her most unhappy. She needed to remember that, first and foremost, tonight was about her sister.
Sasha pulled Alex towards her in a hug. ‘Thank you so much for coming.’
Alex pulled away and held Sasha at arm’s length, examining her. ‘Look at you. All happy and glowing.’ And she was, she really was. Alex couldn’t remember when she had last seen her sister this relaxed and with such a big grin on her face.
‘You look lovely too, Alex.’ Her sister briefly put her hand on Alex’s cheek. ‘Now, enough of this love-in, introduce me to this man.’ Sasha was staring at Jamie with a frankly admiring look on her face.
Alex laughed. ‘Jamie, this is my sister, Sasha. Sasha, this is my friend, Jamie.’
‘Friend?’ said Sasha laughing. ‘Okay, I’ll run with that. Nice to meet you, friend Jamie. What do you think of this place, sis?’
The gallery was a large white space, with padded benches strategically positioned here and there. Sasha’s paintings hung from a picture rail that ran all the way round the white walls, which were perfectly lit with spotlights. Several paintings had red d
ots on them, meaning someone had bought them. There were also plinths with sculptures on the top.
‘Fabulous,’ said Alex. ‘Fit for a soon-to-be famous artiste.’
Sasha nudged her. ‘I wish.’
‘My parents have arrived,’ said Jamie. ‘I’ll just go and say hello.’
Alex looked up, and sure enough, Marianne and Joe Rider were taking off their coats at the door. Marianne looking as graceful as ever in bright red palazzo pants and white blouse, and Joe looking, well, like Joe Rider in trousers and a rather loud yellow shirt. They were accompanied by Lewis and Simon – no wives in evidence – and they were all being fawned over by a small dapper man in a bow tie, who Alex presumed was Pierre, the gallery owner.
‘What are they doing here?’ She nodded towards the Riders.
Sasha looked. ‘The famous Rider family, I do believe. You’re not the only one to meet Suffolk’s answer to the royals. Pierre said he was going to invite them. And some more local notables, I think. He said it was good to have influential people at these things. There’ll be a couple of restaurant owners, the presenter of the local TV news, the owner of a bookshop and some sort of comedian who I hope won’t tell any jokes because they’re bound to be unfunny. Oh, and a couple of authors.’
It was, thought Alex, the Riders’ charity event all over again, without the boring people. Or mostly.
‘Jamie is a Rider,’ she said.
Sasha gave her a wicked look.
Alex nudged her and smiled. ‘You know what I mean. He’s one of the Rider family.’
‘That’s good. Mind you, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of love lost between them.’ Lewis, Jamie and Simon were in a huddle, Lewis was angry about something, judging by the expression on his face, and the other two were having to listen. Jamie looked bored.
‘Three brothers, yes.’ Bloody hell. That family seemed to stick together like barnacles on a slimy rock.
‘I look forward to meeting the rest of the family then.’ She looked around. ‘I don’t think the actual critics have arrived yet, though.’ She pulled at her sleeves. Alex could see she was nervous. ‘Come on,’ she said, taking Alex’s arm. ‘Let’s have a proper look at my daubings.’
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