The Cove: a shocking thriller you won't be able to put down (The Devil's Cove Book 1)

by Malcolm Richards

  “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question. Of course you do.”

  Jago remained silent. He went to turn the page but Cal reached out a hand to stop him. He looked up, meeting Jago’s gaze. Something stirred in his eyes. He glanced back at the picture then withdrew his hand. Had it been recognition?

  The next few pages contained more images of Cal and Jago from a time when the world was in balance and little boys hadn’t vanished. So much had changed since then. Not just Cal’s disappearance and reappearance; not just the loss of Noah. But a change in family dynamics. And a shift in beliefs.

  Jago had once been a happy, smiling child, but now he was a sullen, morose young man. He had been that way a long time before Noah had vanished from the backyard.

  They were reaching the end of the album. He glanced across at Carrie, his knee jigging up and down. He had to get Cal alone or his whole reason for visiting would be meaningless.

  “Carrie, do you think I could have some water?”

  Like a statue brought to life, Carrie blinked and shook her head. “Of course. I’m sorry, where are my manners? We have juice if you prefer? Or tea?”

  “Water is fine. Thanks.”

  Carrie stood. “Cal? You want water?”

  Cal stared up at her. He nodded once before returning his attention to the photo album.

  Jago watched as Carrie made her way to the door, where she hovered for a moment, as if unsure about leaving them alone.

  “I’ll just be in the kitchen,” she said.

  When she was gone, Jago leaned back and took a long, observational look at Cal.

  Cal stared right back.

  “This is weird,” Jago said. “Can’t you talk at all?”

  A pained expression flickered across Cal’s face. He turned away.

  “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Jago hesitated, wondering if he should ask the next question. Fuck it. “Cal, where the hell have you been?”

  Cal turned back to him, his eyes growing dark and shiny.

  “Did someone take you?” he pressed. “Where have they been keeping you all this time? How did you get away?”

  He watched as Cal’s mouth opened and his chest began to heave up and down. His large, frightened eyes remained fixed on Jago, who glanced at the open living room door. He reached for his bag. “There’s another picture I want to show you,” he breathed, keeping his voice low as he pulled out a rolled-up poster. “I have a brother. His name is Noah. He’s four years old. He disappeared two months ago. No one can find him. Not the police. Not me.”

  He checked the door again then unravelled the poster.

  Noah’s beautiful smiling face stared up, a mop of blond hair hanging over blue eyes so mesmerising that anyone who gazed into them instantly fell in love.

  Jago paused, looking up from his brother’s face, ignoring the pain tearing at his heart.

  “Do you recognise him?” he asked Cal. “Where you were, where you’ve been . . . was he there, too?”

  Cal stared at the poster. He reached out with searching fingers and touched Noah’s face.

  “You know him, don’t you?” Jago said, his pulse racing. “You’ve seen him before.”

  Cal’s eyes grew impossibly dark. His jaw clenched.

  “Tell me, Cal. Please. Where’s my brother?”

  A strange sound came from the back of Cal’s throat. Something like a sob cut off by a choke. His fingers began to tremble on the paper, making Noah’s face blur.

  “Please, Cal,” Jago whispered. Desperation clawed at him as his eyes shot back to the living room door. “You’re the only one who can help me find him.”

  Cal shook his head, freeing tears.

  Jago leaned into him. “Who took him? Is he here somewhere in the cove?”

  Now Cal’s whole body trembled. A strangled whimper gurgled in his throat as Jago grabbed his arm. He recognised Noah. Jago felt it in his blood, in his bones. He held the poster closer to Cal’s face.

  “Please, Cal. Tell me. Is Noah. . . Is he. . .” He couldn’t say it. Not out loud. Because voicing such a terrible thought might make it true. Is Noah dead?

  Cal shook his head, over and over. He pulled away and let out a piercing, drawn out wail. Jago’s eyes flew to the door. He quickly rolled up the poster and stuffed it into his bag, just as Carrie came running in from the kitchen.

  “What happened?” she said, setting two glasses of water down on the coffee table. She rushed forward, kneeling in front of Cal, who was now rocking back and forth, his hands clasped over his ears and tears splashing onto his lap.

  Carrie glared at Jago. “What happened?” she repeated.

  Jago stared from mother to son. “I don’t know. One minute we were looking at pictures, the next he started freaking out.”

  Cal’s face twisted into a silent scream.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Carrie soothed, rubbing his arms. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

  Jago clutched the photograph album as he watched Carrie comfort her son, moving her hands from his arms to his shoulders and back down again.

  “I didn’t mean to upset him,” he said. “Maybe I should go.”

  Carrie nodded. Her eyes flicked in his direction.

  Standing, Jago threw the album into his bag. Not knowing what else to say, he nodded goodbye and headed for the door.

  “Jago?” Carrie wore a strange expression on her face, as if she sensed he’d been up to no good.

  “Yes?”

  “You will come by again, won’t you?” She glanced at Cal as she continued to rub his shoulders. “It’s overwhelming for him, that’s all. He just needs some time.”

  Jago hesitated. He nodded. “Sure.”

  He let himself out, almost running from the house. When he’d reached the road, he allowed himself a few unsteady breaths.

  Cal had recognised Noah. The only way that could be possible was if he and Noah had been held together. But Cal’s reaction was deeply troubling.

  He had been terrified.

  Reaching the end of the road, Jago took a left and headed back up the hill. Horrible images taunted his mind and he fought to expel them. Someone had taken Cal. Years later, that same person had taken Noah. Somehow, Cal had managed to escape. But Noah hadn’t. Jago walked on, a sick feeling of dread threatening to bring him to his knees.

  He froze and slowly turned to view Devil’s Cove.

  He would tear this town apart to find his brother. And if Cal refused to help, he would tear him apart, too.

  28

  BY THE TIME JAGO STROLLED up to his house, Nat had already smoked two cigarettes. She’d had a bad day at college, with Sierra Davis giving her more grief about her cropped hair. Well, screw her, she thought. There were more urgent things to worry about than the opinion of some brainless, superficial idiot. So why couldn’t she get that brainless, superficial idiot out of her head?

  Sierra was not the only person who’d irritated her today. She’d been desperate to come along and meet Cal. Her curiosity was piqued but it was more than that. Jago’s old friend had returned.

  How long would it be before they became best friends again? Where would that leave her?

  Jago stopped outside his garden gate, nodding in her direction. She walked up to him and they perched on the garden wall.

  “So, how was it?” she asked.

  Jago was quiet as he pulled out his tobacco pouch and began to roll a cigarette. “It was weird,” he said. “The last time I saw Cal we were kids. Now he’s a teenager. But it’s more than that. There’s something not right about him.”

  “You mean apart from being alive when he should be dead?”

  “It’s the way he stares at you, like he’s still a little kid. And the whole not talking thing is creepy.” He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. “There’s something else. I showed him Noah’s picture. He started freaking out. He recognised him, I know it. But it shouldn’t be possible because
Noah was born after Cal disappeared.”

  “Maybe Carrie showed him a picture.”

  “She told me she hadn’t mentioned Noah yet. She said he wasn’t ready.”

  Nat heaved her shoulders. “I take it Carrie was out of the room when you showed him?”

  “She was in the kitchen.” Jago took another drag on the cigarette. “The only way he could recognise Noah is if he’s been with him.”

  Goosebumps teased the surface of Nat’s skin. There could be any number of reasons explaining why Cal had recognised Noah’s picture. There were posters with his face on them all over town. His picture had been in the newspapers again within the last few days, the press speculating a connection between the boys’ disappearances.

  Or perhaps Cal hadn’t recognised Noah at all and Jago was seeing what he wanted to see. She glanced down the street. Something else was troubling her and she wondered if telling Jago about it would only fire his suspicion. If she didn’t tell him, he would find out anyway and she might not be there to act as his voice of reason.

  “Did you hear about Margaret Telford?” she said, flicking her finished cigarette into the distance.

  Jago sat up. “What about her?”

  “The police have been to her house today.”

  “Why?”

  “Not sure. Rose told me when I got home. Apparently one of Margaret’s neighbours heard screaming.”

  Jago stared at her, his eyes growing wide. “I wonder what that’s about.”

  Shrugging, Nat ran her fingers over her scalp. She could see by Jago’s lined expression that he was already connecting the two events. It was strange, though, she agreed, that the person who saved Cal’s life should be heard screaming at the top of her lungs.

  “What are you going to do about Cal?” she asked.

  Jago’s face turned serious. “Carrie’s asked me to come back and visit him. I’ll wait till we’re alone again and this time, I’ll press him harder.”

  “You think that’s a good idea? If Carrie finds out what you’re doing, she’ll go ballistic. She’ll stop you from seeing him again. Besides, don’t you think Cal’s probably traumatised enough without you making it worse?”

  Anger flashed in Jago’s eyes.

  “Worse?” he said. “What if he knows exactly where to find my brother? What if waiting for Cal to tell us in his own time means it’ll be too late? I’m not taking that chance.”

  Nat stared at the ground.

  “I’m just saying. . .” she muttered. When she looked up again, Jago was shaking his head as if she were some ignorant child who had no idea what she was talking about. But she knew more about trauma than most people in this stupid town.

  Sucking in a breath, Nat held it for a second then let it go, expelling her anger.

  “Just be careful,” she said.

  Jago said nothing. His eyes were fixed further down the road, on a dark blue Renault.

  The car had been there for a few days. Nat had noticed it while hanging out of her bedroom window, smoking cigarettes after Rose had retired for the night. She didn’t think it belonged to any of the neighbours.

  Nat watched as Jago jumped down and paced toward the car. Slipping off the wall, she followed behind.

  “Whose is it?” she asked, peering through the driver window. She grimaced as she noticed a wad of bloody tissue sitting in the passenger seat. Next to her, Jago grew very still. He glanced both ways along the road, then tried the driver door. It was locked.

  “Remember that journalist from the other night? The one who told me about Cal? This is his car. It’s been here since Sunday.”

  Nat cupped her hands to her face as she peered in. “Why would he leave it here?”

  “The last I saw him was when I laid him out on the garden path. He wouldn’t have just wandered off. It doesn’t make sense.”

  The two were quiet, staring into the car interior.

  Nat shivered. She met Jago’s gaze.

  Strange things were happening in Devil’s Cove. Any event out of the ordinary should have torn away the boredom of small town life. But all Nat felt as she stepped away from the car, was a creeping sense of unease.

  29

  RAIN ROLLED IN ON FRIDAY morning, turning the ocean muddy grey. With it came a damp chill that sank into the bones of the cove’s inhabitants. Carrie had been up since 6 a.m., distracting her anxious thoughts with housework. She’d left the children to sleep while she’d prepared breakfast. Now, at a little after seven, she returned upstairs with an empty laundry basket. Stopping at the top of the landing, she cocked her head. Melissa’s sing-song voice floated out from her bedroom. Smiling, Carrie pushed open the door. She stopped still.

  Melissa was in the centre of the room, surrounded by toys. Facing her, with a handful of Lego bricks, was Cal.

  “Good morning,” Carrie said from the doorway. Her children looked up briefly before returning to their play. Carrie watched them for a short while, a warmth spreading through her stomach. Stepping into the room, she carefully circled them and began stripping Melissa’s bed of sheets.

  Cal had made some kind of vehicle while Melissa had crafted a small building, on top of which she’d placed a toy figure.

  “Help me!” she cried in a cartoon voice. “My house is on fire!”

  Her gaze turned to Cal, who picked up the vehicle and turned it over.

  “Cal! You have to rescue me,” Melissa whined.

  Carrie waited. Her heart danced with delight as Cal placed the vehicle back on the carpet and pushed it toward the house.

  “I hate to break up your play,” she said, after a minute more of watching, “but it’s almost time to get ready for school.”

  Melissa scrunched up her face. “But I want to play with Cal.”

  “I’m very happy to hear that, sweet pea. You can play with Cal all you want. But later.”

  “Why do I have to go to school and Cal stays home?”

  “You know why. Now, up you get,” Carrie said.

  She hadn’t given much thought to Cal’s education. She wasn’t sure where to begin. He had missed seven years of schooling. She had no idea of his abilities. It was something she would need to discuss with that social worker. Whatever her name was.

  But not yet. Cal had been home for less than a week.

  He was watching her, the toy vehicle forgotten. Carrie smiled at him. For the briefest of moments, he smiled back.

  “Breakfast will be on the table in ten minutes,” she said, buzzing with joy.

  Leaving Melissa to grumble, she carried the basket of dirty sheets into Cal’s room. Her wide, happy grin was quickly wiped away. There was an unpleasant smell. The stench of stale air, sweat, and something else she couldn’t define.

  Wrinkling her nose, Carrie dumped the basket on the bed and wrenched open the curtains. A row of toy figures, including Rex the dinosaur, stared at her from the window ledge. She smiled as she opened the window and sucked in the morning air and rain.

  “Boys,” she muttered. Why did they always smell so bad? Cal had not slept in his bed again. It was becoming a habit. Wherever he had been all this time, had he been forced to sleep on the ground? She longed to ask him. For him to tell her everything so she could strip it from his memory and wash it clean like dirty sheets.

  She looked out at the rain. She would be taking Cal into town today for the first time. Cove Crafts had been sitting unopened for days now. She’d missed the last week of business, which meant even less money to tide them over the winter months. And now she had the thankless task of packing up the stock and storing it away until spring. She would get Cal to help her but she would keep him in the storeroom, away from prying eyes.

  A change of scene would be good for him, she thought, hearing yesterday’s conversation with Rose in her head. Meeting with Jago hadn’t gone as well as she’d expected, although she had her suspicions that Jago had said something to upset Cal while she’d been out of the room. But it was a start, at least. Perhaps today would be anot
her step forward.

  Movement below pulled her from her thoughts. Her neighbour, Dottie Penpol, stood just outside the garden gate, wearing a raincoat and a scarf wrapped around her head. She peered at the house with wide, curious eyes.

  “Can I help you with something, Dottie?”

  “Goodness, Carrie. You scared me out of my skin!” Startled, the elderly woman shot a hand up to her chest. “Everyone fine in there?”

  “Oh yes, we’re all doing very well, thank you.” Carrie watched her through narrow eyes. She was still annoyed with Dottie for talking to the press.

  “And that boy of yours, is he well?”

  “He’s just fine.”

  “It must have been such a shock to find out he was alive!” Dottie said, arching an eyebrow. “Where has he been all this time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Well, how can that be?”

  Dottie waited, open-mouthed, for Carrie to explain. When she didn’t, she clamped her jaw shut.

  “Well, it’s a miracle. A true blessing,” she said, finally. “The Lord really does move in mysterious ways.”

  Tell that to Tess Pengelly, Carrie thought. “You be sure to have a nice day now, Dottie. You don’t want to stand there for too much longer or you’ll catch a cold.”

  The elderly woman pursed her lips, as her eyes wandered to the living room window.

  “Quite,” she said, then took a step closer. “By the way, did you hear about Margaret Telford?”

  Carrie felt a chill creep in through the window.

  “Margaret Telford? What happened?”

  “The police were at her house yesterday. And those funny men in white suits. Larry Bolitho said they were out in her yard examining something.”

  “Examining what, exactly?”

  Dottie shook her head. “No idea. But Larry reckons whatever it was, it was something unpleasant. Well, I best be off. Mabel’s having a last day sale on postcards.”

  Carrie waved as her neighbour trundled off. She turned to face the room. Anxiety washed over her as she wondered what had been found in Margaret Telford’s garden. She had yet to thank the woman for finding Cal. Perhaps she’d call her later today.