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

by Malcolm Richards

  Another shrug. Carrie pointed to the headless bodies on the floor. “Is this Mummy and Daddy?”

  Melissa glanced at her teacher, then at Mrs. White. She nodded.

  Carrie stared down at her own lifeless, headless corpse. She pointed to the three smiling figures who were running away. “And who is this?”

  Melissa was silent, her small face lined with worry. She reached out her index finger. This is me,” she whispered, pointing to the smallest stick figure with a nest of wavy hair. Her finger moved to the figure on the right of the trio, who was much bigger than the others. “This is Cal.”

  “And who’s this?” Carrie pointed to the smaller figure in the middle and saw that her hand was trembling. A horrible feeling of dread had seized her. She knew the answer before Melissa could speak his name.

  “That’s Noah,” her daughter said.

  Carrie glanced over the desk at Elsa White, whose face was a myriad of concerned lines. Beside her, Laura Rhodda looked scared to death. Carrie pointed to the final, monstrous figure on the page. “And this?”

  Melissa looked up with frightened eyes. She stared at the picture again and withdrew her hand to her lap.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. You can tell me.”

  Melissa shook her head.

  Elsa White leaned to one side. “Perhaps you could be so good, Miss Rhodda, and wait outside with Melissa?”

  It took a moment for the teacher to peel her alarmed gaze from the little girl. She crossed the room and held the door open.

  “I won’t be long,” Carrie said, stroking her daughter’s hand.

  She watched as Melissa was ferried outside.

  “Are you all right?” Elsa asked, when they were alone.

  Carrie shook her head. “It’s not every day you learn your four-year-old daughter wants you dead.”

  “I’m sure she wants nothing of the sort, Carrie. I’m sure it’s merely a reaction to having to make room for Cal. She’s been an only child her entire life. She’s never had to share you or her father. The drawing is her mind’s way of dealing with all those confused feelings.”

  Carrie stared at the picture. Something about it didn’t make sense. Why was she running away with Cal, smiling and happy, if she resented him being here?

  And what about Noah? His presence in the picture disturbed her far more than her own severed head resting in a flower bed. But what chilled her the most was that dark, horned figure.

  “I suppose everything’s changed for her,” she said. “For us all.”

  Elsa White was silent for a moment, her hands clasped together on the desk. “You know, Carrie, we do have a school counsellor visiting us once a week. Perhaps Melissa would benefit from a little time with him? It would be non-invasive, just play and talk. He may be able to help Melissa understand the changes that are happening around her right now.”

  Carrie leaned back, shaking her head. “I don’t know...”

  Dull pain throbbed at the base of her skull. Cal’s return was never going to be easy, she knew that. And dealing with whatever was going on inside his head was stressful enough. But having both of her children in therapy? She was beginning to feel a lot like a shitty mother.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Elsa said, her face softening. “Take the weekend to think about it. Having Melissa talk to a professional could make things a little easier for you. A little less on your plate to deal with.”

  Carrie let out a deep, trembling breath. She nodded.

  “Good. And perhaps Melissa will be open to further discussion at home, away from her terrible headteacher.” Elsa smiled wryly, then leaned forward and took a closer look at the picture. “It’s strange she drew Noah Pengelly, isn’t it?”

  Carrie stared at the three figures running away, gleeful smiles on their faces. When Noah had disappeared, Melissa had been curious to know what had happened to her friend. Gradually, as the months faded, so had her interest in Noah.

  Or so Carrie had thought.

  “Can I take this?” she asked, rolling up the picture.

  Elsa White nodded her head. “Of course. Although it’s not quite one for the refrigerator door, is it?”

  Carrie stood.

  “Come see me first thing Monday morning,” the headteacher said, shaking her hand.

  The playground was almost empty as Carrie and Melissa walked silently back to the car. Carrie’s mind flashed with images of Melissa’s drawing. Her headache grew worse.

  Cal was in the front passenger seat, his expressionless face watching as they drew near.

  “I want Cal to sit in the back with me!” Melissa said, pulling away from Carrie and running to the car.

  As she came closer, Cal trained his eyes on her. He smiled.

  Carrie slowed down. She watched Cal climb out and open the rear passenger door. Melissa clambered in and he followed her, slamming the door behind him.

  By the time Carrie had walked around to the driver side, both children were wearing their seat belts. They stared at her as she climbed in. In the rear-view mirror, Carrie saw them turn to each other and smile. She should have been happy. But all she felt was a quiet, unsettling anxiety. She glanced down at the rolled up picture on her lap.

  “Let’s go home,” she said.

  32

  DETECTIVE TURNER STOOD on the garden path, a grim expression on his face, as Carrie pulled up outside the house. In the back seat of the car, Melissa was busy showing Cal a story book she’d brought home from school. Cal looked up and saw the police officer. His eyes narrowed.

  “Take your sister inside,” Carrie said, passing her house keys to him. “I’ll be there in a second.” Climbing out, she helped Melissa onto the pavement.

  Detective Turner came up to the gate.

  “This is a surprise,” Carrie said, as she ferried the children into the garden.

  Detective Turner stood to one side.

  “Sorry to drop by unannounced,” he said. He locked eyes with Cal as he passed by. “How are you, young man?”

  Cal said nothing as he took Melissa by the hand and walked her to the front door.

  Once they had disappeared inside, Carrie folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the gate post. “Judging by the look on your face, I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Turner said. “It’s been requested I try and talk to Cal again.”

  “I thought we agreed he wasn’t ready yet. And what about the intermediary?”

  “There’s been a development. DCI Marsh is keen we try and get Cal talking sooner rather than later.”

  “You mean Margaret Telford’s dog?”

  Turner stared at her open-mouthed.

  “It’s a small town. You know how quickly news spreads.”

  The detective was quiet for a moment. He glanced up at the neighbouring houses. “Can we go inside and speak?”

  “I’d rather not. I don’t want my children hearing about how that poor animal was hacked into pieces. Do you know who did it?”

  “Not yet. It’s part of the reason I’d like to talk to Cal.”

  “Why? You’re not suggesting he had anything to do with it?”

  “Of course not. But it’s hard to believe the attack was just a coincidence.”

  Carrie tightened her grip around her ribcage. Her eyes moved to the house. Cal was in the living room window, watching them.

  “What are you saying, Detective? That whoever took Cal killed Margaret’s dog? That means it would have to be someone local. Someone we know.”

  “It’s too early to say anything yet,” Turner said. “But if Cal could talk to us, or communicate what’s happened to him, it would really help us out.”

  Cal was still standing at the window, his expression stony. He wasn’t going to talk to the detective. He wouldn’t even talk to his own mother. Besides, she still had to get to the bottom of Melissa’s disturbing picture.

  “I’m sorry, Detective Turner, but this isn’t a good time,” Carrie said. �
�Perhaps you can talk to the intermediary and arrange something with her. Give Cal another day or two. We’re making progress but I don’t want to risk everything by trying to force him to speak.”

  Turner frowned and dug his hands inside his pockets. Noticing Cal, he turned his body slightly, so that his back was facing the window.

  “I’ll see what I can do. But it needs to be soon, Carrie. The powers that be aren’t going to wait forever. We’re drawing a blank. People want answers. Answers we can’t give them right now.”

  “And by people, you mean Tess Pengelly,” Carrie said, feeling miserable.

  Detective Turner shook his head. “I mean people. If word is out about Margaret Telford’s dog, then it won’t be long before your friends and neighbours start drawing conclusions of their own. The last thing we need is for people to panic. It’s not going to help either investigation.”

  Carrie glanced over Turner’s shoulder. What would happen when the inhabitants of the cove started making connections. Would they point fingers at Cal? At her?

  They’d already formed their opinions about Carrie seven years ago. She didn’t care what people said about her behind closed doors. But she cared what they said about her son. All she wanted was for him to return to a normal life. To be welcomed back by the community. Not ostracised. Not feared.

  “There’s something else,” Turner said, dropping his voice down low. “This afternoon, a local newspaper reported one of their journalists missing.”

  An icy sliver slipped down the back of Carrie’s neck. “Really? Who is it?”

  “Scott Triggs. He wrote some deeply unpleasant things about the Pengellys back when Noah disappeared. He called the paper on Sunday evening, telling them to hold the front page for an exclusive story. Somehow, he’d figured out Cal’s identity ahead of our press conference. He called in, said he’d have the story and an exclusive photo within an hour. They didn’t hear from him again.” The detective leaned forward. “Did he come to your house last Sunday?”

  Shit. Did she mention that Dylan had gone after Triggs? That there’d been a scuffle and he’d smashed the journalist’s camera? She had no real idea what had happened out there, or where the journalist had disappeared to.

  “He was taking pictures of us through the kitchen window,” Carrie said. “Dylan chased him away. We didn’t see him after that. I don’t remember seeing him the next day when the rest of the press arrived. But he’d stopped me out in the street a few days earlier, trying to get me to admit Cal was alive. I ignored him.” Her mind raced. First Margaret Telford’s dog. Now this damn journalist. She stared up at the detective. “What’s going on here?”

  Deep lines spread across Turner’s face. “We don’t know yet. Which is why we need to talk to your son.”

  Carrie expelled an unsteady breath.

  “Let me talk to him,” she said. “I’ll try tonight.”

  “I’d rather—”

  “I’ll try tonight,” Carrie repeated.

  The detective nodded. “Okay. If you learn anything, you’ll call me right away?”

  “Of course.”

  Glancing back at Cal one last time, Detective let himself through the garden gate.

  “I’ll contact the intermediary,” he said. “Just in case.”

  Carrie watched him climb into his car, start the engine, and pull away. She waited until he had reached the end of the street and headed left, disappearing from view.

  When she could no longer hear the hum of the car engine, she turned and walked to the door. Cal was still watching her from the window.

  With trembling fingers, and her mind overwhelmed with worry, Carrie pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  33

  AS THE EVENING DREW in, a dark, ominous mood fell over the Killigrew house. Carrie sat at one end of the kitchen table, with her children on either side. She did not engage them in conversation but instead lost herself in worried thoughts as she picked at her meal. Occasionally, her eyes moved from son to daughter, scrutinising them. More than once, the children’s gazes met across the table. Carrie felt pangs of envy.

  With dinner over and the children sent off to the living room, Carrie busied herself with cleaning up. As she loaded the dishwasher, her thoughts flicked from Melissa’s disturbing drawing to Margaret Telford’s butchered dog to the missing journalist.

  As she returned cutlery to the drawer with a clatter, she pictured the horribly deformed figure that Melissa had drawn. Who was he? Something wasn’t right. She didn’t care about theories of attention seeking or Melissa expressing feelings of neglect. Something was wrong with that picture, way beyond the blood.

  The kitchen now clean and tidy, Carrie moved into the hall.

  Laughter floated out from the living room. It was Melissa’s laughter. Carrie pressed her ear to the closed door and listened. As if Melissa could sense her mother on the other side, she fell silent.

  Carrie opened the door.

  They were sitting on the living room carpet, Melissa opposite Cal, a battalion of toys scattered between them. As Carrie entered, her children looked up. Their smiles faded.

  “Are you guys having fun?” she asked, stepping forward.

  Cal and Melissa stared at each other with stony expressions.

  “What were you laughing about?”

  Melissa shrugged her shoulders then turned back to Cal.

  A stab of irritation pierced Carrie’s already grim mood. “Well, it’s time for bed, Melissa. “Perhaps the two of you could tidy up this mess first.”

  She watched as her children turned away from her, their faces pulled into scowls. Slowly, they began to pick up toys and return them to the large toy box in the corner.

  When they were done, Carrie nodded to the stairs.

  “Say goodnight to your brother, Melissa. Cal, you can watch television for a little while.”

  Leaving him in the living room, Carrie took Melissa by the hand and wordlessly led her up to the bathroom.

  The silence continued as her daughter brushed her teeth and dressed into her pyjamas. Now tucked up in bed, Carrie stared at Melissa’s gloomy expression.

  “What is it, sweet pea?”

  Nothing. Not even a shrug.

  “Are you worried about the talk we had with Mrs. White?”

  Pushing her lower lip out and narrowing her eyes, Melissa turned away.

  “Remember what I said—you’re not in trouble. We were just talking about the picture you drew.”

  Melissa shot her a sideways glare.

  “Sweet pea, why did you draw Noah?”

  Her daughter swung her shoulders from side to side. Picking up a stuffed rabbit, she hugged it to her chest.

  “Have you been thinking about Noah lately?”

  “Yes.”

  “You miss him?”

  Sealing her lips together, Melissa looked away. She nodded.

  Carrie took her daughter’s hand and kissed it. She was beginning to wonder if Elsa White had been correct.

  Melissa’s whole world had changed. A boy she’d known had disappeared and was now probably dead. Another boy who was supposed to be dead had barged his way into her family and shoved her to one side.

  Carrie reached out and stroked the girl’s head.

  “I know things are tough right now. But it will get easier, I promise. But drawing pictures like that... Are you angry with Mummy and Daddy?”

  She watched as Melissa shook her head then returned her gaze to the stuffed rabbit.

  “What about the monster in your picture? Is it from a bad dream?”

  Melissa shook her head again.

  “Something you just made up?”

  When Melissa spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Not supposed to talk about the bad man.”

  “The bad man? That’s the monster from your picture?”

  Melissa nodded. Her frown grew deeper.

  “Why can’t you talk about him?”

  “Not allowed to.”

  “It’s
just a picture. He can’t hurt you because he’s not real.”

  “Yes, he is,” Melissa said.

  “No, he’s not. Monsters aren’t real.”

  “He is real!” Melissa suddenly bellowed. Tears slipped from her eyes as she clutched her rabbit. “Cal says not supposed to talk about the bad man or he’ll come and get me.”

  Goosebumps crawled over Carrie’s skin.

  “Sweet pea, that’s not true,” she said. “Cal can’t speak. You know that.”

  “Yes, he can!” Melissa wailed. “He talks to me all the time.”

  Carrie froze. Her heart hammered in her chest. She placed trembling hands on her daughter’s shoulders.

  “Cal talks to you?”

  Melissa nodded. She wiped away tears and stuck out her lower lip again.

  “What does he talk about?”

  “Not supposed to say.”

  Nausea churned Carrie’s stomach. Surely it was a lie. It had to be. So why did she believe every word her daughter was saying?

  “Melissa, please. It’s very important you tell me. What has Cal told you?”

  Silence. Melissa turned away.

  “Has he talked about Noah?”

  Now, Melissa began to sob. Her shoulders shook as tears ran down her face in streams.

  “I want Daddy!” she wept. “I want to go to sleep!”

  Pulling her daughter to her chest, Carrie embraced her.

  “Daddy will be home on Sunday,” she whispered. She turned to face the open bedroom door. Television sounds floated up. She kissed the top of Melissa’s head. “No one is going to hurt you, sweet pea. No one.”

  CAL WAS SITTING CROSS-legged in front of the television as an action film exploded across the screen. Carrie stood in the doorway, watching him. He knew she was there. Every few seconds she saw his eyes flick in her direction before returning to the television.