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

by Malcolm Richards

  The room was empty. Jago moved on to the next, then the next, finding only dust and disappointment. Once he was done, he headed to the floor below.

  Frustration started to set in. If Nat had been here, they’d be able to cover the hotel in half the time. He felt a twinge of guilt. He still couldn’t understand how a cat’s whereabouts were more important than his brother’s, but he understood Nat’s loyalty to Rose. The woman had given her a home. She had loved her when her parents hadn’t given a shit.

  This floor was identical to the one upstairs. Except there were footprints, recently made, moving up and down the corridor.

  Jago tried the first few rooms, coming across signs that people had been here—empty beer cans, cigarette butts, a hypodermic needle, abandoned underwear—but all were covered in months of dust.

  His eyes returned to the footprints in the corridor. Whoever had made them had travelled the same route several times. Jago followed them, coming to the last door on the left.

  Blood rushing in his ears, he pushed it open.

  Like the others, the room was void of furniture. But unlike the others, much of the dust had been disturbed. And there were more footprints.

  Jago placed his foot next to one. It was slightly smaller than his, but not small enough to belong to a child.

  He moved further into the room. Then froze.

  In the corner, lined up in rows on top of an old stool, was a battalion of small, plastic figures. Soldiers, animals, monsters, and spacemen. An old Marvel comic book lay on the floor—Spider-man Vs. Venom.

  There was something else, next to it. Something white and long.

  Jago drew closer and crouched down. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. Then, as he reached out a hand to pluck it up, he saw the blood and recoiled in horror.

  It was the severed tail of an animal. Jago was almost certain it belonged to a cat.

  38

  AS HE SHOWED THE GIRL Nat into his living room, Grady Spencer felt the thud inside his chest increase to an almost audible level. Beads of perspiration formed at his temples and he wiped them away. He did not want to alert the girl to his intentions. Not yet. She already looked wary, her large green eyes looking about his home as if she’d walked into an abattoir. The irony was that she had.

  “Go ahead,” he told her, pushing open the living room door and standing to one side. “Take a look.”

  He watched as Nat took a cautious step inside. He knew the place was a mess. With piles of papers and boxes of junk, he rarely went in there now. But they were all his things and he couldn’t let go of them. They made up his home. His kingdom.

  As the girl took a cautious step inside the room, Grady’s hands twitched. How he longed to reach out and touch her skin. For his fingers to wrap around her scrawny neck and squeeze.

  For now, he stood, exaggerating his wheezing breath; the facade of a weak, diminishing old man, masking the surprising strength he still had.

  Nat looked around the room, her face strange and pale. She was disgusted, he could tell.

  His home frightened her. That pleased him.

  “I don’t think Honey’s in here,” Nat said. She looked to him for a second, meeting his gaze, and he saw that her pupils had dilated.

  Grady’s heartbeat sped up a little. “No matter. There are plenty of other nooks and crannies to explore.”

  He turned and headed further down the hall. He paused, looking over his shoulder to see if she was following.

  Nat stepped back into the hall. But she didn’t follow. Instead, she turned to face the front door.

  “This way.” Grady moved down to the next door, with Caliban trotting alongside. “I’m afraid this room is a little more cluttered than the last. But you’ll forgive an old man’s lonely attachments.”

  She was hesitating. She was going to leave. Grady clenched a frustrated fist. But then Nat moved toward him and, avoiding his hungry stare, slipped into the dining room.

  “What is all this stuff?” she asked, her eyes widening at the maze of junk that was piled up to the ceiling.

  Grady shrugged. “Bits and pieces.”

  He needed to think fast. The cat was not here. The house was locked up like a fortress. The only way a living creature could enter was if Grady had lured it in himself.

  “At school, are you?” he asked, adopting a conversational tone. Perhaps that was the way. Distract her. Make her feel relaxed.

  Nat ventured further into the room, staring up at the towers of junk with a look of morbid curiosity. She thought he was a freak. Grady smiled to himself.

  “College,” Nat replied. “It’s my final year. Then I’m out of this place.”

  The old man raised an eyebrow. “Big plans, eh? And where are you going, young lady? Off to London, are you?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I might travel for a bit.”

  “I thought you young women were all about going to university these days. Educating yourselves so you can be better than us men.”

  “Not better. Equal,” Nat said, picking up an old newspaper from a large pile. She eyed it curiously. “And I can’t afford university. No parents means no help. No one gets through university these days without it.”

  “No family, eh?”

  “None worth talking about.” Nat glanced at him for a second. She took another step into the room, carefully inching her way around the towers of junk, mesmerised by the old man’s collection of strange treasures.

  “And what about young master Pengelly,” Grady said, shuffling forward. He’d managed to calm his heartbeat a little. Which was good because he was becoming breathless, his mind unfocused. “What’s his plan for the future?”

  “How should I know?”

  “I see the two of you together. Thought you were a pair.”

  The girl stared at him again, this time her eyes narrowing with disapproval. “People need to stop thinking that.”

  Laughter, cracked and rasping, escaped Grady’s lips. “Young love, eh? Best to let go of it, if you ask me. That boy won’t be going anywhere. He’s stuck in this place, just like his mother.”

  Deep creases appeared across Nat’s brow. She had suddenly lost interest in the room’s contents and was looking at the open door.

  “I suppose they’re no closer to finding that boy, are they?” Grady stepped to the right, blocking the exit.

  “No, they’re not. Which is why me and Jago are looking for him.”

  Grady arched his eyebrows. This was a new development.

  “Playing detectives, are we? Think you can do a better job than the police?”

  Nat was silent, but he saw a flash of irritation in her eyes. He asked her the question he’d been wanting to ask since she’d showed up on his doorstep.

  “What about that other lad? Carrie Killigrew’s boy. Met him, have you?”

  Her eyes were fixed on the space beyond his shoulder. She shook her head. “Jago’s been to see him. They used to be friends.”

  “Has he, now? Said anything, did he? About where he’s been hiding all this time?”

  “Jago said Cal couldn’t speak. Some sort of mutism caused by PTSD.”

  “Really? Now isn’t that a strange kettle of fish! So, no one knows what happened to him?”

  “Looks that way.”

  She was looking over his shoulder again, her eyes round and anxious. Grady stepped aside and saw anxiety turn to relief.

  His mind raced as he tried to think of ways to make her stay. Perhaps he should offer her something to drink. He could drug her like he’d intended to drug that journalist prick before he’d had to bash in his head. He didn’t want to hurt this girl like that. Not yet.

  “You want some tea?” he offered as they re-entered the hall. “Don’t have any coffee. Hate the stuff.”

  Nat took a step toward the front door. “I should probably go. I really don’t think Honey is here.”

  “But we haven’t checked upstairs yet.”

  “Honey doesn’t do stairs. Even a
t home.”

  He was going to lose her. If he couldn’t drug her, he would have to subdue her another way. And the only other way he knew was violence. It had worked with the journalist, but he had surprised him. He could already tell that this girl had a sharp mind and trusted nobody. Which instantly made her a tricky target. But all the more intriguing for it.

  He wanted her. If he let her go now, he would not get a second chance. But if he used violence there was the risk she would fight him. And there was enough pain and anger in her eyes to know that she would not hold back. Which meant there was a chance she might get away. And then it would all be over.

  Grady cursed his old bones. He was stronger than most his age, yes. But he was a shadow of the man he used to be. He needed to be clever with his violence. He needed to rely on surprise.

  “You know,” he said, shifting his weight and smiling down at Caliban, “there’s a chance your moggy could have got into the basement. I leave the window open down there to keep it aired. The damp’s no good for my old bones, you see. Cats often sneak in that way.”

  He watched the girl like a fisherman watching his line, waiting for the fish to take the bait. Nat’s expression remained adamant: she was leaving.

  “Might be worth checking,” he continued. “Only it’s not particularly safe. Lots of things lying around a cat might get trapped in. Or worse...”

  A flicker of something that looked like guilt passed over the girl’s face. Her gaze travelled beyond him, along the hall. Nat let out a heavy sigh. She nodded. Grady almost squealed with delight. “This way. The door’s right here.”

  Beckoning her with a hand, he shuffled further along the hall, toward a locked door on the left. Turning the key, he pulled it open.

  Darkness stared back at them.

  Grady reached in and flipped the light switch. A dull, orange glow illuminated the shadows, revealing stone steps leading down to a second door, which was painted a deep red.

  Nat shuffled forward. Resting a hand on the door jamb, she leaned over and peered down into the basement.

  Grady watched as she wrinkled her nose. He often forgot about the bad smells that floated up from there. He’d grown quite used to them over the years.

  He stepped back, watching Nat hover in the centre of the doorway, one hand clutching the jamb, one hand pressed against the door. She was changing her mind.

  “Maybe give her a call,” Grady said.

  He glanced down to his right, where an amber glass paperweight rested on a pile of old books. He picked it up, feeling its heftiness in his hand. Used correctly at the right angle, with enough force, it could smash a skull in.

  Or it could simply knock a person unconscious.

  Doing it while she stood at the top of the basement stairs presented a risk. If he couldn’t catch her in time, she would go tumbling down, spilling her precious brain. And he wanted her perfect. He wanted her intact. To begin with.

  He waited as Nat called the cat. She sounded embarrassed, he thought. Or perhaps it was fear he could hear.

  “I don’t think she’s down there,” she said.

  Grady moved up behind her. The paperweight felt good in his hand. “Maybe she can’t hear you. Maybe you need to get closer.”

  He was near enough to smell the scent of her skin mingled with cigarettes and coffee.

  His heart throbbed uncontrollably as he tightened his grip on the paperweight. Ready to strike.

  Sensing his closeness, Nat turned her head.

  From somewhere in her jacket, a phone began to ring.

  “Excuse me,” she said, her voice small and breathless as she ducked around him and pressed the phone to her ear.

  It was too late. The excitement that had taken control of him burst like a bubble. If he were to strike now there would be a fight. One that he would most likely lose. Despairing, Grady dumped the paperweight back on top of the books. He glanced miserably down at Caliban, who let out a pitying whine.

  “What was that? The line’s bad,” the girl was saying. “Are you at the hotel? Jago? Hello?”

  All he wanted now was for the whore to leave his house and never return. She’d dirtied his rooms with her stink. He felt violated.

  Hanging up, she slipped the phone into her pocket and shot Grady a nervous stare.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  Grady had already lost interest. The girl was just meat again. Indistinguishable from the rest of the carcasses in the cove.

  A black, cavernous hole opened inside him. Unable to hide his disappointment, he grunted.

  “Thanks for letting me look,” Nat said.

  He made no move to let her out. Instead, he stood and watched her hurry down the hall and slip through the front door. Beside his feet, Caliban let out another soft whine and nudged his foot.

  Grady smiled down at the dog.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s see what Daddy can find you to eat.”

  Returning to the basement door, he reached for the stair rail and began to descend the steps.

  Caliban followed behind, his tail wagging with excitement.

  39

  NAT FOUND JAGO SITTING on the seafront railings and smoking furiously. Rose had not been happy about her heading out to meet him, but she hadn’t tried to stop her.

  “Just you be careful,” she’d said. “And keep an eye out for Honey.”

  Nat had neglected to tell Rose about her unsettling experience inside Grady Spencer’s house. What was there to tell? A bad feeling was not evidence of anything. But he’d been right behind her. She’d felt his breath on the back of her neck. And the old bastard had lied about the windows always being open. They had all been shut.

  Perhaps loneliness had turned him into a horny old perv. Or perhaps there was something else there. Something darker. Either way, for now, she kept her thoughts about Grady Spencer to herself.

  Upon seeing Nat, Jago slipped down from the railings and began to walk. She caught up with him, grabbing his arm.

  “What is it? What did you find?”

  He stared at her, flashing one of his perplexing looks that drove her insane—a pained expression somewhere between leave me alone and please make it all go away.

  She snatched his cigarette and used it to light her own.

  “You’re the one who called me,” she said when he still didn’t reply. “Stop being such a freak.”

  “I found a tail,” Jago said, his complexion growing paler. “A severed tail.”

  Nat choked on cigarette smoke. “What kind of animal?”

  Jago turned away. She punched his arm.

  “I—I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  Fuck.

  “It was in one of the upstairs rooms, along with some toys,” Jago said.

  “It’s probably someone from town. You said people used to hang out up there for kicks.”

  “People our age don’t play with toy soldiers. And I don’t think the kids in town cut up animals for fun.”

  A breeze blew in from the ocean as they continued to walk along the promenade. On the beach, a handful of people walked their dogs. Nat looked over her shoulder, up at the Mermaid Hotel. Was it Honey’s tail Jago had found? Had she suffered the same fate as Margaret Telford’s dog?

  “You should go to the police,” she said. “Tell them what you saw. It could be a lead.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean, maybe? This is important, Jago. Even if it’s nothing to do with Noah, some psycho’s going around mutilating animals.”

  “Two animals.”

  “That we know of.” Nat said. “Most serial killers start with the torture and mutilation of animals. It’s like training. They begin with something small and easy—birds, rats. Then, when they’re feeling more confident, they move on to larger animals. And when they get bored of animals, that’s when they start on people.”

  Jago stared at her with wild eyes.

  “It’s true. I’ve read a lot of books about serial killers,” she said.
r />   “Career goal?”

  “Just trying to understand why people hurt other people.” Nat flicked the ash from her cigarette and watched it sail away onto the sand below. “I mean it, Jago. You need to go to the police.”

  “Or what? You will?”

  They walked on in silence. Above them, clouds churned and darkened. Rain was on the way.

  “It’s Cal,” Jago said at last.

  Nat shook her head. “Why would he do that to Margaret’s dog after she saved his life? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “There’s something wrong about him, Nat. Why hasn’t he told anyone what happened? If someone abducted him all those years ago, why hasn’t he given their name to the police? Why hasn’t he told anyone a damn thing?”

  “It’s called post-traumatic stress. Jesus, give him a break. You have no idea what he’s been through.”

  Jago ground to a halt. “He recognised Noah’s picture. It means they were together.” He let his cigarette slip from his fingers and crushed it beneath his boot. “I need to see him again. He needs to tell me where my brother is. And if he won’t, I’ll beat it out of him.”

  “What you need to do is talk to the police,” Nat said. She didn’t like the way Jago was looking at her, or the words that were coming out of his mouth. “It’s their job to find out what Cal knows.”

  “You mean like how it was their job to find my little brother?”

  Anger flashed in Jago’s eyes.

  “Maybe this can help them,” Nat said, looking away. “They don’t have any leads. You know that. We’ve been searching for weeks. We haven’t found a single thing. Until now. Please, Jago. Think of Noah. We’re not going to find him by ourselves.”

  Jago clenched his jaw. The vein at the centre of his forehead began to pulse.

  “Get over yourself,” she said. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  Slowly, Jago took a step back.

  “You’re right,” he said. “We’re not going to find Noah. I am.”

  He turned to leave. Nat moved quickly, blocking his path.

  “Do you think Carrie’s going to stand by and let you beat up her son? You’re going to get yourself arrested. Then the police won’t listen to anything you have to say.”