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

by Malcolm Richards

  Carrie paused, catching her breath and taking the weight off her injured ankle. Then she was on the move once more, pushing through her terror, determined to catch up with her son.

  The tunnel began to turn. She pressed her fingers against the wall and followed its trajectory.

  She stopped still. There was light up ahead.

  Almost crying, Carrie quickened her pace. She gritted her teeth as fresh pain shot through her ankle.

  As the tunnel came to an end, she saw that the light was seeping through slats of a thick wooden door. Carrie lurched forward. She wrapped her fingers around the iron handle and pressed her ear to the wood. There was nothing. Only the thump of blood pumping through her veins.

  She had no idea what might lie on the other side, waiting for her, but Cal had to have come through this way. Which meant she had to follow.

  Carrie tugged on the door. It was old and stiff, the wood warped. Dropping Noah’s bear on the ground, she took the handle between both hands and pulled. The door groaned as it grated against the jamb.

  It swung open, flooding the tunnel with yellow light.

  Carrie blinked, lifting a hand in front of her eyes. She waited a few moments for her vision to adjust. Then, with Noah’s bear back safely in her arms, she exited the tunnel.

  And stepped into another basement.

  This one was L-shaped but not as cavernous. It was cleaner, the air drier. Shelves lined the walls, filled with boxes of things. A workbench sat at the centre. Above it, a naked bulb hung from a cord.

  Carrie limped further into the space, her eyes swivelling side to side as she took in her surroundings.

  An odour hung in the air. Cleaning products. Bleach. A trace of something else beneath it. Something that immediately transported her back to the horrors of the Mermaid Hotel.

  What was this place?

  It looked like the kind of basement found beneath a suburban home. Confusion clouding her mind, she looked over her shoulder, back at the door that led to the tunnel. She took another step forward, her eyes focused on the workbench.

  Any remaining confusion was swept away.

  It was no ordinary workbench, she realised. Because ordinary workbenches didn’t have wrist and ankle restraints.

  She came closer. The bleach smell grew stronger.

  A stainless-steel trolley stood close by. Sparkling surgical instruments were laid out on top. She inched away from it, her back pressed against the shelves as she rounded the corner.

  As she glimpsed to see what lay in wait on the other side, her limbs went numb. At the far end of the room, three large cages were stacked against the wall. Two of them were cast in shadows, but light spilled over the third.

  An animal lay inside. At first, Carrie thought it was a large dog. Then the animal moved and she saw it was no animal at all. Hands appeared, wrapping fingers around the iron bars.

  Human hands.

  It was Cal. Her son.

  He glanced at her with sad eyes as she stared at him in horror. His gaze shifted to a point just above her shoulder.

  Carrie smelled Grady Spencer before she laid eyes on him.

  She spun on her feet. Pain tore through her ankle.

  The old man stood over her, naked light painting his skin and illuminating his devilish sneer.

  “Ah, Carrie, I was just coming to see you,” he said. “You’ve saved me the walk.”

  Before she could react, Grady brought the paperweight crashing down on her head.

  The basement flashed white. Then red.

  Carrie fell to the ground.

  48

  SHE WOKE ON HER BACK. Pain ripped through her skull. She tried to raise a hand to soothe it but found she could not. A shadow loomed over her, cutting through the light. In an instant, she recalled what had happened.

  “There you are,” Grady Spencer said. “What a surprise to find you. I was going to stop by your house. The boy needs to learn a lesson, you see. He needs to learn his place is here, so he doesn’t run off again. And he can’t run back to you if you’re gone.”

  Ignoring the pounding in her head, Carrie pulled at the restraints.

  “You needn’t bother with that,” Grady said. “Everyone tries but everyone fails.”

  “You took him from me,” Carrie gasped. She turned to see Cal watching her from between the bars. “You changed him.”

  “I didn’t take nothing from no one, I didn’t. He found me. Came wandering in through the same door as you. Only he was dripping wet and half naked. Came up from the beach, he did. Found his way here. He came to me when I was all alone. And now he’s mine. He’s been mine for years.”

  Grady Spencer lowered his face until it was inches from Carrie’s. “You don’t want him anyway. You replaced him. Don’t even know why you’re here.”

  Carrie swallowed, tasting blood. She pulled at the restraints.

  “I’m here,” she said, “because I love my son. Because you took him from me and I want him back.”

  Grady’s face twisted with anger. He turned his attention to the instruments on the trolley.

  “He’s mine. My boy. My good doggy. Isn’t that right?” He glanced over at Cal, who watched him closely.

  Carrie slumped, conserving her dwindling energy. He had been here all along. She didn’t know how but Cal had wandered like a fly into a spider’s web.

  He had been trapped here with Grady Spencer. A monster in the guise of a man. He had been here, just a few hundred metres from his home. Locked in a cage, starved, beaten, treated like an animal. A thing.

  Carrie turned to her son.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, tears spilling onto the bench. “We should have looked harder. We should have found you.”

  Cal watched her silently, his head cocked.

  A clatter directed Carrie’s attention back to Grady Spencer, who was rifling through the instruments on the tray.

  “I’m surprised you’re not begging yet,” he said. “That journalist cried like a baby. Pissed himself, too.”

  “And what about Noah?” Carrie hissed. She wrapped fingers around the restraint cords, searching for an escape. “Did he beg? Did he cry?”

  The restraints were fool proof. She wasn’t getting out.

  “I never touched the Pengelly boy,” Grady said, picking up a scalpel and twisting it in his fingers. “That little rat has nothing to do with me. You should ask your boy about him.”

  All the air rushed from the room. Carrie stared in horror at Cal. He stared right back.

  “You’re a liar,” she stammered. “Cal wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Tell that to Margaret Telford’s dog. By the time he was done, there was nothing left.”

  The room was spinning. Her vision wavering. “No, you’re lying to me.”

  “Am I? Who do you think took the Pengelly boy from his garden? An old man like me with bad knees?” Grady smiled with pride. “The boy needed to start somewhere, didn’t he?”

  “No. I don’t believe it.”

  Carrie shook her head. Nausea bubbled in her throat. Her son was not a killer. He was good and kind. He loved nature and animals and the colour blue. When he grew up, he was going to be a pirate, sailing the seven seas in search of buried treasure. He was not a monster, lurking in the dark. He was the light that cast it out.

  Tears slipped from Carrie’s eyes. “It’s not true. It can’t be true. I’ll never believe it.”

  “People will always believe what they want to believe,” Grady said. “They believed he’d be better off at the farm. But the boy came back to me. You believed your son was dead. And you replaced him. He believed you didn’t want him anymore. And it was true. That’s why he came back to me. Because I believe in him. Because I’m his master.”

  Carrie turned to Cal. Pain tore through her head. “It’s not true. You know that, don’t you? I love you, Cal. Your home is with me.”

  Grady snatched strands of Carrie’s hair and pulled.

  “This is the boy’s home! He b
elongs to me! He does what I tell him. He hunts and he cuts, and he does it for me.” His eyes grew dark. Saliva bubbled at the corners of his mouth. “He left me once because he was confused. But he came back to me. And now he’ll never leave again.”

  Grady nodded at the cage. Carrie watched in horror as Cal pushed open the door and climbed out.

  He stood for a moment, stretching his limbs.

  From somewhere upstairs, Caliban began to bark. Grady Spencer grinned, exposing his teeth. He held out the scalpel.

  “Now you’ll see how well your boy has learned to cut,” he said.

  Cal came forward, his eyes fixed on the blade.

  Carrie shook her head. She tore at the restraints.

  Cal came closer, staring up at the old man. He plucked the scalpel from his fingers.

  “Please, Cal.” Carrie’s body trembled violently. “Help me. Cut me loose.”

  Cal turned to face her. She stared into his eyes and saw a void.

  “I’m your mother,” she whispered.

  “Do it, boy,” Grady said, rubbing his hands together. “Show your father how well he’s taught you.”

  “Please, Cal. Remember who you are. You’re my son. I love you!”

  Cal hesitated. His eyes moved from the blade to his mother’s face.

  Grady lashed out, cracking him across the top of the head. He struck him again.

  “Do as you’re told, boy,” the old man said.

  Cal straightened. He raised the scalpel.

  “I’m your mother!” Carrie shrieked.

  He advanced upon her.

  49

  JAGO STOOD IN THE STREET, looking up at Grady Spencer’s house. All the lights were on, illuminating the dark, but curtains prevented him from seeing inside. When Nat had told him about her encounter, it was as if a lightning bolt had fired through the top of his skull, down to his feet.

  In an instant, he’d known that Grady was responsible for Noah’s disappearance. He had no evidence. No proof.

  But he was sure.

  He had known the old man for as long as he could remember. As far as he was aware, Grady had lived in this house for decades. He had never heard his mother mention friends or family, although he recalled seeing a visitor once; a tall, striking man in his forties, who’d pulled up in an old pickup truck. He remembered the man because, except for the postman, no one came to visit Grady Spencer’s house.

  Despite his solitude, the old man was a well-known face in the cove, if not a well-liked one. When Noah had disappeared, he had never been considered a suspect. Or if he had, it was only ever for a passing moment.

  Who would suspect an elderly man of snatching a child from a backyard? Not the police. Not the inhabitants of Devil’s Cove. Not even Jago.

  He cursed himself as he opened the gate and jogged up the path. He stopped at the front door. Perhaps he should ring the buzzer, then rush the old man. There was that dog of his to contend with, but it was small and easily taken care of.

  Jago’s finger hovered over the buzzer. He hesitated.

  Alternatively, he could look for an unlocked window and sneak inside. Then he would have the element of surprise on his side.

  Following the path around the side of the house, he caught a glimpse of Nat walking up the street. She hadn’t seen him. He stopped and watched her for a second, feeling a tenderness that surprised him. If she wasn’t so completely obsessed with Sierra Davis, he might have taken a chance and asked her out. He pictured the horror on her face as she walked through Rose’s garden and disappeared from view.

  Moving quietly, Jago moved in between the clutter blocking his path, and rounded the corner. He caught his breath as he entered the backyard. Nat had described the maze of junk in vivid detail, but it was still an unnerving sight to behold.

  The man must have kept every possession he’d ever owned. What a lonely life, Jago thought. Then, angry at himself for pitying the man who’d taken his brother, he turned his attention to the rear of the house.

  There were lights on upstairs. The back door was windowless, the paintwork cracked and peeling. Jago reached out and tried the handle. It was locked. All the windows were closed. Somewhere inside, Grady’s dog began to bark.

  Nat had mentioned a basement window. Stepping back, he stared at the ground. Sure enough, he saw yellow light illuminating a grille in the ground. He crouched down and peered through the bars. The window was small and rectangular, not large enough for him to crawl through, even if he could get past the grille.

  There was a light on down there. He could see the top of some shelves, a cement floor.

  Jago lay down on his stomach and pressed his face against the grille. The wound in his neck flared with fresh pain.

  He couldn’t see anything else. The angle was all wrong.

  He was going through the front door. He had no choice. Even if his instincts were wrong, even if he was arrested for breaking and entering, at least he would know of one more place where Noah wasn’t to be found.

  He was drunk enough, angry enough, and tired enough to break into every house in the cove if he had to. Maybe that was what needed to be done.

  Jago got to his feet.

  That was when he heard the scream.

  He caught his breath. It had come from beneath him, vibrating through the grille and up his legs, making his teeth clatter.

  An icy dread gripped him as he listened, but all he heard now was the rustle of leaves as a breeze blew through the branches of Briar Wood.

  He hadn’t imagined it. The screams had been real.

  Adrenaline fired through him. Reaching for the back door, he grabbed the handle and slammed his shoulder into the wood. The door wouldn’t budge. He whirled around, found an old car battery near his feet, and heaved it into his arms.

  There was a window by the door. He ran at it.

  The car battery struck the glass. The window imploded. Glass rained down. Covering his fist with his sleeve, Jago knocked out the remaining loose shards and hoisted himself through.

  He was in a cluttered kitchen. Towers of books and newspapers filled the floor. There was a smell. Like air from an ancient tomb.

  Spotting a block of knives, Jago removed the largest blade and ran into the hall.

  He turned in time to see Caliban shooting toward him, yapping and snarling and flashing his teeth. He opened his jaws and lunged for Jago’s ankle.

  Jago dodged. He swung his foot, sending the dog tumbling and rolling along the floor. Caliban yelped. He scrambled onto his paws and growled. But he did not attack again.

  The layout of the house was identical to Jago’s. The basement door was on his right. He threw it open. His fingers gripping the knife handle, he charged down the steps.

  There was a door at the bottom. He threw his shoulder into it.

  Jago charged into the basement.

  And slid to a halt.

  In the centre of the room, Carrie Killigrew was strapped to a bench. Cal leaned over her, a bloody scalpel in his hand.

  Next to them, Grady Spencer stood, grinning from ear to ear, watching the scene with rabid excitement.

  All three turned as Jago entered.

  His eyes darted from face to face. He ran forward, skirting around the bench, heading straight for Cal.

  He slammed into him, knocking him into the shelves behind. Boxes crashed to the ground. The scalpel flew from Cal’s hand. Stunned, he tried to get to his feet.

  Jago brought his knee up, slamming it into his temple. Cal’s head struck the shelf. He went down. His eyelids fluttered. His body grew still.

  Jago swooped down and picked up the scalpel. He turned on Grady. “Where’s my brother?”

  The old man stared at him, open-mouthed. He erupted with laughter.

  “The cavalry has arrived!” he said, slapping his thigh.

  On the bench, Carrie groaned. Blood matted her hair. A dark wet stain was spreading on the arm of her shirt. Jago moved to her, discarding the scalpel but keeping the knife trained
on the old man.

  “Where’s Noah?” he said, loosening the strap around Carrie’s left wrist.

  “Jago,” she groaned. “We need to go.”

  “I’m not leaving without my brother.” He freed her other arm while Grady watched, a twisted smile on his lips. Jago waved the knife. “Tell me where he is.”

  The old man threw his hands into the air. His smile widened. “I’ve already told her. It’s nothing to do with me.”

  “Jago, please.” Carrie pushed herself up, wincing as she began to unbuckle the restraints on her ankles.

  A deep panic was rising from the depths of Jago’s stomach. Sweat broke out on his brow. His eyes darted around the room then flew back to Grady Spencer.

  “Tell me or I’ll kill you,” he said. The knife trembled in his hand.

  The old man continued to laugh.

  Carrie freed one ankle then the other.

  Jago turned and saw the cages, cloaked by shadows. His eyes moved back to Cal, who remained unmoving on the ground, then scanned the shelves.

  “Please, Jago,” Carrie said, her voice strangled with fear.

  Jago caught his breath. Noah’s bear was sitting on a shelf, its one eye twinkling.

  He saw the blood a second later.

  “Noah...”

  A strange calm washed over him. Every stab of pain, every morsel of grief and fear he had endured the last two months fell away.

  There was nothing inside him. Everything was gone.

  He was empty. Dead.

  Jago stared at the bear. The bear smiled at him.

  At the same time, the smile faded from Grady Spencer’s mouth. His eyes grew wide and uncertain. He shook his head and pointed at the cages.

  Before he could speak, Jago stepped forward, brought the knife up, and slit the old man’s throat.

  He turned back to the shelf and grabbed the bear, cradling it to his chest as Grady collapsed to the floor, where he choked and gurgled, his blood spreading out in a deep, black pool.

  From a million miles away, Jago felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He heard Carrie urging him to leave.

  Pressing the bear to his chest, he turned to go with her.