“Come on, son. You know what to do,” his dad urged.
Rob closed his fingers around the handle of the knife, gripping it so tightly that the rough wood pressed painfully into his palm. Did his father really want him to use this on the girl? The thought repelled him, yet he also felt a shudder of excitement run through him.
His dad knelt down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good boy, Rob. But now, it’s time to become a man. Use the knife on the bitch.”
More than anything else, hearing his father use that word brought Rob back to reality. He’d only ever heard that word before when he’d been in his room and heard his parents arguing downstairs. His father often shouted it at his mum. Or, at least, he had before she’d left.
He wavered. Did he really want to be like his dad? If he did what his father wanted him to do, he’d be setting foot on a path from which there was no return. He understood that, even at his young age.
“Come on, Rob,” his dad urged. “Do it.”
The girl in the corner was almost lost in the dark shadows, but Rob could see her eyes staring out from the darkness, silently pleading with him.
If he didn’t do what his dad wanted him to do, what would happen to him? Would he and the girl share the same fate? Would his dad get mad at him, the same way he’d always seemed to be mad at his mum, and would Rob disappear the same as she did?
He felt warmth trickling down his leg, wetting his pyjama bottoms.
His dad stepped back, looking at him with disgust. “What the hell are you doing? Are you pissing yourself?” He laughed suddenly, an ugly barking sound. “You’re pathetic, aren’t you? Give me the knife.”
Rob held out the knife towards his father with a shaking hand.
His dad snatched it and said, “You’re a disappointment. I thought you were ready to be a real man, but you’re just standing there in a puddle of your own piss. Get out of my sight. I can’t even look at you.”
Rob ran for the stairs, wondering with each step if he was about to feel the cold steel of the knife slice into his back. Only when he got to the top of the cellar stairs and stood in the kitchen did he dare let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in his lungs.
He went quickly up to his room and changed his pyjamas, leaving the wet ones on the floor. Then he crawled under the sheets and pulled them up over his head. Whatever was going to happen next in the cellar, he didn’t want to hear it. Couldn’t bear to hear it. An image of the terrified girl’s eyes, pleading to him from the darkness, swam into his head.
He closed his own eyes tightly, wishing he was somewhere—anywhere—else.
At some point during the night, he fell asleep. When he awoke the next morning, he sat up in bed and it all came flooding back to him. He looked down at the floor, where he’d left the wet pyjama bottoms, but they were gone.
Getting out of bed, he listened to the sounds in the house. Someone—probably his dad—was in the kitchen. The radio was playing down there, and the smell of pancakes drifted up the stairs. Ignoring the rumbling in his tummy, Rob went to the top of the stairs and looked down at the kitchen and the cellar door.
His dad was standing at the cooker, flipping a pancake out onto a plate where at least half a dozen more were stacked.
The cellar door was locked.
Rob padded downstairs, wondering what sort of mood his dad was in.
That question was answered when his dad turned to him with a big smile, and said, “Sit yourself down, son. I’ve made pancakes. Your favourite.”
Sitting at the table, Rob cast a glance towards the locked cellar door, and then back to his father.
“What’s wrong?” His dad put a plate of pancakes in front of Rob and took the seat opposite him at the table. There were no pancakes on his own plate, just two slices of toast.
Rob shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to ask where the girl was, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, because he knew he probably wouldn’t like the answer.
“You had a nightmare about the cellar last night,” his dad said. “I heard you talking in your sleep, so I went into your bedroom, and you were talking about the cellar. I don’t know exactly what you were dreaming about, but you were frightened.” He paused while he began to butter his toast, and then added, “You even wet your bed.”
Rob felt his face burning, both from embarrassment and anger. He hadn’t wet the bed at all; he’d wet himself in cellar, holding a knife which his father wanted him to kill a girl with. This story about a nightmare was just that: a story.
“Anyway,” his dad said, “you can forget all about it now. You don’t have to think about it ever again. Aren’t you going to put some maple syrup on those pancakes?”
Nodding, Rob picked up the bottle of syrup and poured a copious amount on his breakfast. If last night’s events had been a dream, then he’d never have to wonder about the girl in the shadows. If she’d only been a dream, then he could decide, right now, that she’d escaped and gone home. It was his dream, after all, so he could decide what happened in it. And he decided that the girl was safe at home, and probably eating pancakes for breakfast, just like he was.
Rob pulled his head back from the hot shower spray and opened his eyes. He’d been foolish, all those years ago, to tell himself the encounter with the girl in the cellar had been nothing more than a dream. Deep down, he’d known the truth, of course, even then. But it had been easier to dismiss the whole thing as a figment of his imagination than face the terrible truth.
He turned the water off and dried himself quickly before going back to the bedroom naked and picking up his phone from the bedside table. He found the number for Night Owl Security and waited while the call connected.
“Night Owl Security,” said a female voice on the other end of the line.
“Oh, hi, is that Vera?” he said, putting a croak into his voice and trying to sound listless.
“Yes.”
“Vera, it’s Rob Gibson here. I’m afraid I’ve come down with something, so I’m not going to be able to work my shift tonight.”
“Oh,” she said. “You’re at Walker and Sons Aggregates, is that right? The quarry?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“All right, I’ll get someone to cover for you. Do you think you’ll be back at work tomorrow?”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Okay, Rob. Look after yourself. I’ll put you down for tomorrow’s shift, but let me know it anything changes, all right?”
“I will, Vera. Thanks.” He put the phone down.
He couldn’t face a night of sitting in his hut at the quarry, freezing his balls off. Not when he had more important things to do.
He usually waited for Sonia and the kids to get home from school before he left for work, but he felt a strong desire to get to the house in Miller’s Dale as soon as possible. It was almost like the place was pulling him by an invisible cord, and there was nothing he could do to resist it.
Dressing quickly in the clothes he’d worn last night—his dad’s clothes—and his own padded jacket, he left the house and climbed into the Land Rover.
As he drove out of Hatherfield, and headed for Miller’s Dale, he caught himself grinning. The anticipation of what he was about to do excited him. Digging up bodies in a cellar might not be everyone’s idea of fun, but despite the hard work, Rob enjoyed it.
It connects you with him. Your father.
“No, it doesn’t,” he said aloud, pushing the thought away. “I’m doing this to spite him. To destroy his legacy.”
If you wanted to do that, you’d just leave the bodies where they are. No one would ever find them, and no one would ever know what he’d done. By bringing them out into the open, you’re giving him a legacy.
He shook his head against his own thoughts. “He wanted them to remain buried. I’m going against him by digging them up.”
That isn’t why you’re doing this. You want to know if she’s down there.<
br />
That was true enough. He had to know if his mother was buried in the cellar. If his father had lied to him his entire life. But there was more to it than that.
“There’s more to it than that,” he said.
Yes, I’m sure there is. Like the fact that you like digging around in the dirt with those poor dead girls. You’re just like him. And the more you do this, the more like him you become.
“Rubbish,” he scoffed. “I’m nothing like him.”
Probably not. He was strong. You’re weak.
He gripped the wheel tightly and gritted his teeth.
He was a killer. You pissed yourself at the mere thought of it.
“Well, that isn’t a bad thing. It means I’m better than him.”
It means you’re a disappointment to him.
He concentrated on the road, tried to ignore his thoughts. It was already beginning to get dark. He turned the headlights on and turned the radio up so loud that it hurt his ears.
When he got to Miller’s Dale, he turned it down again. Thankfully, the music had kept his thoughts at bay.
But as he approached his destination, he realised he might have another problem. His headlights picked out a car parked in front of the house. A silver Lexus.
Rob parked behind it but stayed in the Land Rover, keeping the headlights trained on the other car.
The driver’s door opened, and someone got out, shielding his eyes from the light. “Rob, is that you?” he said, trying to peer into the Land Rover. “I think we need to talk.”
It was Eric.
Chapter 15
Rob felt frozen to the driver’s seat. His heart hammered in his chest. What the hell was Eric doing here?
“Rob?” Eric repeated, shielding his eyes from the glare of the headlights as he approached the Land Rover. “Is that you?” He reached the side window and peered in. “Turn the engine off. I want to talk to you.”
Seeing no way to avoid his uncle, Rob sighed and killed the Land Rover’s engine. “What’s up?” he asked, hoping to sound casual but inwardly grimacing at the frightened sound his voice made.
“I just want to talk.” He moved to the front door of the house, waiting for Rob to let him in.
Did I close the cellar door when I left last night? Rob couldn’t answer that question with any certainty; he’d been busy moving the wrapped-up body to the car. Had he bothered to lock the door? If he let Eric inside, and then went straight to the cellar door to lock it, he was going to arouse his uncle’s suspicions. But if he didn’t lock the door, the nosy bastard would be down the stairs, snooping around. There was still an open grave down there.
Reluctantly, he got out of the Land Rover, and went to the front door. He had to act normally around Eric. The old man was too nosey for his own good. The fact that he was here, at his dead brother’s house—when he should have gone home after the funeral—proved that.
“Are you all right?” Eric asked, as Rob fumbled for the keys to the house.
“I’m not feeling very well. That’s why I’m off work tonight.” As he pushed the key into the lock, he said, “How did you know I’d be here?” He already knew the answer to that; Eric didn’t know he’d be here. No one knew. Had he just come by on the off chance? How many other times had he driven out to the house when Rob hadn’t been here? Had he looked in the windows? Tried to get inside?
“I thought you’d turn up here sooner or later,” Eric said. “You’re cleaning out the house, right? That must be quite a job.”
“I don’t mind it.” Rob turned the key and stepped into the house, his gaze falling immediately on the unlocked cellar door. The padlock was sitting on the kitchen counter, next to the scrap of paper that showed the location of the graves.
He went over to them and scooped them up before pushing them into his pocket.
Eric was looking around the kitchen, wrinkling his nose. “It smells in here. Maybe you should open a window, or at least get an air freshener.”
Rob hadn’t noticed a smell, but he did see a scattering of soil on the floor, where he’d placed the wrapped-up body last night.
Eric noticed it, as well. He looked down and pursed his lips but didn’t say anything.
“So, you said you wanted to talk to me,” Rob said, trying to catch the other man’s attention. “What about?”
“How about a cup of tea?” Eric said, planting himself on one of the kitchen chairs. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere until Rob had heard him out.
“Fine,” Rob said, going to the fridge to get the milk. He cursed himself for being weak. He should have told Eric he couldn’t come in, instructed him to stay away. That’s what his father would have done.
But he wasn’t his father, so he put the kettle on, and got two mugs from the cupboard, throwing a teabag into each while the water warmed up.
Eric remained silent while Rob made the drinks.
Rob placed a mug of tea in front of his uncle and retreated to the counter. He couldn’t sit down; he was too wound up. “All right, tell me why you’re here.”
“I’ll get straight to the point,” Eric said. “I’ve been worried about you, ever since I heard that James had died.”
That surprised Rob. Why should his uncle worry about him? “I don’t understand.”
Eric sighed. “The fact is, I think I’ve been a bit lax where my brother is concerned. I should have kept a close eye on him. Instead, I got as far away from him as I was able, as quickly as I could. I didn’t give a second thought to the people I left behind. People like you and your mother.”
“What about my mother?” Rob asked.
“I’ll get to that, but I want to tell you what it was like growing up and having your dad as an older brother.”
Rob rolled his eyes. Had Eric come here to recount his life story? He didn’t need to hear it; he had things to do. Listening to his uncle reminisce was the last thing he needed right now.
Seemingly unaware that he was outstaying his welcome, Eric took a sip of tea. As he put the mug down on the table, he said, “I’ll come right out with it, Rob. Your father was the cruellest person I ever met. I’m not just saying that because he was mean to me. Older brothers sometimes are. James thought I was mollycoddled by our mum. He called me a baby, even when I was older. But that’s not what I’m talking about. James had a cruel streak that extended to just about everyone around him, especially members of the opposite sex.”
“Yeah, he was a bastard,” Rob said. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
Eric nodded. “Okay, well here’s something you may not know: when James was fourteen, he did something really bad.”
Rob raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t really shocked. The graves in the cellar spoke to what kind of a man James Gibson had been.
Eric drank more tea before continuing. Unlike Rob, who felt no emotion regarding this revelation about his father, Eric seemed shaken. His eyes held a glimmer of something that Rob interpreted as fear, and his hand was shaking slightly as he put the mug back down on the table.
“We lived in Matlock at the time. Our father was a pastor at one of the nearby churches. And despite James’s assertion that mum mollycoddled me, she spent more time at the church, running bible study groups than she did looking after her sons. So, we were mostly left to fend for ourselves. That meant coming home from school and making our own tea before I did my homework, or watched telly, while James went out.”
Eric’s gaze fell to the table as he told the story, his attention obviously drawn back through the years to his childhood. Rob wondered how long this was going to go on for, and when the man in front of him was going to get to the point.
“He was always going out,” Eric continued. “Especially at night. I never did find out where he went. But the more I’ve thought about it over the years, the more I’ve come to the conclusion that he was out hunting.”
“Hunting animals?” Rob asked, trying to make the question sound innocent, even though he knew exac
tly what Eric meant.
“No, not animals. I believe he was hunting people.”
Rob tried to look shocked. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this act going.
“Our mum had a car that she never used. A little blue Mini that sat in the garage. Although he wasn’t old enough to drive, James took that car when he went hunting. Our parents didn’t know, and he told me that if I told them, he’d kill me. The thing is, that wasn’t just some idle threat; I believed him wholeheartedly. James didn’t have feelings like everyone else. He had no empathy, no sympathy. He was a psychopath.”
Eric looked at Rob to see if his words were sinking in. Rob tried to look suitably shocked.
“You know what he was like,” Eric said.
“Yes, I do.” Rob remembered standing in the cellar, knife in hand, wetting himself while his dad laughed.
“There was a particular Friday night when I was twelve and James was fourteen. It was Winter, and it got dark early. I was walking out through the school gates with a couple of my friends and James came over to me. He told me not to come home for a while, that he was going to be busy doing something and he didn’t want me in his way. I told him I had to go home to get my tea because Mum and Dad were at the church that evening. James gave me a couple of quid and told me to go to the chippy.”
He took another sip of tea. His hand was shaking so much that the mug chattered off his teeth. Rob knew that living with James Gibson was an unpleasant experience, and one that he and Eric shared, but his uncle seemed to be the most affected by it.
“I wasn’t going to say no to free chips, so I agreed to stay away from the house for an hour. My friends went home, and I sauntered to the chippy and then stood outside eating my chips. While I was there, I saw James walking along the street with a girl named Sarah Rundle. I think she was in one of his classes, or something, and I remember thinking, “Ah, now I know why he wants the house to himself.” I had no idea why a girl like Sarah Rundle would be interested in my brother, but I didn’t really question it too deeply.
“After I finished my chips, I ambled along the river for a while, and then it got so cold that I decided to go home.”
Silence of the Bones: A Murder Force Crime Thriller Page 11
