by Keane Jessie
‘Oh! Hi baby.’
There was strain in her voice. Irritation.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said, anxious.
‘Bloody Harlan’s just pulled up on the drive,’ she said. ‘Stopped right outside. Oh, and there’s another car too . . . yeah, that’s Nipper’s.’
But I’m meant to be meeting Harlan here.
Terry felt a moment’s gut-churning panic, then he calmed himself. Breathed. If he could do nothing else, he could help his wife. Help Belle. By the sound of it, it was too late for the run code.
He watched Ludo moving around the room, picking up this, putting it down, moving along, moving around . . . now he was behind him, out of Terry’s eyeline.
Christ.
There was very little time.
He said: ‘The bag I left in the hall, is my pen in there?’
Jill was silent. She knew it was the hide code. That someone was with him, that he couldn’t speak freely. And she knew the situation was dangerous. Then she said: ‘What’s happening?’
Terry gulped. He could hear Ludo, moving lightly behind him. He thought of Jill and Belle alone down there, undefended. This was it, what Nula had warned him about, the coup that Harlan had been plotting all along – and oh shit life had been so sweet . . .
‘Just check the bag,’ he said. Hide, babe. Hide and for Christ’s sake hide Belle too.
‘One thing Harlan asked me to tell you before he got here,’ said Ludo from right behind him.
‘What is it?’ asked Terry, putting the phone back on the cradle, knowing it was the last time he would ever hear Jill’s voice, knowing it was over now.
‘Beezer? That fool weren’t no suicide.’
He felt the garotte come over his brow, then down onto his neck.
Thinking time was over.
99
The concierge on duty at the Tower Bridge building was surprised when the lift opened late one night and two men, one black, one white, emerged towing four large suitcases behind them.
‘Oh,’ he said, and got to his feet.
He was instantly dazzled by the black man’s brilliant smile as the two men made their way across the deluxe marble-encrusted lobby with its indoor cascade and luscious hothouse plants. They didn’t pause; they kept heading for the revolving doors.
‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ asked the concierge. It was his job to move any luggage down to the lobby for the residents, and he was a conscientious man, he took his duties very seriously. ‘If you had phoned down, I could have done that for you.’
‘No bother,’ said Ludo.
Him and one of the other boys had spent a very messy four hours in the bathroom upstairs, both naked and busily chopping up the remains of Terry Barton in the bath before wrapping chunks of the guy in clingfilm to prevent any leakages. Then they had cleaned the place to within an inch of its life, showered, and got dressed. The night wasn’t over yet. Next job? Dispose of the body parts.
But the concierge was already around the desk, taking one of the cases from Ludo’s hand, assisting with a warm smile. He saw them out the door. Ludo turned and tipped him a twenty.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the concierge, and returned to his post at the desk, pocketing the money and thinking, What nice people.
100
Belle was upstairs in her bedroom, wet-haired, having just done a few lengths up at the big house pool. Now she was stepping out of the shower, drying, slipping on a pale yellow cotton summer dress, scuffling into her sandals. Then she went to the dressing table and grabbed a comb and started pulling it through her hair. As she snatched up the dryer, something caught her eye through the window: Harlan’s Porsche was parked up outside on the gravel drive. Behind it was Nipper’s Mercedes.
Frowning, she switched on the dryer and swiped it back and forth across her hair. Then Mum nearly fell into her open doorway and stood there, her eyes meeting Belle’s in the mirror. Belle felt a hot spasm of fear bolt right through her as she saw her mum’s expression. She switched off the dryer.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘I was shouting for you,’ said Jill, sounding breathless.
‘Sorry. Hairdryer.’ Belle put it down on the dressing table. ‘What is it? You’re white as a sheet.’
‘Your father . . .’ Jill gulped, her words failing. Then she took a quick breath and managed: ‘He’s just been on the phone. He’s told me . . . Belle, we’ve got to hide.’
Someone was ringing the doorbell.
Belle was looking bewildered. ‘Hide? Hide from what?’
‘There’s no time to explain! We mustn’t answer it,’ said Jill. ‘It’s Harlan.’
That thin spasm of alarm deepened and gripped at Belle’s guts. She felt her heart thudding sickly in her chest, felt moisture start on her palms and under her arms. ‘What’s he going to do?’ she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Jill’s eyes were suddenly full of tears. ‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ she said quickly, and it was like when Belle was a little girl and her mother would try to reassure her, even though Belle always knew when there was something wrong. ‘Don’t worry honey. Your father . . .’ Her voice died.
‘Where is he? Where’s Dad?’
The doorbell was ringing, again and again and again.
‘He’s in town. Somewhere on the manor. He phoned. He sounded . . . something was wrong.’
They stood staring at each other. Now someone was hammering on the door with their fist.
Jill’s face was literally bleached with terror. ‘We haven’t got much time,’ she said. ‘Come on.’
Belle followed Jill out onto the landing and into the master suite, which was built into the eaves of the house so that at each side of the room there was a triangular crawl space hidden away behind the walls. There was a cupboard door set into the lowest wall, intended but never used for storage. The bats had spread out from the loft long ago, and there was all this bollocks about them being a protected species now – and anyway Terry kind of liked the bats, he always said good luck to the little bastards who shot out from under a gap in the tiles at night and whizzed around the garden. Sometimes, Terry liked to stand out there and watch them. Not Jill – the bats gave her the willies and she always thought they were going to get caught in her hair.
‘They got sonar,’ Terry would tell her. ‘They ain’t going anywhere near you, babes.’
‘Go on, get in,’ said Jill, nudging Belle toward the cupboard.
‘But they’ll know we’re home – won’t they?’ asked Belle, hesitating. She didn’t like the thought of going in with the bats, not this close. Not at all.
Downstairs, someone was kicking the door. They could hear male voices.
‘Our cars are locked up in the garage. They’ll think we’ve walked down to the village.’
‘Mum, I don’t . . .’
‘Get in!’ Jill’s eyes were frantic as she hissed the command. She was pushing Belle inside, hurrying her. ‘Hurry the fuck up, Belle.’
Belle did as she was told and moved further along the crawl space so Jill could follow too. She pulled the door closed. Inside, the space was boarded so you weren’t balancing on the beams. Feeling claustrophobic, Belle took a breath and tried to stay calm. Her breath was whistling in and out of her mouth and she could feel cobwebs brushing against her face as she went to the far end, tucked herself away in the corner under the roof beams, behind the chimney. Oh Jesus. Spiders. The big black ones that came out in October and scuttled across the floor, terrifying the bejesus out of you. She hated the bloody things.
Close by her head she heard the rustling of papery wings.
The bats.
There was a crack of daylight coming in under the tiles – the bats’ exit hole. Dimly Belle could see them, moving restlessly, disturbed by her being in here, near to them. Their bright beady eyes and folded wings made her think of every vampire movie she had ever sat through, laughing her head off at the daftness of the idea. The undead! What a bloody joke. The
smell in here was burning the end of her nose. Guano, didn’t they call bat shit that? Or was that birds?
She turned her head a little and she could see her mother about six feet away, shooting the large bolt at the top of the door to secure it. Confined now with the bats and the spiders and whatever the hell else might be crawling around in here, Belle felt sweat break out. Oh Christ, she wanted, needed, to get out. But she had to stay quiet, stay still. Trembling, she pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle any small shriek that might escape if anything touched her. She tried to stay calm.
They were hidden. They would be safe. She told herself that, over and over.
But she didn’t feel safe, not at all. Harlan and his cronies were at the door and that was reason enough to panic.
Then she heard it: Whack! Whack! Whack!
Down in the hall, someone was hitting the door with something heavy.
Dimly, she could see her mother’s face, frozen in fear.
Then the front door caved in.
101
‘Hey! Anybody home?’
It was Harlan’s voice, loud, drifting up from the hallway of the gatehouse.
‘Not much of a welcome, if you don’t mind my saying,’ he said, and there was a snicker of laughter.
Belle and Jill stared at each other in the half-light.
Quiet, mouthed Jill.
Belle nodded. She was bent double, sitting on her haunches. There was a fluttering murmur of leathery little wings above her head, like the dry rustling of autumn leaves or bees fanning a hive to keep it cool. She could hear the men making their way through the house, going into the sitting room, then the kitchen. Noises down there, like they were turning things over, breaking things.
Oh fuck.
But hadn’t they all, deep down, been frightened of this, prepared for something like this, since Charlie’s death? They had all been living on a knife-edge. Pretending all was well. Knowing it wasn’t. And now, here it was at last. Harlan’s reckoning.
Was Dad coming?
No. Belle had seen the answer to that in her mother’s pale, terrified face. They were on their own here. And now she could hear a heavy tread on the stairs.
The men were coming up.
Belle shrank back further, into the shadows. Held her breath. Felt sweat dripping into her eyes, smelled the odour of extreme stress oozing from her pores.
Got to hold on. Mustn’t panic.
‘They must have gone out,’ said Nipper’s harsh voice, so close by that Belle nearly shrieked.
There was a pause, then Harlan said: ‘Or Terry warned them. Somehow.’
‘Nah, Ludo dealt with him.’
It sounded like they were standing right by the bed, in the centre of the room. Two, maybe three of them.
Dealt with him? Oh Christ.
Belle flinched as a crash came, sounding as if it was right by her head. The bats stirred restlessly. The men were tipping over the bedside tables. She heard drawers opening. Then slamming shut. They were at the dressing table. There was a curse, then a huge crash as they overturned it. Peering around the chimney, Belle saw Jill in the faint light flinch back, away from the door. Someone rattled the door, pulling at the handle. The bolt held.
Then all at once the men were gone, out of the room, going along the landing to the other bedrooms and bathrooms. More crashes. She saw Jill’s hand go to her mouth. Quiet, Belle. Hold on.
More crashes.
It was a nightmare and Belle prayed for it to be over. Wouldn’t they go soon, be satisfied the place was empty?
They had to go.
She felt something skitter over the flesh of her forearm and jammed a fist in her mouth to stop a scream.
It felt like they had been in here for hours, but it was minutes. And now . . . oh Jesus, the men were coming back. They were back in the master bedroom . . . no! They weren’t. They were passing the bedroom door, they were going down the stairs.
They were going.
It would be all right. Once they were gone, she and Mum would get in the car and drive, find Dad, all would be OK.
But Nipper said Ludo had dealt with Terry.
She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that now. If she did, she’d panic and give them away.
Then she stiffened. Shit! No!
They were coming back up the stairs.
Into the master bedroom.
There was the sound of movement near the cupboard door. Belle saw the door shudder and then something slid into the gap between the door and the jamb.
A crowbar.
There was a wrenching thud and the bolt pinged off like a pistol shot. The door shuddered open. Harsh light from the master bedroom flooded in on Jill. She let out a scream that pierced Belle’s soul. Then they dragged Jill out of the hiding place.
102
Belle was cringing back behind the chimney breast, flattening herself into the corner by the rafters. She was gasping for air, sickened, terrified. The bats, right beside her head, fluttered their wings in unison. Their dark eyes gleamed like sequins.
‘Where’s Belle?’ Harlan was asking Jill. Belle could hear every word.
‘She went out to the village,’ said Jill’s voice. Unsteady. Panicky.
‘He warn you?’ asked Harlan.
Silence. There was a hard crack of flesh on flesh. Belle flinched and bit hard on her lip to stifle a yell of outrage.
‘Answer me. Did he?’
Jill was sobbing quietly now. But she didn’t answer.
‘Check it,’ said Harlan, and Belle saw shadows moving out in the bedroom. Nipper was checking inside the storage space, making sure Belle wasn’t in there too.
They’re going to find me, they’re going to find me . . .
‘Shit a brick!’ said Nipper’s voice.
‘What?’ asked Harlan.
‘Fucking great spider in there. Hate those fuckers,’ he said.
‘She’s not in there?’ asked Harlan, sounding bored.
‘No, boss,’ said Nipper.
But he hadn’t come beyond the jut of the chimney breast, hadn’t come as far as the rafters in the far corner. That fucking spider had saved her . . .
‘Get in there, have a look. The chimney goes up there, she could be hiding behind it.’
Belle felt an icy shudder of pure hysteria then. They had her mum. And now they were going to get her too. She could see shadows moving at the door and then movement as bulky blond Nipper wedged himself into the crawl space.
What to do, what to do?
Belle lifted a shaking hand and swiped at the bats.
Instantaneously they flew, chittering, not out of their usual exit hole because Belle was in front of it. In confusion and fear they bashed against her face in a leathery flurry, then they swarmed out through the crawl space door and into the master bedroom. Nipper fell back with a shout, swearing and stumbling as a hundred tiny projectiles flooded out over him and flittered around out in the main body of the room.
‘It’s only a few bats, what the fuck’s wrong with you?’ Harlan was saying, laughing at Nipper’s alarm. ‘Christ, you’re such a bloody moron,’ he said, and the crawl space door was kicked shut, bouncing against the ruined bolt to hang inches open.
More movement now, out in the master bedroom. Then footfall out on the landing, the heavy tread of the men and the lighter one of Jill, who was fighting them, trying to resist as they hustled her down the stairs. They were taking Mum out of here. To where? Belle heard car doors open and close. The roar of a motor. They were going. She heard car wheels crunching over the gravel driveway and out to the gate, then out into the lane and away.
103
The cupboard door was ajar and light was filtering in. She saw the spider that had spooked Nipper scuttle over the lip of the door and out into the bedroom. Tiny shadows moved out there. The bats, trapped inside the room, denied their exit route. She stayed still. Her hips ached where she was bent double, her arm was going numb, but she didn’t dare move.
&n
bsp; All was silent, but this could be a trap. He could be out there still, waiting. Knowing that if she was still hiding in the house, sooner or later she would have to show herself. Sweat was pouring out of her. She blinked, eyes stinging. Couldn’t even move to wipe the moisture away.
Minutes passed. Then hours.
Slowly the light inside the crawl space changed, grew dimmer. Belle wasn’t wearing a watch so she could only guess at the time. Maybe seven, eight o’clock in the evening? And still there was no movement in the gatehouse. Inch by inch, she began to relax. They really were gone. She moved a little, eased her aching joints. In anguish Belle thought of her mother. What would they do with her? She couldn’t even think of it. She was powerless to help. But help had to come from somewhere, didn’t it?
At last, it started to grow dark.
No movement anywhere.
When it had been full dark for over an hour, she braced herself and unfolded her limbs, stretching, feeling pins and needles stab at her arms and legs, feeling the trembling weakness in them from this enforced inactivity. She would get downstairs, phone the police or someone, and then help would come. Mum would be OK. She had to believe that or she would go stark staring mad.
Listening intently to every movement, the crackle of the beams as they cooled after the day’s heat, she thought it’s OK now. They’ve really gone.
Belle edged along the crawl space, past the chimney, and reached the cupboard door. Stealthily she emerged into the half-dark of the bedroom, bending double to get out of the low opening and then standing up, able at last to stretch, to get some life back into her stiff, frozen limbs. Dimly she could see the bats, still swooping confusedly around in their confinement.
She was crossing the room when suddenly she stopped moving. Wait. Wait.
She’d only heard one car going.
But there had been two cars pulling up. The Porsche and the Mercedes.
She was already moving back toward the cupboard when a large shape stirred by the bed. She turned, the breath catching in her throat, and stared at the man who’d been sitting there. Her heart was beating so hard she thought she would choke.
