by Scott Hunter
Linda Harrison woke from an exhausted sleep cold, sore, and, as memory washed into her consciousness, absolutely terrified. She knew she was going to die. She wasn’t a prisoner; for a prisoner there was always the prospect of release. No, she had been incarcerated, left to rot. No one would find her. She would die here, and her body would dissolve into the earth like so much fertiliser. The thought made her hysterical and she found herself laughing at the absurdity until the laughter broke down into a fresh bout of sobbing. Eventually her breathing calmed and her heart rate slowed. There must be hope; she would make there be hope. Blanche would have arrived by now. If she was still as feisty as Linda remembered she would leave no stone unturned. And Matt would be out of his mind with worry. He would search; they would never give up. Never give up…
Her leg cramped and she screwed up her face at the agonising pain, unable to straighten or relax the iron-hard muscle. She heard herself whimper like a caged animal as the pain twisted like a knife then very, very slowly receded. She gasped in relief.
The grey light was fading. Evening had come around again. How many days? Two? Three? What did it matter? She wouldn’t have to endure the cold nights for much longer. There was just one thing she wanted to know. Not who. No, the question that haunted her was why. She couldn’t imagine who could hate her this much. She had never made enemies, never had so much as a bad quarrel with anyone…
That was when she heard the footsteps – slow, purposeful footsteps, yet strangely unbalanced, as if the owner had some difficulty walking. A brief, metallic rattle gave way to a low, murmuring chant which found its way into each nook and cranny of her prison like a gust of icy wind.
She closed her eyes.
Chapter 10
Charlie woke suddenly and spent a good fifteen seconds wondering where she was before her memory kicked in.
Banner’s house.
No – wrong.
My new home.
That had a better ring to it. The clock said 9.36am. She was on lates this week. Praise be. She lay back and luxuriated in the big double bed, smiling as she recalled the previous night’s girly session and her new friend’s irrepressible chatter. Charlie stretched. She had slept like a log. Woke up in the fireplace… her brain automatically cued the old Groucho Marx joke.
She swung her legs out of bed and yawned. The house was quiet. No passing traffic to disturb the morning’s peace, no buses thundering along the main road. This was a good move, Charlie girl.
She congratulated herself again on her way to the en-suite bathroom. As she brushed her teeth and ran a hand through her hair she wondered how she would deal with Banner’s questionable wit as she prepared breakfast, or how she would manage to hold her tongue when he started on his lame innuendos. Not Banner – Stephen, she reminded herself. Stephen here. Banner at work.
But would it work? Could she live and work with him? Time would tell. She dressed quickly – jeans and a Mumford and Sons t-shirt – and skipped down the wide staircase to the kitchen. There was no one there. Perhaps Banner had already left for the day? But he was on lates too… She knew that because she had drawn up the rota herself. Still in bed then. Lazy sod.
Charlie whistled as she made coffee and toast. Should she make something for G? Better not. She mightn’t appreciate a wake-up call for tea and toast. Still, Charlie wanted to do something to show her appreciation for being made to feel very much at home. She settled for laying the table, preparing a fresh cafetiere of coffee and scribbling a note. She continued writing as a list of supermarket essentials crowded into her mind.
Ten minutes later she was out the door, coat on, heading for Tesco. She would catch up with G later.
The sun was warm, a perfect spring day in the making. As Charlie clipped her seat belt she wondered how Moran was getting on. She grinned at the thought of the guv abandoning his R and R for a spot of door to door and shook her head. Once a copper…
It was almost two by the time Charlie returned, laden with Tesco bags and dying for a cup of tea. She dumped her bags on the doorstep and spent thirty seconds trying to untangle the front door key which had somehow managed to jam itself in the key ring fob. She freed it with a muttered expletive just as the front door opened.
“Hello. You must be Charlie.”
Charlie felt her mouth gaping like a goldfish. The man who had addressed her was possibly – no, definitely – the most strikingly handsome man she had ever seen. He was somewhere in his late twenties with dark, collar-length hair which flopped attractively across his forehead. His eyes were green, his chiselled but expressive face topped off with a wide, friendly smile which would have done George Clooney proud.
“Yes. Hi. I wasn’t–”
“Let me take those.”
Charlie felt her knees weakening as she groped for something coherent to say. “Oh. Thanks.” She followed him meekly into the kitchen. “I actually quite enjoy shopping.” Whaaat, Charlie? She tried again. “So, you’re Andreas, then?” Brilliant…
“Yes.” He leaned against the breakfast bar and folded his arms. The smiling eyes followed her movements. He was wearing chinos and a navy jumper that did little to hide his impressive physique. “And how are you settling in?”
“Fine. I mean, really well. I met G last night. We talked non-stop, had a few glasses of wine, put the world to rights, you know.”
Andreas laughed softly. “Sounds like a G evening. G for girls, that is.”
“Yes.” Charlie felt her face reddening. “Anyway,” she babbled on. “Where’s Ban– Stephen? I haven’t seen him since I got here.”
“No?” Andreas frowned. “He must have had a good night also, I guess.”
“I thought he was with you?”
Andreas nodded. “He was. But he went with a friend. Clubbing. I was tired. I have work, so I came home.”
Clubbing. On a weekday. She’d have words, for sure. The irritation she felt at Banner’s irresponsible attitude helped her defluster. She began to unpack her shopping.
“You are annoyed with him? Ah yes, you work with him? You are his boss?”
“That’s right. For the moment, anyway.”
Andreas moved silently across the kitchen floor and lifted the kettle. “Tea?”
“You read my mind.”
“I wouldn’t like to be in Stephen’s shoes when you catch up with him,” Andreas said with a grin as he filled the kettle.
Charlie paused with her hand in the last Tesco bag. “Seriously. I don’t come over that scary, do I?”
Andreas plonked two mugs on the breakfast bar. “Not at all. I’m – what is your word? – yes, teasing.”
“That’s OK, then.” Charlie sat on one of the elegant breakfast bar stools and checked her phone for messages. There was only some rubbish notification from Twitter. She’d been half-expecting something from the guv. No emails. Good; all well then.
“Sugar?”
“No thanks.” She took the proffered mug.
“So.” Andreas sat on the opposite stool and sipped his drink. “You have a day off today?”
“Nope. Late shift.”
“Ah. Then the local bad guys must watch out.”
“I hear you’re an IT man,” Charlie said quickly. Andreas seemed nice, but a little too familiar for someone she’d only just met. Maybe it was a cultural thing. She tried to remember his nationality. Judging by the accent, Andreas sounded as if he’d learned his English in the States.
“Yes. I specialise in system integration. Middleware. I have a short contract with a company called Oracle.”
“We have an Oracle database,” Charlie nodded. “And we could do with someone like you onsite. Our systems are always going down.”
“Bad support?”
Charlie shrugged. “They talk a good story on the phone. Never seem to fix anything, though.”
Andreas laughed. “I’m sure you’d notice if they all went home.”
“I’m not sure we would,” Charlie said. “Anyway, I shouldn’t be tell
ing you this. Confidentiality and so on.”
“Of course. No problem.”
Charlie glanced at the kitchen clock. Four thirty-five already. Time to get going. “Thanks for the tea. I have to get ready for work. Nice to meet you.”
“Sure. You too.”
As she left the kitchen Charlie noticed that the cafetiere of coffee she had prepared earlier was still there. Beside it lay her note to G, untouched and, by the look of it, unread.
Charlie went upstairs, hesitated outside G’s door. Should she knock? No, better not. G might have company, or still be asleep. She pressed her ear to the door and then felt immediately guilty and embarrassed. What if Andreas caught her eavesdropping? She hurried away along the deeply-carpeted corridor to her own room.
As she changed into her work suit she heard Andreas clattering around in the kitchen, the sound of a tap running. Domesticated, then. Another plus.
Make up. Phone. Handbag. Deep breath. She looked herself up and down in the full-length mirror. Not bad. She would pass for a DI.
You are a DI, girl. You worked damn hard to get it. Walk tall.
Keys. A last look around. Tidy room. Good. She closed the door behind her. The house was quiet. No, there was music somewhere – Keane? Yes. Good taste as well, then.
As Charlie let the handbrake off and eased her car into second she found herself humming the tune she had heard as she was leaving: If you have a minute, why don’t we go talk about it, somewhere only we know…
The small seaside town was reluctantly stirring from a prolonged winter lull, its freshly-opened shop, café and restaurant doors yawning widely to swallow passing tourists, like plankton drifting into the mouth of a whale.
Moran and Celine walked arm in arm among the visitors, exploring the narrow cobbled streets, window-shopping and conversing easily about nothing in particular.
“Coffee?” Celine pointed to an attractive corner café.
“Good idea.” Moran allowed himself to be led to a table and sat gratefully, feeling the familiar stiffness in his leg, a constant reminder of Charnford Abbey and the closest brush with death he had experienced in a long, eventful career.
“Are you all right?” Celine let the menu in her hand drop onto the tabletop.
“I’m fine. My leg gets a little stiff after walking. It’s nothing.”
They ordered, an espresso for Moran and a latte for Celine, and sat awhile in companiable silence watching the world go by. Moran felt an uneasy contentment. He knew that he was about to spoil the moment. After a moment’s consideration, he elected to at least wait until they had finished their drinks. A lone gull circled overhead, side slipping in the breeze, scouring the area for scraps. There was a pleasant tang of salt in the air and the promise of, if not warmth, then at least stability in the mid-afternoon sunshine.
He swallowed the last of his coffee and wondered how to start. No point in beating around the bush. Celine knew something and he needed to find out why she was so reluctant to share it with him.
“You said that Cernham was different. What did you mean by that?”
Celine stiffened. “Nothing, really. It’s a typical English village. Everybody knows everyone else. You can’t do anything without it being round the whole place in half a day.”
“‘Typical’ isn’t ‘different’.”
She shrugged. “I suppose I meant different to what I was used to before I lived there.”
“No, you didn’t,” Moran said. “Why won’t you tell me? Is it something to do with de Courcy?”
“Him? God, no. Why would it be?”
“You tell me.”
“Look, Brendan. You’ve been here a few days. You don’t understand village life. You live in a big town near London, so how could you?” She paused, took a sip of her latte. “We get on well. It’s nice. I’m not under any illusions here. I know you’ll go back to Berkshire, back to your work. Let’s just enjoy the time we have, OK?”
“I’d like that,” Moran said. “But we both know that a woman died. And I need to know what happened.”
“You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?” Celine gave him a half-smile of – what? Frustration? Maybe a little disappointment?
“I’m sorry. I’m a copper.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re you, and that’s why I like you.”
“The feeling is entirely mutual.”
She laughed. “Good.”
“But I need to know.”
“All right. You’re very perceptive. De Courcy and I had a little thing going a while back.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t.” Celine fiddled with her cup. Her nails were painted blood red. She looked up. “It’s just that … well, I might have seen him in the car.”
“De Courcy? In Blanche’s car? When?”
Celine sighed. “I couldn’t sleep that night, after what had happened, you know. I was standing at the window; I suppose it must have been four or five in the morning. It just drove past, slowly. Maybe the engine was off; it seemed to just roll quietly past. I saw him – at least, I think it was him.”
“Driving?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“Yes. It does.”
Moran related his conversation with the car hire company.
Celine had gone pale, was worrying at the tablecloth. “Oh God. Do you think he–” She looked up.
“I don’t know, Celine. But he at least knows what happened. Look, I can understand that you want to protect him; if you had a relationship it’s only natural that–“
“No. Not a relationship. A nightmare.”
“You’d better explain,” Moran said softly. “It might be better in the long run, when it all comes out.”
“You mean in court, don’t you?” Her voice began to quaver. “That can’t happen, Brendan. It mustn’t happen.”
“What are you so frightened of?” Moran took her hand, which was trembling. “Listen, de Courcy isn’t above the law. Whatever is going on needs to come out. You’ll be fully protected.”
“Against them? I don’t think so.”
“Tell me. Tell me what you know, Celine.”
“I will. I just need the loo. Excuse me.”
“Sure.”
Moran waited, deep in thought. Five minutes later he was cursing himself for an idiot. He hurried into the café and accosted a waitress.
“A lady?”
“Yes, she went to the toilet.” Moran struggled to keep his cool.
“We don’t have a toilet here, sir. I’m sorry.”
Moran pushed past and went to the rear of the café where a small patio area had been created to allow the inclusion of four more tables. There was a fence and a back gate, which was open.
Damn.
He spent twenty minutes trawling the streets but eventually gave up and went back to the car park.
The sun was going down as he turned into his petrol station by the Cernham turnoff. He filled the tank and wondered how else he could have handled Celine and the now thorny issue of extracting any worthwhile information from her. De Courcy clearly had a leading role if not in the death, then certainly in the disappearance of the American woman. As he replaced the petrol cap and walked pensively across the forecourt he realised that he was now resigned to the abandonment of his holiday. He had a duty to follow this to its conclusion, however inconvenient.
“All right, boss?”
Moran looked up to see the familiar smile of the shop attendant. His badge said “Manjit – happy to help”.
“Hello again, Manjit.” Moran fumbled in his wallet. “Hang on a second. Can’t find my blasted wallet.”
“All good today?” Manjit asked brightly.
“Not really.” Moran checked his other pockets. Nothing. “I won’t be a moment,” he told Manjit.
His wallet wasn’t in the car either. That meant he had left it in the café. Or it had been stolen. He went back to th
e counter. “I’m terribly sorry, but I seem to have lost my wallet. Look, here’s my ID – can I owe you?”
Manjit scrutinised Moran’s credentials and returned the card with a grin. “Sure, boss. I can trust a policeman.”
“Well, I’m glad someone can.”
“No cola today?”
“Not today. Listen, I’ll be back tomorrow. I have another credit card in my suitcase.”
“No problem. See you then, Chief Inspector Moran.”
Moran followed the winding road towards Cernham village. He didn’t want to admit to the obvious: that Celine had taken his wallet. But why? Moran racked his brains, tried to recall every conversation. Nothing made sense. His car’s shadow danced ahead in the late afternoon sunshine, distorting and jinking with each bump and dip in the narrow road.
Chapter 11
The voices were close, very close, as though their owners were huddled just outside, just beyond her field of vision. Linda drew her legs into her body, wrapped her arms about her, wished she could shut the noise out.
“Well? What now?”
“Kill her.”
“Why?”
“She’ll talk. Make trouble.”
“Keep her, then.”
“In the house?”
“There are spaces.”
A crunch of gravel, someone shuffling their feet. A cough.
Light flooded in. Linda’s heart beat a tattoo of fear. Her eyes wouldn’t focus. Shadows, faces, stale breath. Something poked her in the side and she stifled a scream.
“Alive.”
“That’s all we need to know for the present. You can tell him.”
“No, you.”
The light disappeared. Footsteps receded. Linda breathed again.
When she had regained her composure she made herself stretch, fearful of the terrible cramp which was never far away.
And something rattled. Something loose.
Her heartbeat accelerated. Had they left something open by mistake? She prodded experimentally and felt something give. She pushed again and some unseen part of her prison crashed to the ground. She froze. After a while she felt brave enough to wriggle again, shuffling towards the space she had made. Once, twice she tried to roll, but she was so stiff and cold it was hard to make any progress. One more, Linda, come on… She made a huge effort and rolled into space. For a split second she hung as if suspended from a wire, and then she felt herself falling. She hit something solid and the breath was driven out of her.
