“What is your interest in the Standedge Incident? And don’t lie.”
He realized he wasn’t in control of the conversation. And for some reason, he trusted this person in front of him. She was part of the reason he was even in Marsden. Her articles about Standedge had piqued his interest. “Matthew McConnell called me.”
Sally laughed. “Now, that...that was not what I was expecting.” She pulled up another desk chair so Robin could sit down, which he did. Over the next half an hour, he told her the entire story—the truth. He told her about Sam, and about Matthew, and about everything that had happened since he’d arrived. And when he was done, she just regarded him. “When I said ‘don’t lie,’ I didn’t mean for you to tell me the whole damn thing.”
“Sorry, just...”
“So you think you help Matthew and he tells you about your wife.”
“What choice do I have?” Robin said.
Sally shrugged like a petulant child. “You have...” She was interrupted by a loud baa. Robin jumped—the sound was so out of place. Sally just sighed and got up. “I’ll be back in a minute. Teddie wants feeding.”
“What?” Robin said. “Those sheep are yours?”
Sally shook her head. “No. But I still feed them.”
She passed Robin and he looked around as she expertly picked her way around the shelves. He listened as her footsteps grew quieter, and when they had disappeared, he looked around at the desk. It was cluttered with weathered knickknacks—an executive toy missing a ball, a half-solved Rubik’s Cube, a book of word searches open, with the cover weighted by a stapler. He looked at the book to see Sally had not found any of the words listed but had instead highlighted her own. Past the book was the clattery old keyboard and Sally’s headphones, and past them was a tool kit and what appeared to be a stack of computer hard drives taken apart. There was nothing on the desk that was personal—nothing to tell him who Sally Morgan was. Or anyone else, for that matter.
He slid closer to the mess of monitors and looked at the nearest one—the front page of The Red Door. He read the title of the article that, from the date, seemed to have been posted the day Robin had got to Marsden. He started to read:
Ghosts of Marsden Unite to Question Standedge Incident
by The Red Door 23/10/2018 13.45
On 26th June 2018, five students, well loved among the Marsden community, disappeared inside Standedge Canal Tunnel, leaving their friend and local tour guide Matthew McConnell unconscious on the deck of their canal boat, along with their Bedlington terrier.
Consensus among police and the community is that McConnell viciously attacked his peers inside the tunnel and used the disused tunnel connected to the canal tunnel to dispose of the bodies and reenter the boat, resuming the journey before the boat reemerged at the other end of the tunnel.
This writer has noticed the public opinion of McConnell turn incredibly sour as of late, with the latest news being his court hearing set for sometime in December. McConnell’s guilt largely rests on the fact that the crime cannot be explained any other way, and although there are factors going against the ‘McConnell Theory’ (such as the CCTV evidence at both sides of the disused tunnel, that The Red Door covered in last week’s QUICKFIRE NEWS), police seem confident that they have the right party in custody.
However, there have been reports of a splinter group emerging who believe in McConnell’s innocence. They call themselves the Ghosts of Marsden, and seem to believe that the chosen students were spirited away by some rather more otherworldly means. The Red Door uncovered the secret location of the Ghosts of Marsden’s meetings—the Community Centre in Diggle on Tuesday nights (they implore you to bring baked goods)—and went to talk to them.
Every meeting the ‘Ghosts’ attempt to come up with a simpler theory for what happened to the greater half of the Standedge Five. The Red Door sat in on a meeting and heard tales of aliens, spectres, poltergeists and (in a rather illustrious tale) space dogs being the reason the five students became figurative ghosts themselves.
One attendee, who wished to remain nameless, said that the tall tales were no more than ‘therapeutic’—‘It is important to remember that McConnell is being punished when there is no concrete evidence against him. We, as a group, firmly believe in the idea of “innocent until proven guilty”. We tell of fantasy theories that are actually more probable than the McConnell yarn the police have cooked up.’ The attendee added, ‘Although there is significant evidence that space dogs did it.’
The group as a whole are working on a substantial theory that would have the students teleport from inside the tunnel to a neighbouring county. They even claim to have amassed a bevy of evidence, including bizarre energy fluctuations on the date and time in question and a sighting of figures who fitted the description of the Claypath twins emerging from a hedge in Sussex.
Of course, the group has gained some traction with the ‘Standedge Monster’ theory. Locals will be aware of the legend of a homeless man living in the abandoned train tunnel alongside Standedge. There are numerous, rather shaky accounts of people seeing a ghostly face staring at them throughout their journey, popping up at each of the cut-throughs. Of course, this is totally unsubstantiated, and no police or members of the Canal & River Trust have ever actually laid eyes on this spectral hobo.
Overall, The Red Door saw the Ghosts of Marsden to be a mostly harmless group about hope—a hopeful future where maybe the five students are still alive. In every story, they seem to be living happily somewhere, albeit with the aliens, the spectres and the poltergeists. Even the Standedge Monster theory has them being whisked away by a man to a better, more exciting life. Although The Red Door wishes to keep many of the group’s identities secret, two noted attendees were Mary and James Sunderland—the parents of the missing Edmund Sunderland.
The Red Door attempted to talk to them, but they declined to comment.
“It appears our situations have aligned,” Sally said loudly, obviously trying to get Robin to jump out of his skin. He didn’t oblige. She stood next to him, with a tuft of long grass in her hand. “I need someone to boost the popularity of the site. If I could put your name in these articles, there’d no doubt be a renewed interest.”
Robin shook his head. “No one knows who I am—Without Her wasn’t exactly a commercial barn burner.”
Sally scoffed. “Do you want my help or not?” She reached under the desk, pulled out a small ziplock bag and sealed the tuft of grass inside. Robin wanted to ask why she was doing that, but she continued, “You need me because I know the lay of the land here. I know not to piss off Martha Hobson. I know Benny Masterson runs his mouth and would talk to anyone given half the chance. I know Stanton works for Claypath, and Loamfield...well...he’s a snake. And I know Amber...”
“What about Amber?” Robin said.
Sally sighed. “Well, let’s just say that maybe you should watch yourself around her.”
“Why?”
“She tell you her surname? Amber Crusher.”
Crusher. Like Liz Crusher—the surname of the woman whose cat Tim Claypath allegedly skinned. But Amber said she had a crush on Tim Claypath—even though she had to have been around when the rumors started. Was she not telling him something? “What?”
“Keep on track, Robin.”
He switched gears. “This Incident. Standedge. Why are you so interested? Did you know them? The Standedge Five. You’re going to have to give me something more to go on than just your name.”
Sally shook her head, placed the bag of grass in a drawer and sat in the empty chair. “My father died. Back in London. Six months and some change ago. Drank himself to death. I didn’t even know he was doing it. High-functioning. That and we didn’t really spend any time together, despite living in the same house. He blamed himself for...something that happened. To me.
“I realized I had nothing keeping me in Londo
n. So I came here. Wanted to start up a website, so I did. Used the inheritance to buy the place, a couple of server towers, this stuff... And then one day, 26th June, Standedge happens. Six people go into a tunnel and one comes out. Right on my new doorstep. Right where I start a website about these kinds of things.”
Robin nodded. “Coincidence.”
Sally smiled but shook her head. “Or maybe it’s a sign that I’m exactly where I need to be.”
“No.” Robin laughed. “It’s a coincidence.”
“Whatever—it doesn’t stop the itching, the feeling to need to know what happened. The whole town seems to be under some kind of spell, like no one really wants to talk about the Five. Roger Claypath held this meeting, and after that, everyone shut up about Standedge. Even the people that worked there stopped mentioning it. No one’ll dare bring them up, even the local papers. That’s how The Red Door is the only place reporting on it.”
“How did Roger Claypath silence an entire town?”
“You don’t understand yet,” Sally said. “Things work differently round here. Community is still a part of the vocabulary. That’s why you need me.”
“Okay,” Robin said. “So what are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting we pool our resources—you help me and I help you. We use The Red Door to get out information about Standedge. You find something and I can upload it for the world to see. If you find anything that might suggest McConnell didn’t do it, we might be able to get through to the folk round here. And maybe even get McConnell home by the end of the week. And then we can see if he really does have more information about your wife.”
Robin opened his mouth to say that he definitely did, but then realized Sally had voiced something he hadn’t dared admit to himself. What if Matthew was lying? What if there was nothing else? What if Matthew needed him far more than he needed Matthew?
“Come on. We’re going to be late.” Sally got up, picked up a heavy-looking backpack from under the desk and slung it over her shoulder. “News doesn’t happen when you’re sitting on your arse.”
“What are we going to be late for?”
“That article,” Sally said, pointing to what Robin had just read, “is out-of-date. James Sunderland wants to talk, says he has something. We’re going to the Ghosts of Marsden.”
Robin looked at the article and then back to her. “Did you just leave this here because you knew I would read it?”
Sally smiled. “I couldn’t be bothered explaining. Come on. Diggle’s about an hour’s walk from here.”
Robin got up and, slightly miffed, followed Sally.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Diggle was a small hamlet, managing to be even smaller than Marsden. Sally followed the canal and Robin followed her. She knew where she was going. They passed the opening to Standedge and walked down a country path until they rejoined the canal.
The other side of Standedge was much the same as the Marsden side, albeit even quieter. The opening was chained up and gated, and there was no Visitor Centre or boats moored outside. It looked even eerier than Marsden’s, as there were no signs of life.
Sally didn’t stop or even look at Standedge. She just led him into Diggle, up a sparse street and into a boxy building, which looked like a cross between a doctor’s surgery and a school, both options abandoned. A slightly crooked sign labeled it as the Community Centre. Sally didn’t pause, just pushed open the door and went inside. She didn’t hold it open for Robin, and in the incredibly short time he had known her, he wouldn’t have expected her to.
Robin looked around, knowing he was going to follow but feeling strangely apprehensive about it. He reached out for the door and then stopped.
A figure, an older woman, had just rounded the street and was coming toward him, being pulled by a black Newfoundland. He instantly knew that this had to be Liz Crusher. He took one more look at the door and stepped away. Liz Crusher had crossed the road and Robin did too.
“Excuse me.”
The woman looked up. She was short and stout and wore a scowl that looked all but permanent. She was quite a sight next to her dog. If people looked like their pets, she was a perfect example. The dog was so enormous, it was unclear just who owned who.
As she came up to Robin, the dog finally looked up at the reason it had stopped. It growled at Robin, until the woman bonked it on the snout. “Rodney, please.”
“Are you Liz Crusher?”
The old woman looked at him with no recognition in her eyes. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m Robin Ferring—”
“I know who you are, boy.” They both looked at him, unimpressed. Robin started to think that this had been a bad idea. Maybe he should have heeded Sally’s warning and played it a little smarter. “You want to talk about them.”
It wasn’t a question. Robin was a little taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“The Standedge Five. That’s what you’re here for, ain’t it? Christ almighty, the Chief was right about all this. You people smell blood and you come running wanting to point your cameras, and make your videos, and write your books.” There was a snort and Robin couldn’t tell if it came from her or the dog.
“Did your daughter tell you about me?”
Crusher’s eyes narrowed. “It’s none of your business, but me and my daughter don’t talk. Everyone knows who you are. And everyone’s gonna shut their mouth from now on.” The way she said that made them sound tied into something more than a community.
“I didn’t see you at the vigil,” Robin said.
Crusher squawked a laugh. “That’ll be because I wasn’t there.”
“Some people are saying you had some troubles with Tim Claypath?”
“I obviously didn’t make myself clear,” Crusher said. “I’m not talking to you.”
“Please just...” Robin trailed off, not knowing what to say. Something nudged at his leg, and Robin looked down to see the dog wiping his nose on his leg. Robin smiled and patted the Newfoundland on the head. “How old is he?”
“What?”
“Your dog? How old is he?”
“Seven,” Crusher said apprehensively. “Name’s Rodney.”
“I heard that you and Rodney here had a run-in with the kids on the day they went missing.” Robin crouched down and Rodney rested his paws on Robin’s leg. Crusher looked at them, looking as though she was thinking hard. And then softening slightly. Thank God for the dog, Robin thought. “Did you see anything on that day? Anything strange?” Robin said. “Anything that could maybe explain why what happened happened and maybe how. You were there—right by the boat that carried them through the tunnel.”
Crusher said nothing.
“Of course, I’ll give you full credit if I find anything. You and Rodney here could be responsible for a breakthrough. And there’ll be monetary compensation, of course.”
“Yes,” Crusher said slowly, “I was there.”
“There was nothing out of the ordinary?”
“No, there wasn’t. It was a canal boat, with a bunch of stupid kids on it. That was all.” Crusher smiled as if she knew something he didn’t. “And what makes you think I would tell you even if I did see something.”
Robin persisted, changing the question. There was something that didn’t add up. “Why did you not recognize Tim Claypath that day?”
“What?” Crusher’s vindictive tone was back.
“Matthew said that you didn’t know who Tim Claypath was, until he said it.”
Crusher breathed out of her nostrils so they grew to twice their normal size, and said through gritted teeth, “You talked to him? You talked to that psycho? Are you friends with him? Have you come to rescue him?”
“I’ve come to find the truth,” Robin said, surprised at his conviction.
“Well, you can go home, because the truth has already been foun
d.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Crusher sized him up. “What else do you think you know?”
“I know that there was a rumor going around that Tim Claypath killed your cat. Back when he was in school.”
Crusher didn’t look surprised. In fact, she gave him absolutely nothing. “Well, ain’t you a nosy bastard.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about Mr. Sammy. In fact, I don’t want to talk to you about anything. Good day.” She started to go, but Robin blocked her. “You’re going to want to get out of my way. Now.” He couldn’t help feeling a little intimidated. The woman stared at him with a ferocity he had never seen matched. “I am well respected in this county and I will not be terrorized.”
“I’m not terrorizing you. I’m just asking a question.” Robin stood up.
“Mr. Sammy never hurt a soul. And then they find him out there in the woods without—They wouldn’t let me see him. Because of what he did.”
“Claypath?”
“Yes,” Crusher said, sadly. Rodney seemed to notice her tone and looked up at her, rubbing his head against her leg.
“Was there any evidence that it was Tim? Any proof at all?”
“Whispers. Among the kids. Too many of them came out and said it for it to be not true. Both of them—the Claypaths, they were monsters when they were children. I would have tried to press charges, but I wouldn’t want to go against that family.”
Robin said, “How did you not know Tim Claypath?”
“After what happened to Mr. Sammy, I kept myself to myself. My doctor said I had some kind of anxiety—he put me on some pills. I hardly left the house, and then I just didn’t at all. For three years I kept myself to myself, shut the curtains until my husband got me Rodney. He was just a little puppy when he gave him to me. Now look at him. He saved me, reminded me what was important. And the first walk I took him on... I ran into him.”
Now You See Me Page 12
