by Graham West
“I really need the mobile!” he protested. “It’s my lifeline!”
“They all say that, Mr. Blakely,” the officer replied. “We just need to check the calls. I’m sure you understand.”
Blakely nodded and they promised they would return it as soon as they’d checked the data, but if the DNA sample he had provided wasn’t a match then they didn’t think anything on his mobile would be relevant anyway. But Blakely realised that he knew precious little about Kim, the woman he’d been prepared to sacrifice his marriage for. Now, to make things worse, Penny was about to be dragged into a police investigation.
“Why do you need to question her?” Blakely asked, unable to hide his exasperation. “She doesn’t have a penis! She doesn’t even have women’s orgasms!” That was far too much information.
The officer smiled. “We have to question everyone, not just suspects. A woman has been murdered, just a few days after you left your wife. It’s obvious we will want to talk to her.”
Four hours later, Blakely was lying on his hotel bed waiting for the pills to kick in. The migraine had made him vomit again, and now it felt like he had a head full of bricks and a belly full of acid. He had his mobile back, but he couldn’t bear to look at it. Everything to do with Kim was there, lurking behind the screen. He closed his eyes, and eventually the pills took him into a restless sleep while the TV flickered in the background. But after an hour, his phone rang. Kim’s breasts flashed up.
“Leave me alone you sick fucker!” he hissed.
There was a moment of silence. “You found her then!” Darth growled
The familiar brusque tone sent a chill down his spine.
“I trust you enjoyed your time with the law? I do hope you were a good boy and answered all their questions honestly?”
Blakely closed his eyes, his heart hammering. “What do you want?”
Darth spoke slowly, his words measured. He was a confident killer. “Your girl certainly enjoyed screwing you, didn’t she? Those text messages! Those pictures! They still turn me on.”
“Stop it!” Blakely screamed. “You sad, screwed up pervert!”
“Whoa, temper. Don’t anger me, Mr. Blakely, or I’ll come back and put a bullet through your head. Only I promise I won’t fuck you when you’re dead. I’m strictly heterosexual.”
Blakely shuddered. He had to ask. “Why did you kill her? Why? What had she done to you?”
“I already told you. She came snooping. I was leaving another little message for the Adams clan.”
“What have you got against them?” Blakely barked. “Why are you doing this?”
“Ah, that would be giving far too much away, Mr. Blakely. I will catch up with Jennifer in good time. I can wait. She is a good-looking woman. She won’t be dead when I have her, I promise you that!”
Blakely wished someone would wake him. Guys like this existed only in films and you watched them in safety from behind a mountain of popcorn. They didn’t pop up on the end of the phone. “You’re sick,” he blasted back, “Why are you telling me this? You know I’m going to tell the police!”
“No, you won’t, Mr. Blakely. I see everything, and if you breathe a word of this to Jenny or the law, it’ll be your coffin they’ll be lowering into the ground.” The phone went dead.
It took several minutes before Blakely’s heart slowed to a regular rhythm. This guy wasn’t playing around. He might be bluffing, but was it worth taking the chance? If he told the police, he could end up dead. If he called Jenny—what if her phone had been hacked?
Darth knew he wouldn’t risk his life. He probably realised that underneath the suit and the film-star looks, he was dealing with a coward. Blakely closed his eyes and wished he was somewhere else. Anywhere but Tabwell.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jenny was wakened from a peaceful sleep by something that felt like a jolt of electricity. She lay for a moment, staring silently at the ceiling. Jake lay next to her, breathing softly. They’d reached a tenuous truce, and he’d come home late the previous evening, reluctantly agreeing not to fight over the ‘Darren thing’.
She waited a while before deciding it might be better to get up and take a hot shower before trying to get back to sleep. It was only one-thirty, far too early for giving up and watching a movie on Netflix. Showers usually did the trick. Jenny rose, carefully sliding from under the duvet and tiptoeing to the bathroom, where she closed the door. She stepped under the warm spray, softly singing the words of a lullaby her mother had sung to her every night. Close your eyes, little girl…
She stopped suddenly. Jenny caught sight of something through the shower curtain; a shadow. No, it wasn’t something—it was someone. A figure. She threw back the curtain, staring into the swirling steam. But there was no one there. Amelia had vanished.
Jenny stepped out, pulling a towel around her before reaching over to turn off the jets of hot water. Something distracted her. A sound—a sound that reminded her of those days as a child when she would write her name in the condensation on her bedroom window. She glanced over towards the mirror and her heartbeat kicked into overdrive. The message was written in capitals. SLEEP.
Amelia was there in the misted reflection—a woman, yet still a child, her features free of nature’s curses. Jenny wiped her hand across the surface, expecting to see nothing but the wall behind her. But Amelia remained, tears of blood trickling down her cheeks. Her lips stayed closed but her voice echoed in Jenny’s head. I’m waiting….
She nodded as the reflection faded. Sleep. She wants to meet me in my dreams. The steam seemed to follow Jenny as she made her way back and slid beneath the duvet next to Jake. Sleep? How? Amelia was waiting. Her guardian angel.
It was only minutes before the scent of the woodland filled the room. Jenny breathed in deeply, feeling the dew from the sweet meadow grass cooling her feet. “But I’m not even asleep? How can I be here?”
But you are here.
Jenny spun around.
Amelia stood beneath the branches of an old twisted tree, the leaves of which seemed to possess an almost translucent glow. Her face was fresh, her skin like silk, almost white. Amelia smiled gently and cupped her hand behind her ear.
“What is it? Why do I have to listen?” Jenny asked.
Amelia held a finger to her lips.
“You mean I have to be quiet? But why?”
The image seemed to flicker and fade before her, and Jenny woke suddenly. Jake was breathing deeply as if he had become unconsciously aware of a presence. It was four-thirty. Three hours had passed. Maybe it would be a good time to get herself a caffeine hit and make a start on that assignment. The cottage seemed to sleep at night too, like a wise old man who had learned to rest in complete silence—no movement, no creaks, no birdsong. Jenny had been unnerved by the silence in those first few months but had soon learned to appreciate the peace and total solitude. Now she felt vulnerable again. Someone was waiting out there. Waiting for her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Robert Adams sat cradling a cup of warm coffee, staring into the face of the only man he really trusted.
Sebastian Tint smiled the way he imagined God might smile when his errant children got things wrong. There was understanding in his eyes. “I can see why you think that this boy might be dangerous, but if he had malice in his heart, why would he write to your daughter? Why would he forewarn her of his presence?”
Rob shrugged. “I just thought it might be him. You know, doing all that stuff to the grave.”
The old man shook his head. “Look, I’m not saying that it would be impossible, just unlikely. He’s fresh out of a youth offenders’ prison, and yes, maybe he has been plotting his revenge, but I think if he’d been responsible for the messages, he wouldn’t have written that letter.”
Rob stiffened. “What? You’ve seen it?” he asked irritably.
Sebastian nodded. “Yes, Robert. But please don’t take it out on the girl. She didn’t want to upset you. She just needed someone
to talk to.”
Had he still been alive, her grandfather would have been the one Jenny turned to. Now, it seemed that the old professor had become an integral part of their family. Rob’s spirits sank, but there was no point in making an issue out of it. This wasn’t the time to let petty jealousies bubble to the surface. “So what do you think? I mean, honestly?” he asked, composing himself.
“I think you need to give your daughter a little time. This young man obviously wants to be a part of Jenny’s life. You have to let her decide.” Sebastian leaned forward, his voice lowered as if there were people in the room who might overhear. “Imagine if it were Kayla who had been involved in that accident—suppose it was her asking for your forgiveness. Would you find it so easy to tear up the letter?”
Rob felt the twist of guilt that accompanied every memory of his other daughter’s visit over two years ago. “Josie said exactly the same thing. But the fact is, I did reject her. I had to think of Jenny.”
Rob’s stomach turned. The very thought of Darren Pascoe brought back vivid memories of that Sunday afternoon and those days in the courtroom. How he wished he had a gun. How he would have happily pulled the trigger and blown those kids’ heads clean off their shoulders. If he was ever going to accept Pascoe as Jenny’s brother then he required time too. Plenty of it.
“You look like you need a few days away,” Sebastian said.
“I would love that,” Rob replied dourly. “But if I took a holiday now, I’d never want to come back.”
The old man smiled. “I know how hard it is. But a short break is better than the bottle.”
Rob shrugged, glancing down at the wedding ring on his finger. He had decided against that beer the other night, and he was feeling as if one more hurdle had been overcome. The dreaded occasional drink. “I’m a big boy. I’ve learned to say no. And if we’re in some kind of danger from this grave vandal, I need to be sober.”
But when Rob looked up, Sebastian was staring into space, his mind distracted, his eyes fixed upon something Rob couldn’t see. “You need to speak to Jenny,” he said in a whisper that sounded almost ethereal.
“Speak to Jenny? About what? Darren?”
The old man shook his head slowly. “You need to keep her close. You all need to be close. You all need to…listen.”
Rob frowned. “I don’t understand. We are close.”
“Closer,” Sebastian said, his eyes still fixed ahead.
Rob shuddered. A coldness ran the length of his body. The old man blinked hard, as if someone had woken him from an afternoon nap.
“Closer?” Rob asked.
Sebastian looked confused. “What?”
“You said that we needed to be closer.”
“Closer? Did I?”
Rob smiled. “You must have zoned out.”
“I was talking?” he asked, looking bewildered.
“Yes, and you were kind of…staring at something.”
Sebastian frowned. “I’m sorry, I sometimes get those moments.”
Rob stood. “Look, I’d better get going,” he said. “You’re probably tired. I can see myself out.”
He turned at the door. The professor was looking at him with sadness in his eyes. He didn’t seem as contented recently. Perhaps the beating had taken it out of him.
“Robert?” he said slowly. “You said I zoned out?”
“Yeah, you did.”
He looked pensive. “Well, whatever I said, whatever I told you… Please do it.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Darren Pascoe hadn’t cried since they told him his mother had died. Mr. Alvarez had found him sitting on the floor in a foetal position, wailing uncontrollably. Alvarez was a burly no nonsense kind of bloke, born to working with troubled teenagers, and Darren believed that if it hadn’t been for him, he might never have survived. The sedatives worked over the first few days, but it was during the following months that Alvarez had sat and held him like a son, ignoring the regulations that discouraged physical contact.
He wondered what Taylor’s father had thought of him, turning up on his doorstep like that. The man who had turned his life around. The man who would provide a home—a family home—for his crazy dumb fuck of a son when he eventually stopped fighting and got himself a slice of freedom.
Kevin Taylor didn’t deserve a family. A mother, a father and a little sister. He didn’t deserve a home—a clean home where he could get himself straight. He didn’t have to shack up with an uncle he barely knew and beg forgiveness from a sister who probably wished he was dead. Life wasn’t fair. Some people paid for their mistakes—others didn’t. Kevin Taylor was one of those others.
Darren couldn’t face the grease pit and told his uncle he had a stomach bug and would be back at the garage tomorrow. He’d thought about visiting the grave, just to check if anyone had picked up the note he’d left, but no, Uncle Harry was right—he had to be patient.
There were two twenty-pound notes in his pocket. Enough to keep his mind off things for a couple of hours. Maybe that pair of trainers he’d seen in the sale would still be on the shelf. Darren slipped on a sweat top and headed for the nearest stop just as the bus pulled in. He shoved a few coins in the driver’s tray and made his way to the back of the empty bus. It was a fifteen-minute journey. Fifteen minutes staring out of the window through reddened eyes. Gazing out at the world: the dog walkers, the local shoppers, the old folks making their way back to the bingo hall for their daily gambling fix.
Life went on, never stopping for anyone. People were screwing, eating, fighting and dying every minute of every day. No one would really care what he did with his life. No one would really care too much if he followed his parents into an early grave.
***
Jenny sat in the corner of The Keys with a Coke and a chicken wrap. She wasn’t hungry but skipping meals never worked for her. The headaches usually kicked in a long time before her stomach started grumbling, so Josie had insisted that she had something to eat and, of course, it was on the house.
She stared absentmindedly at the history of modern art book she’d borrowed from Kelly, but her mind was on the dream. What did it really mean? Amelia was floating around her head, a free but anxious spirit. Did Jake have a past she knew nothing about? Did he have enemies lurking in the shadows?
She was trying to recall the article Sebastian had written about Amelia for the journal. It was all very deep and, in some parts, kind of confusing. But most of it made perfect sense. Spirits found it easier to communicate with the living when they were caught between the two worlds; the conscious and the sub-conscious. Jenny had seen Amelia’s reflection in the bathroom mirror and caught sight of a shadow through the shower curtain. Maybe such appearances had taken up too much energy.
The professor had likened it to viewing a TV screen in bright sunlight. The brightness and the contrast could be turned up but only to a point. It was easier just to close the curtains. Perhaps that was what Amelia was doing—waiting until the curtains were closed, waiting until the lights went out…
“What’s up, hun?”
Jenny looked up to find Josie sitting opposite.
“You certainly aren’t reading that book!”
The bar was quiet, just a few couples taking an early lunch with coffee. Jo had time on her hands, and it was obvious she wasn’t going anywhere.
“I dunno, I’m just scared, I guess,” Jenny confessed. “I feel as if I’m waiting for something to happen, but I don’t know what it is.”
Josie gave her one of those maternal smiles that seemed to come so naturally. “Is that why you’re here? You don’t want to be alone in the house?”
Jenny nodded. “Would you?”
“Look, maybe you would feel better letting the police know about the graves. I’ll come with you, if that would help?”
Jenny shook her head. “It’s just mindless vandalism in their eyes. Besides, they kind of know about Amelia’s grave already.”
“But if you really think
you’re in some kind of danger—”
“I just don’t want them digging around. I don’t want to go into the whole Amelia story again.”
Josie shrugged. “It’s your call, hun. I just thought it might help.”
Jenny stared down at her half-eaten wrap. “There would be no point unless they agreed to park up outside the cottage twenty-four hours a day.”
Josie patted her hand. “Well, you’re always welcome here. I’ve got work to do, but just ask Lou if you want another drink. Okay?”
The book on modern art was as dull as its cover and would have been hard work even without the threat of the unknown hanging over her. Jenny finished her wrap and left, giving Josie a half-hearted wave on the way. She sat behind the wheel of her car and logged onto her Facebook page. Find friends. She paused for a moment, her hands trembling. Then she tapped in her brother’s name.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Darren Pascoe hadn’t bothered too much with the whole social media thing. Sure, he’d given it a go, sending out at least twenty friend requests—old schoolmates, a couple of lads from the youth offenders’ home—he liked that word better—but only six had responded. He’d not been surprised. No one wanted to get too involved with a child killer, and many of his so-called friends from school had already distanced themselves when he’d got involved with Kevin Taylor.
Nevertheless, as he sat at the back of the bus, he checked his phone more out of habit than hope. But now there was a notification. Someone had sent him a friend request. He felt a tingle of excitement, although he guessed it was probably another billy-no-mates wanting to chat or maybe, just maybe, some lonely woman looking for company.
He tapped the screen and stared at the name that flashed before him. His stomach lurched up to his chest. Jenny Helen. It couldn’t be, could it? Jenny Helen? Helen was probably her middle name, and it would explain why he couldn’t find her on Facebook. He accepted the request and clicked onto her profile. There she was. Jenny. His sister. He knew the face; he knew it only too well. The old worn photo wasn’t particularly clear, but there was no mistaking her.
