Beyond the Dark Waters Trilogy

by Graham West

  He scrolled through the pictures and posts like a child rooting through his presents at Christmas, the excitement building with each fresh image. He stopped at the picture of her in a bikini. Oh my god! She’s fit! Then he felt the twinge of guilt. She’s your sister, you pervert! He moved on through the post. She was crazy about a guy called Jake, and Jake looked like he could handle himself. A six-pack and a good right hook, probably.

  There wasn’t anything about her mother or baby sister, and Darren decided he didn’t want to go looking back that far anyway. Best not dig up the past. His phone flashed up another notification. It was a message.

  Hi Darren. I think we should meet sometime soon. Let me know when.

  It was Jenny again. His sister, Jenny Helen Adams.

  ***

  The name Melissa Ingram was still on Sebastian’s mind. He pushed himself out of his chair, patted Ricky’s head, and told his dog he’d be back soon.

  Pug Williams lived six doors down. He was a young man, born with an unfortunate facial deformity that left him looking as if he’d been run over by a steam roller. But he had accepted the nickname with good humour, and his technical expertise made him popular at school. He was the local phone fixer, and he had made a decent living building and repairing computers. He was also a wiz at digging out information on the internet, and when Sebastian had given him a name, he’d accepted the challenge with heart-warming enthusiasm. “I’d love to help you, Mr. Tint. Come on over.”

  Pug lived with his parents who believed in minimalist living. Sebastian wasn’t sure if they were in the process of moving out when he walked into the lounge behind the flat-nosed seventeen-year-old. No pictures, no books. Just a mirror on a cream wall, a flat screen TV and a long couch alongside a small pine table.

  Pug flicked off the TV. “Follow me,” he said with a mischievous smile. “I’ll take you to my man cave.

  It was a boy cave, to be honest, but, situated on the opposite side of a sparsely decorated hall, it was a room that Sebastian loved the moment he saw it. Posters of the planets, a picture of Stephen Hawkins and, just to affirm his sexuality, a picture of a young woman in her underwear. A modern desk with a large monitor was littered with books and Post It notes alongside several phones and laptops awaiting attention.

  Then, of course, there were the books lining the five wall-length shelves. The planets, space travel, the inevitable computer nerd stuff and several titles suggesting there was life on other planets.

  Sebastian was fascinated by the young boy’s library. “You believe in UFOs, erm—”

  “Pug—call me Pug. I don’t mind.”

  “Okay. You believe in UFOs, Pug?”

  “Sure, I do. Don’t you?”

  Sebastian no longer dismissed anything. He’d spent so many years of his life denying the existence of something that could not be proven but could not be disproven either. “I keep an open mind on the subject,” he replied with a grin.

  “That’s good.” Pug pulled a folding wooden chair in front of the desk and parked himself in a rather luxurious executive leather swivel chair. “Give me half an hour and I could turn you into a believer.”

  Sebastian smiled. “Yes, I don’t doubt it, but maybe another day.”

  Pug nodded, looking slightly disappointed. “Okay, make yourself comfortable, Mr. Tint.”

  Sebastian perched on the small wooden chair as Pug punched in a password on his keyboard; the screen flashed to life with a photograph of the planet Earth. A couple of seconds later, the search engine appeared. “Okay, what was the name?” Pug asked.

  “Melissa Ingram.”

  Sebastian had never seen anyone type so fast. A list of names and titles burst onto the screen. “You said it was a news item?”

  “Something about a court case. Some bloke died in a fire. I think he was a bit of a drug dealer and there was something to do with prostitution.”

  “And who was Melissa?”

  “I’m not sure. I think she was his partner.”

  “Was she a suspect or something?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What news channel was it on? BBC? ITV? Channel Four?”

  “I think it was BBC.”

  Pug nodded absently, still staring ahead. Sebastian watched in awe as images and pages flashed up like sheet lightning. “Who was the bloke that died?” Pug asked. “Can you remember his name?”

  “No. I just recognised Melissa’s name. It’s a long story.”

  Pug just kept on tapping away on the keyboard.

  “Hey,” he said suddenly. “Wanna take a look at some of my books while I’m doing this?”

  Sebastian nodded. Programmes about space still captivated him, and he figured that maybe the boy wasn’t too keen on having some old guy watching over him anyway. He pulled a large volume from the end of the shelf, packed with images of the stars and planets. “This is beautiful. It must have cost a fortune.”

  Pug was engrossed in his quest to find Melissa “Nah, got it off eBay…” There was a pause before he exclaimed suddenly—“Bingo!”—making Sebastian jump. “This is it!”

  “What does it say?” Sebastian asked, looking up and peering over his glasses.

  Pug hummed as he read, something that seemed to help him concentrate. The old man waited.

  “‘The charred remains of a body recently discovered on wasteland beneath a railway bridge in East Sussex have been identified as that of Sean Kaplan.

  “Kaplan went missing two days before he was due in court on a charge of drug dealing, and police believed he had fled the country. The case had already been delayed due to the death of Kaplan’s partner, Melissa Ingram; several young women came forward claiming Kaplan had been involved in people-trafficking and prostitution. Police are treating his death as suspicious and the investigations are continuing.’”

  Pug turned, his face registering a look of mock surprise. “I wonder who would want to fry such a nice guy?”

  Sebastian shook his head. Kayla had claimed her mother had never taken up with another man. If it was the same Melissa Ingram, that was a lie. She had been living with this Kaplan bloke—a drug dealer. Something her daughter wouldn’t have been proud of; something she would want to keep from her biological father.

  “Is everything okay?” Pug asked. “Is that what you wanted?”

  The old man was distracted, deep in thought. What kind of life had Kayla led? Her mother had passed away; that was true. She had written a letter introducing Robert Adams to his daughter; that was true also. Maybe she’d told Kayla to cut and run when she died, knowing that her partner was bad news.

  “Mr. Tint?”

  Sebastian looked up. Pug was watching him, waiting.

  “Oh, I’m sorry—yes. That’s what I wanted. That’s fine, thank you!”

  The young man smiled and tapped the keyboard. Earth flashed up on the screen. “My pleasure,” he said. “If there’s anything else, just holler.”

  Sebastian stood, his bones and muscles protesting as Pug followed him to the door and waved him off, waiting until he was out of sight before no doubt retreating back to his own world. His cave.

  Sebastian smiled to himself. He was pretty good at reading books, and he was almost as good at reading characters. Pug’s curiosity had been awakened. He knew most kids would have left it there, but the Williams boy wasn’t anything like the others. Someone had set fire to a body and he would want to know more. There was nothing in the brief report that suggested how Kaplan had died or where, and blokes like that had plenty of enemies.

  Dealers and traffickers died every day, but Pug Williams would want to know why the kindly old man from down the road—the guy who walked his dog past the front window every day, the guy who had taken a beating only a few weeks ago—had come asking about him.

  ***

  It took Darren Pascoe nearly thirty minutes to get the reply right. It was only a sentence, but it had to be spot on. His first attempt had been something just short of a novel but then he
’d thought twice before tapping the send button. Good job, too. It was a grovelling dialogue, apologising for his very existence and thanking her for agreeing to meet up. He could almost hear Kevin Taylor whispering in his ear. Don’t be such a creep, Pascoe. It’s not her arse you should be licking!

  He deleted it and began again. Cool. How about tomorrow at the coffee house on Brindle Street?

  That was brief and nonchalant. No need to repeat the things he’d already said in the letter. They would have a heart-to-heart over a coffee, or a milkshake—whatever his sister wanted. He pressed send and waited.

  Five minutes passed: nothing. Okay, she’s probably busy. She might not even check her messages again for a while. Darren slipped the phone into his pocket. It was best not to get his hopes up, just in case.

  He sat watching TV and thought about making the evening meal but still didn’t fancy working in that kitchen too much. A programme about a young couple cutting their shopping bill in half was hardly riveting viewing, and it didn’t stop him checking his messages on the off-chance Jenny Adams had managed to sneak a reply that had escaped the notification alert. She hadn’t.

  By the time Harry arrived home from work, Darren had convinced himself that the meeting with his sister was off. She had probably decided her half-brother was a waster and didn’t deserve forgiveness, so he didn’t bother mentioning it over the evening meal of chicken nuggets and oven fries. He was quite happy telling Harry how Kevin Pascoe’s father had turned his life around, because if a loser like Taylor could do it, so could his uncle.

  Harry was surprised, but it was clear that some people were happier living in shit. He liked a simple life, and Darren guessed he wasn’t planning on having a woman around just in case she began replacing the fried food he loved with salads and fresh fruit. He picked at the nuggets, wondering what kind of things his sister liked. So many people were veggies these days. Jenny kind of looked like a veggie. Did she drink? Did she go on benders with her mates and roll in at three in the morning projectile vomiting?

  He would probably never know, now. He’d almost accepted it had all been a waste of time when his uncle called him from the kitchen. “Hey, Daz, get your phone. Someone’s sent you a message.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Robert Adams threw himself back on the couch with a frustrated sigh. “Before you ask,” he growled, “That was Jenny. She’s meeting Pascoe tomorrow!”

  Josie grimaced. She really wasn’t up for a showdown. “At least she told you.”

  Rob shot her a look. “Let’s hope she sees the little runt for what he is. He might share a few of her genes but that’s about it—” Rob stopped abruptly, mid-sentence.

  Jo was looking at him with a sadness in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking.

  “Okay, it’s more genes than I’ve got…”

  Josie shook her head, “Please, hun, let’s not go down that road. There’s no biological connection, but what you have—what you’ve always had—is far greater. It’s love!”

  Rob closed his eyes. “I just couldn’t bear to lose that girl,” he said gloomily. “I know you’re right. My head tells me everything you say is right. But in my heart it’s different!”

  Josie flicked off the early evening game show she’d been watching. Sometimes words were not enough. She sat, perched on the arm of the chair beside him, gently stroking his hair. Rob remained with his eyes closed, a faint smile crossing his lips. Then she hitched up her skirt and slid down onto his knee and felt his hand ride up her thigh. “Want me to show you how much I love you?” she whispered.

  ***

  Dennis Blakely wondered if anyone else could turn a golden opportunity into a crock of shit in such a short space of time. If he’d made an effort with Penny—called her every day, sent her flowers and got his arse back home more often—the police wouldn’t be crawling all over Mosswood like an army of yellow ants.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, his father was on his way back from Portugal, breaking a golfing holiday to see what the hell was going on. “That’s all we fucking need,” Blakely Senior had bellowed down the line. “The press will love this—a murder on a kids’ adventure park. This is gonna cost us mega bucks, Dennis! Mega bucks!”

  His father was mad—mad as hell—but hadn’t blamed his son. It was just bad luck. No, the blame would come later. It would be impossible to keep the truth from a man with the investigative skills of a TV detective. It was only a matter of time before he started asking questions. A solitary night watchman and a single camera? What the hell was he playing at? Blakely didn’t have an answer. This was Tabwell. Everyone around here had plenty of cash. Of course, it seemed a foolish notion now, because everyone knew that thieves travelled.

  It was ironic that the security system he had promised to install would be in by the weekend. Too late for Kim. Too late for him. The camera that had picked up the Mini Cooper late at night revealed nothing. Darth had chosen his time to leave his mark, out of sight. Maybe Kim had seen him and paid with her life.

  Of course he’d told the police about the blood on the grave and the Mini Cooper registered to Jennifer Adams. And, of course they would want to interview the girl who lived more than fifty miles away. But the whole thing was going to blow up in his face.

  Blakely pulled out his phone. There was a missed call from Penny. He tapped the screen and waited. His wife answered after a single ring. “Dennis? Dennis, the police have been here.”

  His heart sank. “I know. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Oh my god, Dennis. It’s awful! I mean, sure, I hated her, but I’d never have wanted her to die. Not like that!”

  “I know,” Blakely replied. “What did the police say to you?”

  “Just questions—did I know the deceased? You know the kind of stuff.”

  “I’m surprised they haven’t got your phone.”

  “Oh, they took it, all right. Downloaded everything and gave it back. You can bet they’ll be looking for that call to a hit man!”

  “They’ll know it wasn’t anything like that,” he replied. “It was some weirdo. He raped her dead body. It was disgusting. I can see her now… Jesus, Penny, it was just…” Blakely stifled the sobs. He hated breaking down in front of his wife.

  “Dennis? It’s okay. I’m going to pack a bag and come on over. You can’t go through this alone!”

  Blakely bit his lip hard. “You don’t have to, not after what I did.”

  Penny was crying too. “Yes, I do! I’m your wife, Dennis. I think you’re forgetting that whatever you’ve done, I’m still your wife.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jenny watched the police car pull up outside the cottage. “We’ve got visitors,” she said nervously. “What the hell do they want?”

  Jake frowned. “Maybe they’ve found your brother stealing another car,” he said, ignoring Jenny’s glare.

  “Will you stop that! Don’t you think all this is hard enough?”

  Two officers got out of the car. The first had white hair and sunken cheeks that made him look as if he should be lying in a hospital bed. He was flanked by a much younger officer who looked more like a college graduate. Jenny’s heart was thumping. This could be anything. It might even be about her father. A road accident?

  She answered the door just as they arrived on the front step. “Jennifer Adams?” the older officer asked.

  Jenny nodded. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m Detective Inspector Ashford, and this is Detective Inspector Dillon.” He stood aside as the younger officer nodded politely. “We just need to ask you a few questions.”

  Jake stood behind her. “Wanna come in?” he said.

  The officers nodded. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

  They followed them into the lounge and took a seat. “There has been an incident at Mosswood in Tabwell,” Ashford began. “I believe you are familiar with the area?”

  Jenny nodded.

  “A young woman—a waitress at The Lake
side Hotel—was murdered in the woodland. At the new adventure park.”

  Jenny felt cold. “Oh God!” she gasped.

  Ashford cut in before Jenny had time to ask. “We suspect it’s the same person who has been desecrating the grave at Mosswood. The same inscription was found on a tree nearby.”

  The shock hit her hard. Jenny shivered as the room started to spin.

  “Miss Adams? Are you okay?”

  Jenny bent forward, holding her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, I just feel…faint.”

  Jake’s arm moved around her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, this must be a bit of a shock,” Officer Dillon said.

  Jenny waited until she felt the blood returning to her head before looking up. The faces of the two policemen came back into focus.

  “The CCTV cameras show a Mini Clubman at the scene on the night the grave at Mosswood was vandalised.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “I know. Mr. Blakely told us, but I can assure you, she was with me all the time. Someone is trying to frame her. They must have been false number plates.”

  Ashford held up his hand. “They were. A much clearer image of the same car appeared on CCTV footage by the local shops. It’s an almost identical model, but not quite.”

  Jake frowned. “Not quite?”

  The younger officer smiled. “Let’s just say we don’t need to start looking for fingerprints on your car. The one we saw by the shops had tinted windows.”

  Jenny breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  The older of the two officers studied her with more than a little concern. “Look,” he continued, anxious to reassure her, “it was clearly a man who was responsible for the murder, but we just need to put all the pieces together. If it is someone trying to frame you, we need to know why.”