I crammed my bag on the floor under a seat, then got in the front passenger side next to Rachel.
‘I locked the door,’ I told her, handing her the key. ‘Force of habit. I’ve just had a failed break-in at my flat, but I don’t suppose you need to bother too much out here.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ she said, starting the engine. ‘There was a spate of burglaries not long after I arrived. Creek House was broken into.’
‘Did they take much?’ I was surprised thieves would go to the trouble of coming all this way.
‘Nothing that couldn’t be replaced, just computers and the usual stuff. But the timing wasn’t exactly ideal.’ Her face set at the memory as we pulled away. ‘Makes you wonder about people, doesn’t it?’
Rachel looked small behind the wheel of the big old car, but she handled it well enough. She was a confident driver, manoeuvring the reluctant gearstick into place with obvious familiarity. And less forcefully than the last time she’d driven me.
‘I used to drive one of these,’ I told her, trying to lighten the mood. ‘I thought that was pretty ancient but it wasn’t as old as this.’
‘Yeah, Jamie says this is one of the first models. He found it at a scrap yard and rebuilt it from spare parts.’ Trask had told me as much, but I’d not really appreciated what a good job his son had done. For all its age, the old Land Rover was beautifully restored. Rachel forcibly changed gear as we approached a bend. ‘What did you think of it?’
‘I liked it,’ I said. Being back in a Defender brought back associations for me, not all of them pleasant. But that wasn’t the fault of the car.
‘Yeah, they’re real workhorses. No power steering, so it’s a bit like driving a tank. On these roads they’re good fun, though.’
‘I imagine the snorkel comes in handy as well.’
She gave an arch smile. ‘Especially when some townie gets caught by the tide.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Don’t worry. You weren’t the first, and I doubt you’ll be the last.’ Her grin faded as she saw something up ahead. ‘Oh, great.’
A tall, thin figure was shambling down the middle of the road, heading away from us. Even from the back I recognized the man I’d almost run down on my way to the mortuary. He seemed oblivious of the Land Rover’s approach.
‘Come on, Edgar, get out of the way,’ Rachel said with a sigh, slowing almost to a stop.
‘You know him?’ I asked.
‘Everybody round here knows him. He does this all the time.’
‘I know. I nearly knocked him down the other day.’ I shrugged when she glanced at me. ‘That’s why I tried to take the causeway.’
‘Bet it seemed a good idea at the time.’ She wound down the window and leaned her head out. ‘Edgar? Edgar, can you get off the road, please?’
It was like a replay of two days ago. The man trudged on unhurriedly without looking around. The baggy raincoat flapped around his knees as the muddy wellingtons slapped rhythmically on the road.
‘What’s that he’s carrying?’ I asked. His arms were crooked, clutching something to his chest, but from behind him I couldn’t see what it was.
‘God knows. He’s always rescuing things, even if they don’t need it.’ Rachel leaned out of the window again. ‘Come on, Edgar. Edgar!’
The gaunt figure continued along the road, giving no indication that he’d heard.
‘Bloody hell,’ Rachel muttered, and stopped the car. She got out, and after a second I did as well. The man hadn’t seemed violent, but cadaverous or not he still dwarfed Rachel. Me too, if it came to that.
She fell into step alongside him. ‘It’s me, Edgar. Rachel.’
Only now did he seem to register her presence. He spoke without looking at her or breaking stride.
‘I’m in a hurry.’
‘I know, but you need to walk at the side of the road, not in the middle. I’ve told you before.’ Rachel’s tone was firm but friendly.
‘What’ve you got there?’
‘It’s hurt.’
His voice was low and hushed, as though he was distracted. But at least he was responding, which was more than he’d done the last time I’d encountered him. I’d hung back so as not to unsettle him, but I was close enough to see the bundle of spines cradled against his chest. A hedgehog, limp and unmoving. I remembered the seagull he’d been carrying before.
‘It’s dead, Edgar,’ Rachel told him gently. ‘You can’t help it.’
‘It’s hurt,’ he repeated.
She gave me a what-can-you-do glance. ‘OK, Edgar. But you need to walk on the side of the road. The side, OK? Not the middle. You’ll get knocked down, like you nearly did a couple of days ago. Do you remember Dr Hunter?’
The man’s protuberant eyes passed over me. ‘Hello, Edgar,’ I said.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, but that was the only indication he knew I was there. Rachel motioned for me to drop back and lowered her voice. ‘It might be better if you stayed here. He doesn’t like anything new.’
I looked uncertainly at the scarecrow-like figure. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’
‘Don’t worry, he’s harmless.’
I stayed back while she hurried to catch him up, although I kept close enough in case he proved her wrong. I still didn’t feel any sense of threat from him, but fear makes people unpredictable. Gangly or not, if he grew agitated he might hurt someone without meaning to.
But Rachel was already steering him to the side of the road, her hand on his grubby arm. She spoke to him in a reassuring voice too low for me to catch, but whatever she said seemed to do the trick. Watching him to make sure he kept to the edge of the road, she came back.
‘OK, let’s go before he changes his mind.’
We got back in the car. Rachel pulled away, driving slowly and giving the gaunt figure a wide berth until we were past him.
‘Will he be OK?’ I asked.
‘There aren’t many cars out here. Anyway, if we took him home he’d only come straight back out again.’
‘Have you any idea what’s wrong with him?’
‘Not medically. He just doesn’t seem aware of much that’s going on. I’ve wondered if he might be autistic or something, but no one seems to know. He’s got a thing about injured animals, though. Always rescuing something or other. God knows what he does with them all.’
I was no expert, but even if he did place somewhere on the autistic spectrum, I thought it likely he had other mental health issues as well. ‘Where does he live?’
‘In a run-down cottage in the Backwaters. I’ve been past a few times, and it’s pretty grim. If you think we’re isolated you should see that.’
‘He lives by himself?’ From what I’d seen, Edgar didn’t seem capable of functioning independently.
‘He does now. The story is that he was some kind of academic or naturalist. He used to be married with a young daughter, but then the little girl disappeared. Went out to play one day and never came back. Everyone thought she must have drowned, but Edgar never recovered. His wife left him, so now he spends his time searching the Backwaters for his daughter. If you believe the locals, anyway,’ she added.
‘The police never found her?’ I asked, struck by the eerie echoes to Rachel’s sister. If the story was true then Emma Derby wasn’t the Backwaters’ first victim.
‘No, but there’s no connection with Emma, if that’s what you’re wondering.’ Rachel kept her voice neutral as she spoke. ‘It was twenty-odd years ago, and it’s probably mostly gossip anyway. You even get some people saying Edgar murdered his own daughter, or that he rescues birds and animals because he couldn’t save her. It’s best to take it all with a pinch of salt.’
We’d reached the outskirts of town. Rachel fell silent as we passed a weather-beaten road sign that proclaimed Welcome to Cruckhaven. Below it someone had spray-painted Now fuck off.
‘Catchy slogan,’ I said, to change the subject.
‘Wait till you see the town.’
We passed a scattering of small bungalows and then came to a main street of brick and pebble-dash shops. She pulled up next to a concrete quay, stubby metal mooring posts sprouting from its edge like fossilized tree stumps.
‘Jamie wrote down what sort of spark plugs you need,’ Rachel said, handing me a piece of paper with scrawled handwriting on it. ‘The petrol station’s a bit further along this road. You can’t miss it. I’ve just got a few groceries to buy, so shall I meet you back here in, oh, half an hour?’
I said that was OK, trying not to show the unexpected disappointment I felt. What did you expect? Her to come along and hold your hand? ‘While I’m here is there anything worth seeing?’ I asked.
‘Depends how much you like closed shops and mud.’
‘I’ll take that as a no, shall I?’ I said, looking out of the car window at the tired seaside town.
‘Afraid so. Whatever Cruckhaven used to have going for it went belly-up long before I got here. There’s a fish and chip van that might be open, and a coffee shop on the quayside that’s making an effort. If you get bored with the sights they make a decent latte.’
‘Why don’t you meet me there?’
I said it before I’d even thought. Rachel looked surprised and I cursed myself for putting her on the spot. I was about to try to dig my way out of it when she surprised me in return.
‘Are you offering cake as well?’
I pretended to consider. ‘I might.’
She grinned. ‘See you there.’
12
THERE ARE FEW sights sadder than a working town that doesn’t work any more. Cruckhaven had that look. On a bank holiday, any normal seaside resort should have been bustling. Here the main road was all but deserted and half of the businesses on the small harbour front were closed. There was an old souvenir shop that looked as though it hadn’t been open in years. Its window was lined with yellow cellophane to protect the display from the sun, but its corners had come away and now drooped forlornly. Dead flies lay in the window bottom along with crab-lines, seashell trinkets and bleached-out postcards, as though the owner had locked up one day and never come back.
There were a few people about, though not many. Harassed young mothers wore thousand-yard stares as they pushed prams, and a gang of teenagers sulked on a street bench, eyeing passers-by like potential prey. I’d not taken much notice of the town when I’d driven through it before, more concerned with getting to the recovery operation. Now I saw what a drab place it was.
I walked to the edge of the harbour and looked out. Where there should have been lapping water there was only oily mud, even though it wasn’t yet low tide. The harbour was almost completely silted up, so much so that weeds and wiry-looking grass were growing in it. An unsafe-looking wooden jetty extended out to the few small boats moored in what sluggish water there was, but it had the look of a makeshift, temporary measure.
I watched a black and white bird picking through the mud on delicate, stilt-like legs. Lundy had told me the estuary had been silting up for years, and the problem was obviously worse this much further inland. In a few more years the harbour would choke up altogether, and then Cruckhaven would have lost any remaining reason for its existence.
No wonder there was local support for Sir Stephen Villiers’ plans to build a marina. Having met the man, I couldn’t see him letting much get in his way, certainly not the concerns of environmentalists. And for the people trying to scrape a living here, the prospect of new jobs and regeneration must seem like a lifeline. But I could also remember the almost casual manner in which Sir Stephen had regarded the remains of his son, and was glad I didn’t have to entrust my future to that cold and indifferent gaze. Any pact with him was likely to be a Faustian one.
I’d dawdled long enough. Turning from the harbour, I set off along the road in the direction Rachel had indicated for the petrol station. The estuary was less clogged with silt out here, the mud mostly covered by small waves. At the water’s edge I passed the body of a gull, eyes pecked out of a head that rolled loosely back and forth. The sight reminded me of Edgar, scuffling along on his search for injured animals. Or dead ones, I thought, recalling the hedgehog he’d been carrying; he evidently couldn’t tell the difference.
I hoped the story Rachel had told me about his missing daughter was just a local myth, but I doubted it could all be made up. Even if the details had become blurred or exaggerated over time, the disappearance of a little girl from a small community like this wasn’t something people would forget, even twenty-odd years later. And perhaps it wasn’t so far-fetched after all that her father was still trying to find her. Looking back on my own behaviour, I wasn’t sure I’d been entirely sane myself after Kara and Alice died. Grief is devastating even for those with family and friends to support them. For someone living alone in an isolated place like the Backwaters, it wasn’t difficult to imagine how their mental health could disintegrate.
There but for the grace of God …
Whatever had happened to Edgar, I’d feel happier knowing that social services were aware of him. Making a mental note to check into it when I got back, I looked up and saw a sign for the petrol station up ahead. But before that, on the estuary side of the road, was another sign, this one large and hand-painted on peeling timber.
Coker’s Marine and Auto.
In smaller lettering under it were the words Salvage, Spares and Repairs. Not so good on the repairs, evidently.
The sign was suspended above a single-storey prefabricated building set on a small quay. Small boats of varying degrees of decrepitude were moored in cramped berths and lined up on the muddy bank by the quayside, exposing algae-smeared hulls. A muddy pick-up truck was parked in front of the prefab, along with several other cars in various states of disrepair.
I’d stopped when I realized what the place was. It crossed my mind to go and find whoever I’d spoken to – Coker, presumably – but there was no point getting into an argument. He’d evidently got some grudge against Trask, and a pretty weighty one if he was prepared to turn down work. From the look of things the yard wasn’t exactly thriving.
But before I could walk away a man stepped out from behind one of the boats. He was middle-aged, with oil-stained blue overalls stretched tight over a big frame. An equally grimy baseball cap was tilted back on the dirty blond hair. He held some sort of engine part in his hands, wiping it on a greasy rag. Shrewd eyes regarded me from a heavy-featured face running to fat as he tilted his chin in enquiry.
‘Help you?’
The gravelly voice was the same one I’d spoken to on the phone. ‘No thanks.’
‘Then what’s so interesting about my yard?’ He wore a smile but there was nothing friendly about it. ‘Just admiring the view?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Yeah, people are always doing that. How’s the car? Still fucked?’ His smile broadened at my surprise. A crooked incisor gave him a faintly wolfish look. ‘I’ve got an ear for accents. And we don’t get that many visitors.’
‘I wonder why.’
The smile slipped a notch but stayed in place. ‘Trask’s son got it running, did he?’
‘Yes, he did.’ I wondered if I should just walk away. But for some reason this felt like a confrontation, and I knew better than to turn my back.
The man nodded. His hands carried on wiping the engine part, slowly turning it in the rag. ‘Thought as much. So you staying out there with ’em?’
‘Why?’
‘Because you can give him a message.’ His face twisted, all pretence dropped. ‘Tell that wanker—’
Before he could finish the prefab door opened and a girl came out. ‘Dad, I can’t find the—’
It was the girl I’d seen with Jamie two days before. She wasn’t dressed quite as skimpily today, but her red jeans and tight sweater still looked out of place in the salvage yard. She broke off when she saw me, recognition blanking her face. Then she hurriedly went on.
‘I, uh, I can’t find
the petty cash tin. Do you know where it is?’
It was a good attempt but didn’t fool her father. His eyes narrowed as they went from one of us to the other.
‘You know him?’
‘No, course not!’ the girl said quickly.
‘Then why’d it look like you did?’ His daughter blinked, her mouth opening as though she hoped an excuse would form by itself. He turned to me. ‘Well?’
Behind him, the girl gave me an imploring look that seemed close to panic.
‘Well what?’ I asked.
‘Don’t get smart. How do you know each other?’
‘We don’t.’ It wasn’t quite a lie: I might have seen her before but I didn’t know her.
‘I’m not fucking stupid. She’s seen you somewhere.’
I guessed then what was going on, and bit back the impulse to say he should ask his daughter. The girl looked terrified. Whatever issue her father had with Trask, it was enough to make her scared he’d find out she’d visited his son.
‘I came through here the other day,’ I said. ‘She might have seen me then.’
‘What are you doing out here?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ I said easily.
It was my turn to stare him down. I could see the doubt forming as he wondered who I was. His daughter stood by, anxiously worrying at a glossy red thumbnail. It was a good time to leave.
‘Nice meeting you,’ I said, vaguely enough to mean either of them.
Leaving them there, I turned and walked away.
The petrol station was only a little way along the road. It was small, with two pumps that offered an obscure brand of fuel I’d never heard of. But as well as the spark plugs I needed it sold a few basic groceries as well, so I was able to buy replacements for the food Rachel had brought to the boathouse.
As I walked past the salvage yard I half expected to be accosted again, but there was no sign of anyone there.
Back at the quayside, I found a cashpoint machine and drew out what I hoped would be enough to pay Jamie. If it wasn’t I’d have to send the rest once I got back to London. The thought of returning was depressing, so I put it from my mind and went to meet Rachel.
The Restless Dead Page 13
