by Lucy Carver
‘This is the deep shit Guy was talking about back in the stable,’ Jack decided. ‘He was telling Harry, “You got yourself into this mess in the first place, now sort it.”’
‘We’d better keep moving.’ I took a left fork on the bridleway and cycle path, down from the ridge towards the neat and spacious grounds of Upwood House. Dark green clipped yews stood in rows beneath the graceful silver branches of ancient beech trees. I only stopped when we reached a sign advertising opening hours and entrance costs.
‘Harry said Chris Cooke was working with a guy called Audley,’ Jack reminded me. ‘Who the hell is he?’
‘Charles Audley, 204 Bristol Road – Chairman of Ainslee CRP.’ I had Hooper to thank for this nugget of information – intense, serious Hooper who never asked for anything but was always there. ‘Look over the far side of the car park – see the white truck?’
Jack nodded and we were so busy reading the green lettering down the side – Green Shoots – C. P. Audley, Landscape Gardener – that we didn’t notice a thickset guy in his forties carrying a sack of garden waste down some stone steps. It was only when he tipped the dead leaves into the back of the truck that we saw him.
He’d already spotted us so it was too late to duck out of sight. ‘The house is closed,’ he called helpfully.
‘OK, thanks!’ Jack turned away while I stared at Audley to discover whether or not he was wearing the CRP ring.
‘How far did you cycle?’ Audley asked, striding across the car park. He looked less friendly than he sounded, with his shaved head and deep frown marks between dark eyebrows. And, yes, he was wearing the ring.
‘Not far,’ I told him, swinging my bike round to follow Jack.
‘You’re not from St Jude’s, by any chance?’ Audley’s head was to one side, his bottom jaw jutted out – attentive and ready to break out into aggression.
‘No!’ As usual my reply was too fast and an octave too high. I must teach myself not to misjudge my lies like this – role play and rehearse until I grew more convincing.
‘Yeah, St Jude’s,’ Audley contradicted, as if my one short negative had told him everything he needed to know. ‘You’re Alyssa Stephens.’
I launched myself back along the track, not quick enough to stop the CRP chairman from cutting across in front of me. He grasped my handlebars, swung the front end of the bike sideways and knocked me clean off. As I sprawled on the floor, I saw Jack brake and turn round, riding his bike straight at Audley, who had time to sidestep and let Jack veer off the track smack into the upright post of a visitor-information notice board. I heard the impact – was helpless as Audley dragged him off his bike and punched him.
Jack fought back. He’s strong and gave as good as he got. I scrambled to my feet, yelling for Audley to stop, but my shouts only brought Chris Cooke and Harry racing down the stone steps – the last thing we needed. Chris piled in to help his Green Shoots boss, taking turns to trade blows with Jack while Harry grabbed me round the waist and threw me back on to the ground face down, stamping his foot into the small of my back.
Audley and Chris together were too much for Jack. They used fists and then feet, kicking at him and forcing him across the car park until they had him backed up against the flat-back truck.
I tried to roll away from Harry and crawl free, but he only ground me down harder with his boot. Just able to turn my head, I saw Audley seize a garden spade from the back of his truck and swing it at Jack’s head. I heard the thud of impact, watched Jack go down and stay down. Not a flicker – nothing.
Oh God, let him not be dead!
Quickly Audley gave the order for Cooke to help him lift Jack into the truck. Together they raised him out of the dirt and tossed him like a limp scarecrow in among the dead leaves and clippings.
‘Stay with Harry,’ Audley told Cooke as he flung open the driver’s door and climbed in. The engine choked into life then tyres crunched over gravel. Audley reversed the truck and swung it round towards the gate, passing within a metre of where I lay.
‘Deal with her,’ Audley yelled out of his window as he disappeared with Jack. ‘Do whatever you have to do.’
Oh God, let him not be dead!
Twisting the upper half of my body, I used all my strength to free my arms from under me and catch hold of Harry’s ankle. He tried to kick me away, but I held on and toppled him. He swore as he crashed down on top of me.
Cooke laughed at him – a big insult and a mistake. This is Harry Embsay, remember.
Still swearing, Harry leaped to his feet to confront Cooke, giving me a chance finally to roll and heave myself up from the ground with gravel embedded in my bleeding palms and gasping for breath. I was up and off, lifting my bike as a shield to fend off Harry and Cooke, smashing it against their chests, dropping it and running on along the bridle path towards the old abbey. They were close behind, trampling through bushes, trying to cut me off. I veered away from the track, and half slipped, half ran down the steep hill towards the river. I could see it snaking through the valley, glinting in the last of the sun’s rays. If I could just make it to the abbey ruins and find somewhere to hide . . .
I was down the hill, out of the cover of the oak trees and on to open grassland, deserted except for a scattering of cold, miserable sheep. I sprinted on towards the abbey.
Cooke and Harry hadn’t gained on me until we were in the open, but then they seemed to pick up pace. Looking over my shoulder to check, I hit a dip in the ground and stumbled, picked myself up and changed direction.
‘Split up. You go that way, I’ll go this – we’ll cut her off before she reaches the river, no problem,’ Harry told Cooke.
That stubborn suffragette gene kicked in. Who did these guys think they were – saying they could sprint ahead and capture me in a pincer movement? No way! I can outrun you – watch me!
I flew over the rough grass, beat them to the water’s edge and without pausing I sprang on to the first stepping stone. Harry crunched to a halt on the gravel bank and it was Cooke who followed me.
I hurried on as fast as I could across the worn, mossy stones – step then balance, step again. The river was deep after melted snow and rain, the current dangerous. I knew it, but I was dead set on not losing my balance. I fixed my sights on the far bank and kept on going.
Cooke came after me. I could hear his feet land with a splash and take off again. I was more sure footed and I spread out my arms to keep my balance – until I reached the middle of the river and the low sun suddenly dazzled me.
I paused to shield my eyes, heard Cooke lurch and splash. Now the sun was in his eyes too, blinding him. There was another splash – no yelling, no crying out as he lost his balance and fell into the water.
The dark brown current boiled to either side of the stepping stone. By the time I turned round, the black undertow had sucked Cooke below the surface. A few seconds later he resurfaced fifteen metres downstream – just his head and left arm. Frozen in horror, I saw the water spin him round, drag him down again then push him up to the surface twenty metres further away, in the deepest part of the river. His mouth opened and he gulped in air and water as the current twisted and pushed him on.
At last the water rolled the drowning man into a calmer section of the river – I could see him lying motionless and face down just under the rust-brown surface. The cold current toyed with Cooke. It turned him face upward and pulled him out of reach. His eyes were open – those grey eyes with dark lashes. Then the undertow caught him again. He was sucked down, turned and rolled among the reeds and weeds, down into the blackness.
‘Now it’s just you and me, Alyssa.’ Harry had dragged me kicking and screaming back across the river, up the slope and into the abbey ruins and was enjoying this window of opportunity – a chance to gloat.
‘Sadist!’
‘Thanks.’
‘It’s not a compliment!’ I lashed out with my right foot and landed a kick on his shin.
His grin faded and he got a tighter g
rip as he manhandled me towards the dark cloisters and threw me against a slimy stone pillar. ‘You’re an idiot,’ he snarled. ‘You’re so far up your own arse – just like Paige and Lily. You girls don’t see what’s going on around you in the real world.’
I groaned as I slid to the ground and put my hands over my head to shield myself. ‘I never liked you, Harry. I’d say that was a good call on my part.’
He smiled again as he kicked me, and I curled into a ball. The ground was cold and damp. I made a resolution to take whatever was coming in silence and clamped my mouth shut.
It was Harry who did the talking, squatting confidentially beside me, big, square hands clasped in front of him. ‘I remember seeing you on the first day of term, Alyssa – the scared little newbie getting dropped off in the quad. Everyone clocked you – me, Luke, the two Jacks. Great legs, well in the running for the Pippa Middleton Rear of the Year. That seems like a long time ago.’ He picked up a stone and turned it this way and that before tossing it carelessly against the nearest pillar. The stone landed with a light rattle that echoed down the row of cloisters. ‘I bet you never in your wildest dreams thought you’d end up here.’ He tossed another stone, which rattled and echoed. ‘The problem is – you still think you’re so fucking clever.’
Curled up in my foetal position, I didn’t respond.
He shoved the side of his foot into my back. ‘Hey, Alyssa – I’m talking to you. You think you’re mega clever, remembering everything the way you do. But what would really have been smart would be to forget – you see what I’m saying?’ He shoved again then leaned over and forced my arms down by my side, tutting then wincing when he saw my bloody hands. ‘Ouch, I bet that hurts. Yeah, I warned D’Arblay what you were like – think bloodhound with a photographic memory, I said. That pretty much nails it. After the Lily thing he said to me to make sure you and Paige didn’t get a chance to poke your snouts in. I said, that’s Cooke’s job – he’s good at stuff like that. I lived too close to the action. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.’
‘The Lily thing’ – Harry was so casual and heartless that I broke my resolution not to talk. ‘She didn’t deserve what you did to her. What did Lily ever do to you?’
‘You mean Crazy Girl? She didn’t have to do anything. She just didn’t have the right parents. Come on – you’re so clever you worked this out already, Alyssa. Comco is making an exposé of the CRP. We tell them to stop; they ignore us. That’s why we had to kidnap Lily. Simple.’
‘So go ahead – tell me exactly how you did it.’
He laughed in the semi darkness then stood up and yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Is anybody there? . . . Nope, nobody. So I guess it won’t hurt to let you into our little secret. How did we kidnap Lily? OK so I heard on the grapevine that she had to go home – you know what a small place St Jude’s is, you can’t take a shit without everyone finding out. I told Guy, who passed it on to D’Arblay. We never do anything without orders from him, by the way, even though he keeps his name out of – what do they call it – the public domain? He said, call Audley and Chris, tell them to wait for her at Ainslee Westgate. Me and Guy had to steer clear – he didn’t want anyone from St Jude’s involved. So it was Chris and actually a couple of other younger CRP guys – you might know them, yeah? One has a tattoo right here on his neck. They saw Lily get out of the taxi and made their move, end of story.’
‘No, no, it couldn’t have been that easy. Lily would have fought back.’ In public, in the middle of a busy station forecourt – someone would have seen what was happening.
‘You’ve heard of ketamine?’ Harry asked, as if he was passing the time of day. ‘Party drug of choice. It inhibits the central nervous system’s receptors and an overdose leads to loss of feeling and paralysis. Perfect in this situation.’
‘Cooke drugged Lily?’
‘Yeah, there you go. Ketamine comes as a liquid in small pharmaceutical bottles – very handy. Administered by intramuscular injection as an emergency general anaesthetic – out in the field, in war zones and so on.’
‘Don’t tell me – Cooke got hold of it from the hospital pharmacy by using his dad’s security pass?’
‘Good again, Alyssa. I’m impressed. So Lily steps out of the cab and Chris goes up to her, syringe in hand and says hi, boyfriend to girlfriend as far as everyone around is concerned. She doesn’t even see the needle coming. What people nearby see is a girl sinking into her boyfriend’s arms. There are two other guys on hand – no one needs to bother offering any more help. They think that someone should tell her to cut back on the drink or the drugs, but stuff like this happens every day.’
‘Where did Cooke take her?’
‘Audley has a workshop where he stores his tools, out on an industrial estate on the edge of town. He and Chris drove her there, but by the time they locked her up the ketamine was wearing off and she woke up and grew crazy, started hammering at the door, using a spade, whatever she could lay her hands on to smash the store room window. They had to go back in and up the dosage.’
Harry stopped talking. I sat up and leaned against the pillar, covering my face with my hands.
‘That wasn’t part of the original plan,’ he acknowledged with a sigh, as if he cared. Then straight away he laughed at what might be interpreted as a sign of weakness. ‘Lily goes down, out like a light, and Audley and Chris shit themselves, thinking this time they’ve killed her. Audley calls D’Arblay, who straight away moves the goalposts.
‘D’Arblay!’ I echoed. There he was, sitting at the heart of all this darkness, just as I’d suspected.
Harry didn’t even pause. ‘Robert Earle is out of the country, not responding to our demands, blah blah. We’re not likely to get him to stop making the documentary, and even if Lily eventually comes round from the overdose we can’t rely on being able to keep her quiet. She’ll try to escape and then we’re all up shit creek. To cut a long story short, D’Arblay says to bring her back to St Jude’s and dump her in the lake, make it look like suicide.’
‘In the Green Shoots truck?’
‘Yeah. Audley is due to do some work in the grounds anyway. Nobody will pay any attention.’
‘Were you there?’
‘No, but I was watching from my window. It all went smoothly – hardly a splash as they slipped her into the water.’
I shuddered and tried to slough off the horror of what he was telling me. ‘So you – you didn’t kidnap her and you didn’t kill her?’
He laughed out loud. ‘Don’t sound so surprised. Think of me as an angel compared with some of them.’
‘Compared with D’Arblay?’
‘Exactly.’ Harry’s legs got cramp so he stood up and dragged me with him. ‘This is how much of a perv D’Arblay is – he’s the one who wanted the tooth.’
I groaned and put my arms across my chest.
‘Cowboy up, Alyssa – this is by far the best bit. Guess what – D’Arblay managed to get hold of the five teeth from the other victims.’
‘From the 1930s?’
‘Yeah. It turns out that PC Plod back in those days never tracked them down and our neo-Nazi forefathers kept them in a little box as souvenirs. They got handed down from one generation to the next.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ I muttered.
Harry grinned. ‘D’Arblay waited four days until they dragged the body out of the lake and it was safely in the morgue, then he gave Chris another call and started to talk orthodontics with him – specifically the lower molar on the right-hand side. He’s a man of tradition. He wanted that tooth and no one was going to stop him getting it.’
Shuddering again, I staggered away from Harry, down the dark cloisters.
‘You realize why?’ he asked, catching hold of me and raising me up after I tripped and fell.
Eleanor Bond, 1938. Plus four other victims – five ritualistic, symmetrical killings.
‘You’ve stopped talking to me so I’ll tell you anyway. D’Arblay tried to conv
ince us that he wanted to follow a historical tradition, to walk in the footsteps of the great fascists of the 1930s. Personally I think that was bullshit.’
‘So why do you think D’Arblay needed the tooth?’
‘Like I said, the guy’s a total perv. He made Chris sneak into the morgue and steal what he wanted partly because of the tradition but mostly because that’s what he gets off on. And where do you think he keeps his collection of molars? No, it’s too weird – you won’t be able to guess.’
I pictured D’Arblay’s office – the bookshelves behind his desk, the leather-bound books, memorabilia – shells, a statuette of a horse. ‘They’re in a silver box next to a small bronze statue,’ I told Harry. ‘It’s locked with a tiny key that D’Arblay keeps on top of his desk so that every time he goes into his room he can unlock it, take out the teeth and gloat.’
‘Wow, you really are pretty smart, Alyssa.’ He sighed and stared at me as if he’d be sad to lose me. ‘What a waste.’
I wasn’t finished – not yet. ‘So, as far as your personal involvement goes, Harry – it’s no to Lily’s kidnap and no to her killing – right?’
He held up both hands. ‘Not me, not guilty.’
‘But you attacked her at Paige’s house – you’re the baby’s father.’
He croaked out another laugh. ‘Is this really how you want to spend your last few minutes, Alyssa – raking up the sordid details?’
‘Yes. I need to know.’
‘Then who am I to disappoint you? No, m’lud – on the third count I also plead not guilty.’
I turned on him and shoved him off balance. I couldn’t see his face – only the gleam of his teeth as he kept on laughing. ‘You’re a liar.’
‘Why would I not tell you the truth? Who are you going to share this with before you die? Look around – do you see anyone?’
I used my bleeding, throbbing hands to slap his face and his chest. ‘So who?’
He easily fought me off and pinned me against the cloister wall. ‘Again – simple when you think about it. If it wasn’t me, who else could it be?’
