Now You See Them

by Elly Griffiths

  ‘Emma!’ Meg called. She was standing at the doorway of a dark little space which housed a dirty-looking toilet, a sink and a rudimentary shower. The room smelled strongly of chemicals. Then Meg turned on her torch and thousands of eyes stared back at them.

  ‘This must be his darkroom,’ said Meg.

  The pictures were all of women. Hair, eyes, a hundred different smiles and poses. Black-and-white photos, with the occasional foray into colour, all stuck to the walls, overlapping and peeling at the edges. But Emma’s eyes were drawn to a picture pinned over the sink. It showed her with the children, Marianne smiling like an angel. Someone had drawn a circle round her daughter’s head.

  ‘Louise is here. And Sara,’ said Meg. ‘And there are lots of Ruby. All circled.’

  ‘Oh my God. It was him. How did he do it? How did he lure the girls away?’

  ‘I think he told them that they should be models. I think he got them to write notes and arrange to meet him, then he locked them up somewhere. The girls outside the Ritz, the Bobby Hambro fans, they said that a man had approached Rhonda. Trouble was, I couldn’t get much of a description. “Tallish, oldish,” that’s the best they could do. I think he’s been stalking one of the other girls too.’

  ‘Sophie said “he was just a man”. But Harry is rather insignificant-looking, sort of colourless. I’ve met him a few times but I don’t know if I could describe him.’

  ‘The girls said that the man had an American accent. Is Harry American?’

  ‘No,’ said Emma. ‘But I think he could do the voice.’ She heard Sam’s amused tones. You should see him letting his hair down in the pub, singing Frank Sinatra songs and chatting up the girls. Harry had been able to impersonate Sinatra, the American singer beloved of teenage girls, and he obviously liked to approach women. It probably helped too if they were young and naive. But Marianne was only eight. Her hands clenched into fists.

  ‘Where are they?’ she said. ‘Where is he hiding them?’

  ‘Come on,’ said Meg. ‘There’s somewhere else we need to look.’

  Outside, Declan and Patrick were still sitting on their mopeds, awaiting further instructions. But Tony had gone into the shop and was standing by a cabinet full of glass animals. He didn’t seem surprised when Meg said, ‘We need to look in the tunnels.’

  ‘Be careful,’ he said, getting another set of keys out of a drawer. He turned to a door behind the till but, before he could open it, a new voice said, ‘Police.’

  ‘Edgar!’

  Emma threw herself on her husband. ‘Marianne’s gone,’ she said, ‘There are pictures of her upstairs. It’s all my fault, Ed.’

  Edgar’s arms tightened around her. ‘We’ll find her, Em. I promise.’ He addressed Meg over Emma’s head. ‘What’s going on, WPC Connolly?’

  Meg told him and O’Neill, who had arrived with the super, about Harry Payne, his car and the photographs. She was succinct and businesslike and Emma could feel Edgar relaxing slightly.

  ‘There are tunnels under this shop,’ said Meg. ‘It’s where we found the shoes. I was just about to search them.’

  ‘O’Neill, come with me,’ said Edgar. ‘Connolly, you wait here with Emma.’

  ‘But, sir,’ Meg began. ‘I know where the tunnels go—’

  ‘Let me go with you,’ said Emma.

  ‘Stay here,’ said Edgar. And he disappeared through the door, the burly man, who was presumably O’Neill, following him.

  Meg and Emma looked at each other, then they pushed past the shopkeeper and through the door.

  Edgar must have heard their footsteps behind him but he didn’t look round. They were in a narrow, dark passageway. The ceiling was low but Emma, unlike Meg, could walk without ducking her head. The walls were brick and the floor seemed to be concrete. It felt like a place that was in regular use. After a few minutes, Edgar stopped and Meg shouted, ‘Turn left.’ He did so and, following, Emma found herself in a different space altogether, a tunnel that seemed to have been burrowed out of the cliffs, the chalk walls uneven and clammy, narrowing so much in places that they had to walk sideways. The claustrophobia that had been looming ever since Sophie had spoken those fateful words now threatened to overwhelm Emma. She could hear her breathing becoming hoarse and shallow.

  ‘Are you OK?’ said Meg, looking round.

  ‘Yes.’ Emma tried to take slower breaths. They were going downwards now and it was very cold. Eventually they stopped and Emma felt as if the walls were receding. She could stretch out her arms now. She did so and caught Meg’s hand. Meg squeezed her fingers briefly and then let go. It was oddly comforting. By the light of the police torches, Emma could see a wooden door and an alcove cut into the chalk. Edgar was squatting to pick something up. Wordlessly, he held it out.

  ‘It’s a Roedean prefect’s badge,’ said Emma.

  Thirty

  Bob turned and headed back towards Kemp Town.

  ‘Come on, Barker,’ he said to the hovering policeman. ‘We’re going to the super’s house.’

  Uninvited, Max and Sam followed.

  ‘If nothing else we can help with the children,’ said Sam. ‘Poor little Sophie must be terrified.’

  ‘Do you know the family well, then?’ asked Max. They crossed the coast road, now fairly quiet, and walked up past the Regency terraces. Max remembered the other time he had searched for Ruby behind those smooth, respectable walls. He hadn’t even known that she was his daughter then but she had been in danger and she had needed him. What if she needed him now? He hoped to God that finding this Harry Payne would mean that they found Ruby.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sam. ‘Emma and I are good friends. We’ve got a lot in common. We’re both as bored as hell and we both love crime.’

  She grinned at Max and he couldn’t help smiling back.

  They turned to walk inland. Above the rooftops Max could see the hospital and, behind it, one of the new blocks that seemed to be shooting up like weeds all over Brighton.

  ‘Those new buildings are so ugly,’ he said. ‘I’d hate to live there.’

  Sam stopped in the middle of the road.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I was just saying how horrible the new apartments—flats—were. Especially when you compare them with the old houses. You wonder if an architect was even involved.’

  Sam caught his arm. Max was surprised to feel a slight, but definite, electric shock.

  ‘I went to those flats with Harry. Half of them are empty.’

  Max looked down at her. ‘You don’t think . . .’

  ‘They’re like cages, that’s what I said to Harry. Astarte said that he was keeping them in a cage.’

  ‘Not another one quoting that bloody mystic,’ said Max but his heart had started to beat faster. He looked up at the flats, towering over the Royal Sussex. And, from one of the highest windows, he saw a flash of light. On, off, on, off.

  ‘Did you see that?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Sam. ‘Yes. In one of the windows. Something flashing on and off. Is it just a reflection of the sun?’

  ‘It seems too regular,’ said Max. ‘Almost like a signal.’

  ‘Like Morse code,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s go and look.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s where he’s keeping them?’

  ‘I don’t know but it’s worth a try.’

  ‘Shall we tell Bob?’ The two policemen were now a long way ahead, almost at the Stephenses’ front door.

  ‘No,’ said Sam. ‘He might try to stop us.’

  ‘We won’t give him a chance. Hey, Bob!’ He used his stage voice, well able to project over a few hundred yards. Bob turned and looked round.

  ‘We’re going up to the flats,’ shouted Max. ‘Tell Ed to meet us there.’

  And, taking Sam’s hand, he started to run.

  Sir Crispian Miles always had a proper lunch if he was at home. If he was in town he ate at the House of Commons or at his club. There was nothing so uncivilised as missing lunch or having somet
hing insubstantial like a sandwich. Today he was eating gammon, new potatoes and peas. He sat at the dining room table and read Saturday’s Times, which he rested against the pickle jar. Valerie never ate much at midday and the nurse took her meals in her room.

  The world was going to the dogs. That was the message that he got from the papers. Hippies in America protesting against the Vietnam War. Thousands of young hoodlums descending on Brighton and making trouble. The police should be concentrating on finding Rhonda—and the other girls too, of course—not stopping gangs of layabouts from killing each other. They should all be in the army anyway. He had his doubts about the Brighton police. The superintendent, Stephens, was a nice enough fellow but too mild for Crispian’s taste. It wouldn’t surprise him if he’d been a conchie in the war. Another thing that shouldn’t be allowed.

  He paused in his chewing and reading. The world might be going to the dogs but an actual dog was barking. It must be the Labrador three houses along. But Monty never barked unless he had a reason. He had barked last night too. Crispian went to the window and pulled aside the net curtain. The dining room looked out over the garden and through the small panes of glass he could see only the well-tended lawn and neat flower beds. Next door’s cat, an idle ginger creature, was sunning itself on the roof of the greenhouse.

  Crispian left his food and went to the front door. Sunlight was flooding in through the stained glass, making pools on the parquet, red, gold and green. Then, with terrifying suddenness, a shape appeared, blotting out the light. Seizing an umbrella from the stand in the hall, Crispian flung open the door.

  A man stood facing him. It was a couple of seconds before Crispian realised that the man was holding a sack. And that the sack was moving.

  ‘They’re not here,’ said Emma. Her voice echoed in the cave-like space.

  ‘But they have been here,’ said Edgar. ‘Or else it’s a place where Payne keeps his trophies. This is where you found the shoes, isn’t it, WPC Connolly?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Meg. ‘The school badge wasn’t here before, though. I’m sure of it. Payne must have found a way in from the undercliff walk. On the other side of that door is where we found Sara’s body.’

  Emma wished Meg hadn’t mentioned Sara. For the last few hours all that had kept her going was the thought that Marianne was still alive. But Sara had been alive and Payne had killed her, strangled her, Edgar had said. She found that she was sobbing. Meg put her arm round her but Edgar hardly seemed to notice. He pushed open the door and a shaft of light bisected the darkness. Outside, they could hear shouts of children playing on the beach. It truly seemed like another world.

  ‘I’ll take you back home, Emma,’ said Edgar. ‘I’ve told Bob to meet us there. We’ll find this Payne. There are only a few places he can be. O’Neill, you wait here in case he comes back.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What about me?’ said Meg.

  ‘I thought I told you to stay in the shop with Emma,’ said Edgar.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Meg, not sounding it.

  ‘You’d better come back with us,’ said Edgar. ‘I’ll need you to stay with my wife and children.’

  ‘Meg’s been wonderful,’ said Emma. ‘We wouldn’t have found the photos without her.’

  But Edgar seemed not to hear.

  Thirty-One

  Max was out of breath by the time that they reached the tower block. Sam was sprinting ahead like a gazelle. But then she must be at least fifteen years younger than him.

  When he reached the entrance, Sam already had the door open. ‘It’s got one of those entry phones,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think it’s working.’

  ‘They never seem to work,’ said Max, thinking of Ruby’s London flat. He was trying not to pant. ‘Is anyone living here at all?’

  ‘I think a few of the lower-floor flats are occupied.’

  ‘Where was the signal coming from?’

  ‘It must have been at least the tenth floor, don’t you think so?’

  Max looked around. They were in a lobby, grey and featureless, with a staircase on one side and a lift in front of them.

  ‘I wonder if the elevator is working?’ he said.

  ‘I wouldn’t trust it,’ said Sam. ‘See you at the top.’ And she started for the stairs.

  Max pressed the button but there was no helpful green light pointing upwards. With a sigh, he too began to climb.

  It took longer than he could possibly have imagined. So many identical grey doors, the stairs, still smelling of paint and new plastic, snaking ever upwards. There was no noise at all apart from Sam’s feet above him and, eventually, that sound too stopped. Max paused to catch his breath. He remembered getting breathless when he’d followed Ruby’s mother Emerald up the stairs of her house in Hove. When he got back to America he would start exercising properly, maybe even go to the gym with Lydia. Obviously those lengths in the pool were having no effect at all.

  ‘Max.’ Sam’s voice echoed down the stairwell. ‘Hurry up!’

  Sam wasn’t exactly making a silent entrance, thought Max, as he forced himself to take the last flight two at a time. He sensed that she wasn’t the sort of woman to do anything quietly.

  Sam was standing by one of the grey doors. They were actually on the thirteenth floor and, from the window, Max could see all of Brighton spread out below him, the piers reaching out into the sea.

  ‘I can hear voices inside,’ said Sam.

  Max hammered on the door. ‘Ruby! Are you there?’

  And a voice answered. ‘Dad? Is that you?’

  Emma and Meg travelled back in the panda car, Declan and Patrick following like a guard of honour. Edgar sat next to the driver and didn’t speak except to try to reach Bob on the radio. He seemed to be unsuccessful, eventually throwing the device down with an uncharacteristic curse, but by then they were at the house.

  The sitting room was full of people. Jonathan, still floury, in his playpen, Sophie still on Mavis’s lap, Bob standing by the window and another policeman sitting awkwardly on the sofa.

  ‘I’ve sent two men to the Argus offices,’ said Bob, speaking to Edgar and ignoring everyone else. ‘And there was a message from Sir Crispian Miles, something about a break-in.’

  ‘The Surrey police will have to deal with that,’ said Edgar. ‘Our priority has to be finding Payne. I’ve left O’Neill at his flat in case he goes back there.’

  ‘Oh, and Max Mephisto has gone up to the new flats,’ said Bob. ‘He asked if you could meet him there. He had that reporter with him, the one who’s always hanging round the station asking questions. Sam Collins.’

  ‘Why on earth have they gone there?’ said Edgar.

  Emma spoke from the floor where she was crouching next to Sophie. ‘Harry had been to the flats. That day he gave us a lift to the hospital, he said that they were half empty.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Edgar to Bob.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Emma. ‘Mavis will stay with the children, won’t you, Mavis?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mavis comfortably.

  ‘I’m coming too,’ said Meg.

  Emma thought that Edgar was going to tell her to stay behind, as he’d done in the tunnel but he said, ‘Very well, WPC Connolly. You may be able to help.’ Then he turned to Emma. She couldn’t read his expression, it seemed remote and closed-off, as if he was concentrating hard on being a policeman and not a father.

  ‘Emma, you must do what I say. Payne might well be dangerous. He may even be armed.’

  ‘All right,’ said Emma, but she clenched her fists in her pockets. Just let him try, she thought.

  They crammed into the panda car, Emma sharing the front passenger seat with Edgar, Meg, Bob and the other policeman, whose name was Barker, in the back. It felt odd to be so close to Edgar and yet so far away from him. She clasped her hands together and thought of Marianne. Please let her be there. Please let us be in time.

  Barker made some comment about Meg being too tall but Bob told hi
m to be quiet. It felt strange, too, to hear Bob being authoritative.

  ‘We should go in quietly,’ said Bob. ‘If Payne has . . . well, if Payne has Marianne with him, we don’t want him to be panicked.’

  ‘We’ll see his car outside the buildings,’ said Edgar. ‘What does he drive?’

  ‘A Mini with a Union Jack on it,’ said Emma. She could feel Edgar’s heart beating. ‘It’s very distinctive.’

  ‘If it’s there, you must wait in the car,’ Edgar said to Emma. ‘Promise.’

  Emma said nothing. She was not promising anything.

  ‘We’ll get you out of there,’ shouted Max. ‘Who’s with you?’

  ‘Rhonda and Louise.’ Thank God. But where was Marianne?

  Max stood back, intending to run at the door but Sam caught his arm. ‘You’ll never do it on your own.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said Max. He’d show Sam that what he lacked in sprinting ability he made up in brute strength.

  ‘We have to wait,’ said Sam. ‘Harry will probably be arriving any minute. He’ll want to keep Marianne with the others. He’ll unlock the door and then we’ll have him.’

  ‘Edgar will be here soon,’ said Max. ‘If Harry sees the police hanging around the building, he’ll take Marianne somewhere else.’

  As Max spoke he heard footsteps, two sets of footsteps, ascending the stairs. They didn’t sound like the heavy feet of the law. They were also moving surprisingly fast.

  ‘Quick!’ said Sam. She opened a door at random and pushed Max inside.

  It was a tiny space, an electrical cupboard, probably. Max could feel levers sticking into his back. In the course of his career, he’d often had to fold himself into small spaces. He was no contortionist, like Sofija, the Bulgarian girl who had performed the Magic Box trick with him at the Empire Shepherd’s Bush, but he was able to make his six-foot-three frame remarkably compact. Sam was another matter. She was a small, slight woman but she seemed to be everywhere, her hair tickling his nose, her elbow in his ribs, her foot treading on one of his. He could smell her shampoo, something coconutty and fresh, and hear her breathing; he even thought that he could feel her chest expanding.