The Long Dark Road

by P. R. Black

  For instance – the secret gateway out into the main road from the Chessington estate. Not even close to where Stephanie disappeared, but within the ‘mystery zone’ she had been witnessed and recorded as entering, but not leaving. No one who had driven along that road, so far as CCTV and eyewitness accounts could account for what happened to Stephanie. No one was culpable. But Stephanie had still vanished. Georgia had long suspected that someone, somehow, had abducted her. That there was a piece of the puzzle missing.

  And now she had a theory to match this fact. It was in fact perfectly possible to drive a vehicle onto the main road, abduct someone, and then drive away. It involved a terrible risk, of course. The A-road was quiet, but there was still the risk of the odd car coming past, even at that time of night, in those conditions.

  The person who had taken Stephanie had been lucky in this respect.

  There was no mention of the kissing gate, disguised by wisteria and overhung with netting, anywhere on any map, whether digital or paper. It had been a fine piece of work; abutting two other dry-stone walls that were also overhung with greenery, it wouldn’t have merited any more than a double take.

  ‘Just a shortcut,’ Jed Mulrine had said, when he got back into the Land Rover after opening the gate. ‘Rarely use it. Used to be a kissing gate. It’s a handy road to have, if I’m working on the estate. Saved me a good twenty minutes; means I don’t have to head north and skirt all the way around and come back on myself.’

  It couldn’t be Jed Mulrine, of course. He would have to be either jaw-droppingly slack, or perhaps have some secret death wish, a desire to get caught. Psychology was not Georgia’s speciality, but she doubted Jed Mulrine had been making any kind of confession to her when he took her through the shortcut.

  Georgia had triangulated where the hidden gate was located, based on where Jed had turned back onto the road (getting out and closing the gate behind him before getting back in – an activity that took less than a minute to complete, from getting back out the door and then driving off again), and how long it had taken him to skirt back around town and get her to the lay-by, where, mercifully, her car remained. Looking at the O2 map, she reckoned it was in a slight dog-leg bend. From the topography of the map, there was no indication of the narrow, rickety trail Mulrine had taken to get from the woods at the top of Chessington Hall to the gate, and freedom.

  But there was on the online maps. You had to zoom in close on the overhead layout – of course, there was no 3D close-up map to guide you – but there was a faint trail running along the side of another dry-stone wall, demarcating where the sheep grazed and the woods stopped. There was a road there. It led directly to the road at the north of the estate, via an overgrown gap in the foliage. Looking at the photos on the 3D map, it didn’t appear to be a natural gap, and the path wasn’t taken much. It’s possible only Jed Mulrine knew of its existence. Him, and the person who took Stephanie.

  Close, Georgia thought, stepping through the high weeds. You’re close now.

  Even thinking of Stephanie in a grave somewhere in that place filled her with a treacherous kind of peace. She needed that link. She had to have the guilt proven beyond doubt; to see the bastard answer for himself. To look into his eyes.

  Georgia followed the rickety road, marvelling at the hardiness that must have been required in a vehicle to take it up and down the stony, uneven path. She remembered being beaten about by it, thrown against Jed Mulrine more than once.

  Perhaps Stephanie had been thrown around too, on that wild, terrible night. Maybe at that point she still thought she was safe. That someone she trusted had plucked her out of that spot. That he had something to give her to take away the pangs.

  She stole in underneath the branches of some stout, tall oaks. Then she saw something that she was sure she had imagined for a moment.

  A house, among the trees.

  ‘Kidding,’ she whispered to herself. ‘You’re kidding.’

  No; there it was, for absolute sure. It looked like the ruins of a cottage, leaning dangerously close to a tree that had grown around it, breaking its back to accommodate the grey slate roof and the stubby chimney. She saw that it had windows, and there were curtains.

  It was tucked in among the trees, leaning against that old oak as she’d seen on the laptop screen earlier. There was something in its weathered, mossy façade that blended in beautifully with its arboreal framing – it was of a piece. It shared the same theme, the same stunted grandeur as the ancient, twisted oaks that hemmed it in protectively.

  The cottage looked less obviously ruined the closer you got. From one angle – the one Georgia approached from – the place looked so run down that it might actually have drawn attention from ramblers – or that strange, new breed who called themselves urban explorers, people who sought out decay in buildings, office blocks just before they get taken down, crumbling terracing on ancient football stadia. A slated path left a jagged trail all the way up to a driveway which, Georgia saw with a start, was occupied.

  Crouching low, Georgia referred to the OS map. She traced her finger along the route where she had travelled, but there was no cottage listed anywhere, and no sign of it among the tree canopy from the overhead shots she’d seen.

  ‘And there you are,’ she said simply.

  There were bright yellow morning sun curtains in the window, but little sign of anything inside.

  Closer, closer again.

  And then something dark appeared in the bottom left. A figure; she saw it stop a moment, and then raise what must be a shotgun or a rifle to its shoulder, and then—

  The tree exploded just above her ears, a second or two before she heard the shot. Something went into her eye, and she yelped; before she knew what was happening, she had hit the ground hard, then rolled through some of the waist-high weeds. She smelled rank mosses and damp, the detritus of the summer season, as if something was dead, nearby. Her cheek stung, but it was an irrelevance next to the irritant in her eye. Just a splinter, she hoped, as she ran back down the road, only some loose fragments, surely nothing worse…

  Back in her car, she was suddenly fearful of the lay-by, and the rustling trees, and the absolute stillness and solitude of where she was sat.

  Someone had taken a shot at her – high enough to scare her off without hitting her with the pellets, but not close enough to realistically pose a danger. A good shot, even if you were used to handling guns. She pictured someone at ease with bringing down a clay pigeon at pace, from a good distance. Or a real pigeon, for that matter. The splinters that had spiked her cheek were a fluke, she supposed.

  He didn’t recognise me, she thought. If he had, he would have shot to kill. I’m sure of it.

  ‘Christ,’ she breathed. ‘Only one thing for it, now.’

  She lifted her phone and dialled a number.

  ‘Jed Mulrine,’ said the voice on the other side. He sounded slightly out of breath; there were other voices in the background, male voices, and then a peal of laughter. Georgia envisioned a pub. ‘That you, Mrs Healey?’

  ‘It is. How are you, Jed? Listen, I wanted to say thank you for the other night.’

  He chuckled. ‘No need to say thank you. I was glad to help.’

  ‘Was everything OK the next day? With Sir Oliver, I mean.’

  ‘Oh yeah, nothing out of the ordinary there. Young master Trickett won’t be joining the party next year, that’s for sure. He won’t be back at the hall, if Sir Oliver’s wishes are granted, either. As for me – when Chessington the younger inherits the whole lot, then you could say my jacket’s on a shaky peg, but for now, everyone’s content. So please don’t worry. Hey – you’ve done the state some service, Mrs Healey. Rest easy. Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘There is something I need to talk to you about, Jed. Something important. It’s about Stephanie. My girl.’

  ‘Oh?’ He sounded faintly alarmed. ‘Has something come up?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. It’s something I need to ask you
r opinion on, more than anything else.’

  ‘Well, of course. Is it something we can talk about now?’

  ‘I’d rather not do it on the phone, Jed.’

  ‘Fair enough. Want me to meet you somewhere? If you need somewhere private, then we could always head to my shack. Saoirse would love to meet you again.’

  ‘I was thinking somewhere we could have a sit-down, and a bite of lunch.’

  ‘The Griffony does a fine roast, if you’ve an appetite.’ He sounded absurdly upbeat. He thinks he’s going on a date, Georgia realised. Oh, Jed.

  ‘I have a place I like to go in Runholme Bray. You know it?’

  ‘Yeah… that’s a bit far out though, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s on my way home. I’d like to thank you for what you did the other night, too – my treat. There’s a place called The Merry Boar, do you know it?’

  ‘I’ve been there once or twice – didn’t know it was still open. Didn’t it shut a while back?’

  ‘Under new management,’ Georgia said quickly, hoping that this was the case, and she hadn’t simply pulled out an old webpage.

  ‘Ah, I didn’t know that. OK. The Merry Boar it is. What time? I’m free all day. Rare day off, while the rest of the estate clears up, for me.’

  Georgia checked her watch. ‘Two-thirty? I hope that isn’t too late to eat.’

  He chuckled. ‘I’ll forgo my lunch. The barman at The Griffony won’t be pleased though.’ Some cackling ensued, as Jed dealt with some banter over his shoulder. ‘Heh. He’s just asked me if I’m going out on a date, the cheeky sod.’

  ‘I’ll see you there, Jed. Look forward to it.’

  After she hung up, Georgia set her teeth. Nothing else for it, now. The path was set.

  She started the car, then pulled out of the lay-by. When she got to the edge of the road, she stopped. A black 4x4 car tore around the corner, stirring the low-hanging branches of the trees by the side of the road. The car jammed on the brakes upon sight of Georgia. She wondered if the driver had been baffled by the sight of a car coming out, and she actually reversed a little, to reassure the motorist.

  Then the car stopped, blocking her from driving out. And she understood, far too late, that this was entirely deliberate, as someone darted out of the driver’s side door of the 4x4 and ran into view.

  38

  They actually had a row on the phone. While I called them. She was talking to me, made a couple of remarks, he made a few in response, and that was it. Seconds out, round one. I sat there with my chin in my hands, listening to them go at it. Secretly enthralled.

  From the diary of Stephanie Healey

  It was Rod. Rod, with a beanie hat and what looked like running gear. He looked a little more ridiculous than usual, with his stork’s legs and his winkle in the middle far too well defined for his trousers to be comfortable.

  For a split second, Georgia thought she might ram him. Simply let the clutch up too fast and jerk forward. It wouldn’t take that much momentum to send him flying; possibly the 4x4 would go, too. Then she’d be off, and worry about the bodywork later. And the bodywork on Rod.

  But of course, she didn’t. She put the car in neutral and switched off the engine, letting down a window. ‘What’s going on? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Hi,’ he said, attempting a smile. ‘I think we should talk.’

  ‘OK. You could have called me on the phone, maybe.’ Something else occurred to her, then. ‘You been following me?’

  ‘Come on out, Georgia.’

  ‘No, I will not. Rod… Rod!’

  He had looped a hand through the window and disengaged the door, a fluid, reptilian move. The door gaped; he reached in.

  Then it occurred to Georgia to be frightened. ‘Rod! What’s going on? What are you doing?’

  He took a hold of her shoulder; she clamped a hand over his. His skin was warm and slick, as if he’d just come out of a shower. Sweat dripped off his temples. He jerked her out of her seat, and her phone spilled to the floor of the car.

  A twist of his wiry shoulders, and she was sent sprawling, one hand braced against the tarmac, her hair trailing in her eyes. She saw his legs brace, and then she was pulled out of the car.

  Georgia fought madly, kicking and bucking and screaming, over and over again: ‘Rod! What are you doing? Rod!’

  Her blows found no purchase on him; he caught both her wrists in one hand, incredibly strong, and then he heaved her off the ground as if she’d been a child. Her legs flailed; she thought to knee him in the face, but he mashed her body tight against his chest, removing the option. She tried to scratch his eyes, but he twisted his face away.

  ‘This is it… This is over,’ Rod said. ‘It’s over. You’re going back. And what the hell happened to your face? Fighting again?’

  ‘Leave me alone, you fucking psycho! Help! Help!’ She shrieked at the top of her voice, until he clamped his hand over her mouth. She bit him then, and that got through: he grunted in pain and almost dropped her. Then he recovered, and stunned her by planting his own knee in the small of her back. She cried out, her limbs drawing in, and then he had the boot open and threw her in.

  ‘Rod, my God. Was it you? Was it you?’ She struggled onto her elbows.

  ‘This has to stop,’ was all he would say, his intonation something less than neutral, not too much above monotone. ‘It’s all over, all this. I spoke to them. I spoke to the police. They told me what you’d been doing. It has to stop. I’m taking you home, got it? I’m taking you home. I’ll look after you for a bit. I’ll do what I should have done six months ago. If I can’t be your husband, I’ll still be your protector. When I make a vow, I keep it. You’ll be safe. We’ll work through it. We’ll sort you out, turn you around. I promise. It’s a promise.’

  Then another car screeched to a halt. Georgia saw Rod’s head jerk away, startled. Then he closed the boot on her and left her in total darkness.

  She heard only muffled conversation; a woman’s voice.

  ‘I’m in here!’ Georgia said, hammering on the underside of the boot with her feet and hands. ‘Help, he’s got me in here! Help!’

  There was some fumbling on the outside as someone felt for the release button. Then the boot flew open and Adrienne Connulty was there.

  She grinned.

  ‘Mrs Healey. You do pop up in some of the strangest places.’

  39

  The most embarrassing night I’ve had over here was that time I let the Magpie talk me into too many drinks, and talked myself into too much talking.

  From the diary of Stephanie Healey

  They’d taken Rod away quickly and without much fuss, which was typical of the man in a way. He had exercised his right to remain silent, although the crestfallen expression on his face had been voluble enough. He looked like a man who had gone past the stage of tears. He looked empty. Georgia knew how he felt, although this didn’t quite amount to sympathy.

  Rod had been taller than both police officers, and yet had still appeared shrunken, his back hunched, as they put him in the squad car that had arrived within minutes of Adrienne Connulty appearing.

  This was a vision of the old man he would become, quicker than anyone knew.

  Once the car had gone and Georgia had given a statement, Adrienne had remained behind, stood beside her shiny new Citroën. The younger woman had her arms folded but still cut a relaxed figure as she leaned into the driver’s side door of the car.

  ‘To cut a long story short… I was following you. But I lost you. I drove past your car in the lay-by, saw you’d gone somewhere. So I went to the other lay-by, just up the road. I was keeping an eye on you. Aren’t you lucky?’

  ‘And you’ll have gotten pictures of all of this,’ Georgia said, numbly.

  Adrienne shrugged. ‘Sure I have. It’s my job. And you know something? I’ve got this theory you absolutely bloody love it. Want to hear it?’

  ‘I’ve a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.’

  ‘
I reckon you’re just here to wind people up. I don’t think you’ve got much of a plan. You just wanted to rattle a few cages and see what reaction you could get. Am I close?’

  ‘Not too far away. I’ve got a theory about you, too. Want to hear it?’

  Adrienne pursed her lips and shrugged. Georgia had to hand it to her; she didn’t quite know what Adrienne had said to her husband when she pulled up and confronted him, just as he was stuffing his estranged wife into the boot of a 4x4, but it had an effect, all right. He had been ashen-faced, and stepped back. Think about how Stephanie would react – was that what she’d said? Or was Georgia filling in the blanks?

  ‘I should thank you.’

  Adrienne checked her nails. ‘In your own time, then.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m not sure what you saved me from, but… thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Quite a story, all this.’

  ‘Which newspaper’s readers are going to hear all about it?’

  ‘Not sure. Depends on their best offer. Look, Georgia, I know you don’t like me. And no matter what I do, you still won’t like me for it. I could cure cancer, and you’d say – oh, look. There’s the bitch who cured cancer. But I’ll say this to you, and you can take it to your grave: I want to find Stephanie. I want to know what happened.’

  ‘I know you do, Adrienne. That’s how your industry works, doesn’t it? You’ve got the speed dialling record for police officers to turn up.’

  ‘Catty. Such a low opinion of the police! Are you the type of person who writes in to national newspapers? For the letters page? I bet you are. I bet you’ve even been published. Feel free to tell me to fuck off, Georgia, but – what’s his story? I mean, this afternoon. I don’t want chapter and verse. Although I’m interested in that as well.’