by Jack Benton
‘Did she get in contact with him?’
Lauren shrugged. ‘She tried, but we never heard anything. No doubt all her attempts got blocked by the firewall of his management. For the record, I tried to talk her out of it. It was only going to make Eloise worse.’
‘Worse?’
Lauren sighed. ‘There were signs she was going off the rails a couple of years before Dad died. She was always into whatever caused trouble: drink, drugs, hanging with the wrong people. She started having destructive rages, followed by periods of seclusion where she refused to leave her room. She was eventually diagnosed as schizophrenic. Medication worked, but only when she took it. Dad’s death levelled things up, though. He had been the one calming influence in her life, the only person who had ever got through to her.’ Lauren rolled her eyes. ‘Eloise was institutionalised for the first time about a month after Dad’s death. And that was before she even knew the truth.’
‘You mean, into a psychiatric hospital?’
‘Yeah. One in Exeter. My sister being my sister, she absolutely refused to cooperate. They had to sedate her a lot of the time. Mum was dealing with Dad’s death, so I did most of the visiting to spare Mum the trauma. That led to Eloise’s rejection of her. Dad was perfect, Dad was the best, while Mum was worthless.’ Lauren flapped her hand. ‘One day, Mum couldn’t take it anymore. She blurted out that Eloise wasn’t really Dad’s daughter. My dad never knew. Mum had a certain type, and Dad and Carson didn’t look a lot different. Dad died thinking Eloise was his.’ Lauren sighed, her head slumping back against the wall with a soft bump. ‘In the space of a year, we went from a normalish boring family to a complete cock-up.’
‘It must have been hard on you.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had time to think about it properly. Six years now, Dad’s been dead. Eloise has been in and out of hospitals and prisons. She doesn’t talk to Mum and I only pass on vague details. I’ve given up on any kind of life for myself in order to look out for both of them. Eloise, though … she’s a force of nature. When she wants something … it’s hard to stop her.’
‘I’ve been trying to track her down,’ Slim said. ‘It hasn’t been easy.’
He had told Lauren who he was, and to his surprise had found the girl remembered his name from the papers a year back related to an old missing-persons case he had solved. It meant her trust had come easier than he might have hoped, even though she still eyed him with a wary sense of suspicion.
‘I met a man she threatened to kill, and she told me herself about a man she left to die. She told me she went to prison.’
Lauren gave a frantic shake of her head. ‘He didn’t die. She got two years suspended for aggravated attempted manslaughter, but because he was deemed to have assaulted her she was effectively set free. The man was a nurse at the institution she was in at the time.’ Her face hardened. ‘He deserved it, if you ask me. He was convicted of six counts of assault on sedated female patients. He got fifteen years.’
Slim nodded. ‘That’s a level of justice at least.’
‘Eloise always preferred her version. She’s a chronic liar and a clever manipulator. I know she’s my sister, but she’s dangerous and I don’t trust her. That’s why I need to find her. Max Carson is dead. Her focus will be elsewhere now, perhaps trying to cover her tracks, deflect suspicion, maybe even trying to frame someone else.’
Slim had been holding off asking the question he had been aching to ask, but he could no longer resist.
‘Do you think she killed him?’
Lauren lifted her head away from the wall. ‘She was stalking him. Following him to work, hanging around outside his house. I warned her to leave him alone, but I couldn’t bring myself to call the police on my own sister, even after everything she’d done. When she told me she’d signed up for a rehabilitation course in Dartmouth, I got suspicious. It wasn’t like Eloise to have a sudden change of heart. I did some digging and found out Carson was also on the course.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone. ‘She wouldn’t answer my calls, so I left her a message. This is the reply I received.’
Lauren held out the phone. Slim reached forward to take it, then turned it around to look. The words on the screen chilled him to the bone.
Next to a grinning devil emoji, the single sentence had been intentionally colored red.
I’ll be saying goodbye to my father soon.
50
‘Won’t she have fled the area?’ Slim asked. ‘You said she left her bag behind.’
He had wondered how the strand of hair he had taken from the bag by the door had come up with a match to Carson when he shared no DNA with Lauren, but as Lauren explained, the bag had belonged to Eloise. Her sister had left it behind at the Castle View Hotel. When Lauren had contacted the tour company while looking for her sister, they had asked her to come and pick it up.
Lauren shook her head. ‘She doesn’t care much for material stuff. She’ll buy or steal what she needs and then abandon it when she moves on. And she’ll still be nearby, trust me. She loves to see the fallout of the trouble she causes. She’s sadistic like that. No, she’ll be somewhere nearby, hiding out, watching, waiting to see what happens.’
‘How’s she supporting herself?’ he asked.
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. She’s gone to ground. I’ve had no contact from her in weeks, nor has there been any sign of her. Nothing online, her phone’s switched off. After her last bout of hospitalisation she was no longer allowed a solo bank account. We share one, but there’s been no activity, no cash withdrawals except my own. I thought she might have been prostituting herself, because it wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve spent so much time up in Exeter or over in Plymouth, trawling the seedy parts of town….’ She shook her head. ‘She’s vanished.’
‘Are you sure about Carson? I mean, she told me she had an alibi for that night. She said she was sleeping with the tour rep.’
‘Another fanciful story, no doubt.’
‘And I remember her reaction to the news. No shock or surprise. She asked me why I thought Carson had killed himself and then told me he had propositioned her, offered her money for sex.’
Lauren rubbed her eyes. ‘Before the psychosis took hold, my sister was a good person,’ Lauren said. ‘After that … she became destructive. Killing him might have been the end result, but she wouldn’t have wanted it to be quick. She would have wanted him to suffer, wanted to see the hurt and fear in his eyes.’
‘Could she have seduced him and then taken him up to Greenway where his body was found? You see, of everything I’ve figured out, one thing is still a massive stumbling block to any theory. How did they get out there? It’s a couple of miles upriver, and no ferries run at that time of night.’
Lauren shook her head. ‘You’re the detective, not me. I’m just trying to find my sister.’
Slim considered mentioning his mysterious benefactor, but decided against it. It had crossed his mind that Lauren herself might be responsible, as she had regular access to Greenway, but the DNA had ruled her out.
‘I have to go to bed,’ Lauren said at last, and Slim realised they had talked long after midnight. ‘I have work tomorrow.’
Slim didn’t waste time telling her he was essentially homeless. In her shoes he would have wanted him out as soon as possible. He nodded, standing up.
‘Can I contact you?’ he said. ‘If there are any developments?’
Lauren nodded. ‘Sure.’ She gave him her number, expressing surprise at his lack of a phone. At the door, she wished him good luck.
Slim once again found himself shut out into the night. Weary beyond words, he took a meandering, winding route through Paignton’s backstreets before finally reaching the tiny bus station. The waiting room was locked, the little café still a couple of hours from opening. Slim stared at a couple of homeless by the wall beneath the shelter of the bus ports, shifting uncomfortably in dirty sleeping bags. He had no desire to hunker down with them so
he retreated up the road, trying to ward off the cold with continual movement.
There was no shelter anywhere, no late night cafés or petrol stations. He was staring at a small luminous glow at the end of a side street when the ground around him began to patter with rain.
The light came from a phone box. Slim squeezed inside, enjoying the brief respite from the gusting wind and the dampening rain which had left his face slick. He wiped himself down with a sleeve then stared out at the night as the rain grew heavier. It was ridiculous to think of standing here all night, but at least it was shelter. He crouched down into the floor space, trying to draw up his knees to rest his legs and conserve a little heat. He had just leaned his head against the glass when a car turned into the street.
The flickering lights on its roof made Slim stand up quickly. He picked up the receiver and pretended to speak as the car slowed. He turned his head, pretending not to see it, hoping it would just pass him by. His heart thundered, his hand shaking so badly he could barely keep the receiver pressed to his ear.
At the very moment his nerves gave out and he dropped the receiver with a noisy rattle, the police car picked up speed, reaching the end of the road and turning left. Slim considered fleeing before they made another pass, but there was no cover nearby, nowhere to hide. Instead, he leaned down to retrieve the receiver.
As he did so, something fell out of his jacket.
The beer mat. Slim picked it up and turned it over, staring at the phone number written on the underside.
He didn’t know the time, but it was an inappropriate time to call anyone. Except, he had picked the number up in a bar, and if ever there was a number to be called in the middle of the night, it was one written on the back of a bar mat in red ink.
As flashing lights appeared at the far end of the street, indicating the police car was back for another run, Slim slipped a pound into the slot and dialled the number.
It rang only twice before a woman’s voice came on the other end.
‘Hello? Do you know why you’re calling me?’
The ease with which the woman spoke made Slim’s fingers tremble. He knew immediately what kind of woman he had called. One who might be holed up sleeping during the day, but came alive at night.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do.’
‘So tell me, sir, how and when would you like to have your private audience with Beatrice Winter?’
51
I need money, Slim wrote. And I need to know who you are. I can’t play this game anymore.
He tucked the note into the basket and left it inside the door.
He made a point of avoiding Greenway, taking a circuitous route down to the pier for Dartmouth and catching a ferry headed downriver.
He was almost out of money, but he no longer cared. He spent what little he had left on a decent ready-meal out of a small supermarket which he hoped wouldn’t taste too bad cold, then headed for an Internet café located in a basement room beneath a bookshop.
Lauren had given him a list of Eloise’s medications, and the addresses of several institutions where she had spent time. He spent a couple of hours reading up on what he could find, but a lot of the medical information was technical jargon, while each institution’s website obviously glossed over their darker innards. He needed to contact them directly, so noted down their emails and reluctantly opened his own, aware he would be leaving a trail for police to follow. Once opened, however, he was unable to deny his natural curiosity at the list of unopened messages. Many were circulars, but only yesterday he had received one from Kim with URGENT PLEASE OPEN!! as the subject line. Unable to resist, he dutifully opened the email.
Slim, where in heaven’s name are you? If you’re still able to read this, you have to contact me. I don’t like to say this, but I think your life is in danger.
Usually so level-headed, the urgency in Kim’s words left him concerned. He didn’t reply, but instead went outside, walked down to the waterfront and found a phone box on the edge of the Royal Avenue Gardens.
It felt strange to dial his office number after so long. He didn’t expect Kim to actually answer. With all the ongoing drama he would have forgiven her for simply walking away, so when she answered with a crisp, ‘John Hardy Private Investigation Services, how may I help you today?’ he was too stunned to immediately reply.
‘Excuse me? Is there anybody there? How may I help?’
The suave, noir comeback would have been to give a breathy one-liner, but Slim was instead racked by a sudden burst of coughing. He held the receiver against his chest until it had subsided. When he returned it to his ear, the first thing he heard was, ‘I think you need to see a doctor.’
‘Kim, it’s me.’
‘I know it is. Where in heaven’s name have you been? People have been worried—well, I’ve been worried; your non-existent social circle keeps you in the clear otherwise. What do you think you’re playing at? I’ve had all manner of people wanting to speak to you, and—’
‘The police?’
‘Yes, they called a few times, but not of late. I’ve had plenty of others, though. Clients you’ve left in the lurch, a couple from friends of yours, wanting to know why you’ve not been answering your phone—’
‘Ben Holland? Did he call?’
‘Yes, a few days ago. He said someone would be in touch.’
Slim’s heart skipped a beat. Could his mysterious benefactor be a police officer? He was still staring off into space, mulling over the possibility, when Kim said, ‘It was the letter I needed to speak to you about.’
‘What letter?’
‘It arrived yesterday. It’s signed by someone called Eloise.’
His heart skipped another beat. He wasn’t sure how many more shocks he could take before the abused old thing gave up on him.
‘The postmark?’
‘Dartmouth. A week ago, so it must have got stuck somewhere.’
‘What does it say?’
‘“Dear Slim, I just wanted to let you know that you’re being watched. You might think that you’re above the law, but you’re not. I know what you did. And I know where you are now. If you turn around quick enough, you’ll see me watching. And you’ll see in my eyes that I know what you did. And you’ll also see there what I’m going to do to you soon, when I’m ready. Yours, kindly, Eloise.”’
The way Kim managed to replicate the menacing tone of Eloise’s words made him shiver, reminding him that the girl was out there somewhere. And now he knew for certain that she was hunting him even as he was hunting her.
‘I think you should stop whatever it is you’re doing and come back,’ Kim said. ‘Talk to the police. Deal with whatever concerns they have and let them look into this. I’m worried for you, Mr. Hardy. This girl sounds serious. She hasn’t even bothered to hide her identity. Do you know her?’
Slim nodded into the phone. ‘I’ve met her,’ he said, deciding to keep the details brief. ‘And I’m aware how dangerous she is.’
‘Then come back.’
‘I can’t. What I’m doing right now, it’s … important.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
The phone gave a tired bleep, the display counting down the last seconds before his money ran out.
‘Kim, I—’
Too late. The only answer was an empty dial tone.
52
The street was little more than an alleyway leading sharply uphill from the main road, with several parked cars sitting unevenly on the cobblestones, pressed tightly in against the walls. Slim paused by an old Ford, its wheel arches flecked with rust, and peered again at the address he had written on the beer mat above the telephone number.
This was the place. He squeezed past the car to the house, briefly catching the hem of his jacket on the corner of a boot door that didn’t shut properly and having to pull it free. The door bobbed up, revealing a pile of old fishing nets on the lowered back seat. With an embarrassed grimace, he pushed it back down, clicking it half-shut as it had b
een before.
The bell rang with a lethargic drone. Like the car boot he presumed belonged to the same person, the front door didn’t shut properly. Slim slid his fingers into the gap until the lock came loose, then pushed the door open to reveal several bubbling fish tanks in a gloomy hallway which contained all manner of sea life. He stepped back outside, checking the number on the door to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake.
‘Um … Beatrice?’ he called into the gloom.
‘Come to the top of the stairs,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘I’m waiting for you. The second door on the left.’
Slim did as he was instructed, passing more fish tanks standing on the stairs. Halfway up he paused to look at a small stingray circling an undersized tank perched precariously on a stack of bricks painted luminous green.
On the landing, sand crunched beneath his feet, and old fishing nets decorated the walls. The correct door was identified by a string of shells hung from a hook and a welcome sign decorated with pieces of coral. A mermaid painted in faded watercolours had a hand lifted in a wave. Slim paused to touch the string of shells, feeling their graininess, noticing the dust in their cracks. Then he opened the door.
He found himself in a mock underwater scene, like a stage setup for a theatre performance. In the middle, a regular double bed was surrounded by piled sea buoys and exotic shells draped with fishing nets. It smelled like a quayside tourist shop. Pebbles and sand covered the uneven floor. Cool aquamarine lamps hidden by overflowing treasure chests backlit everything.
‘Payment is required upfront,’ a voice said from behind a curtain.
Slim jumped back as the curtain parted enough to reveal a veiled face, the body still hidden. The woman chuckled.
‘All first-timers react like that. Now, tell me what you want from these.’ She held up a piece of laminate which, from the way it was creased, its edges frayed, had clearly been perused a countless number of times. The pictures at the top, of a series of themed outfits, had faded, while the list of sordid activities written in pen underneath was barely legible from where the plastic laminate had come unstuck from the paper beneath.
