by Anna Willett
Golden light, patchy and whooshing danced across the roof, but the windows were too high for him to see where they were going. In front, Smiley’s neck looked red. Clem didn’t know how the man managed to make the back of his neck look angry, but somehow the rough skin seemed bad tempered. As bad tempered as the man the skin belonged to.
“You okay, Jake?” The woman leaned her head over the front seat, her dark glasses reminding Clem of moth eyes. “Do you need a wee?”
Clem kept forgetting his name was Jake now. At least that’s what the lady told him. She’d said it so many times, maybe it was true. Maybe he was Jake. By the time he nodded, she’d turned away, leaving him swallowing to hold back his tears. Tears because he missed his mother and tears because he badly needed to wee. I’m your new mummy. That’s what the woman had said, but Clem knew her name was Mimi.
“We’re not fucking stopping again, so don’t put ideas in his head.” Smiley’s angry neck jerked towards Mimi.
“Do you want him to piss all over the seat?” Mimi slapped her hand on the dashboard and Clem jumped. “For Christ sake, Smiley, he’s just a kid.”
Clem’s bottom lip crumpled and, as much as he tried, the tears spilled over his cheeks. He clamped the jar between his knees and chest then slid his hands over his ears, but even if he pressed as hard as he could he could still hear Smiley and the way his voice sounded like a growl.
There’s a monster in the forest. That’s what Mimi said the first time he talked to her. Thinking about the day of the fête made him think about musk lollies and fizzy drinks, about his mum and the way her hair smelled like apples. The tears were running faster now, but he didn’t care. The monster comes at night. He goes back and forth, Mimi had whispered in his ear while around him people laughed and the smell of sausages and onions filled the air.
Clem closed his eyes and tried to remember the smell. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’ Mimi took hold of his hand and her hot skin slipped against his. ‘But don’t tell anyone or the monster will get your mum.’ Mimi’s big glasses were close to his face, like black mirrors.
Above the sound of merry-go-round music, he heard his mother’s voice. ‘Clem. Clem!’ As he turned towards the sound, Mimi let go of his hand and afterwards he thought she might have been a dream.
Clem is my name. My mummy found me at the fête. His lips moved, but his eyes remained closed. Find me, mummy. He let his head lean back against the seat, but kept his eyelids squeezed shut. As hard as he tried, the smell of apples wouldn’t come, only the sting of something sour and nasty. A scent that rolled off Smiley like a mixture of medicine and the gunk his mother cleaned out of the oven. It filled the car and pushed into his mouth. As he drifted into a restless sleep, the word pig wagon slithered across his thoughts.
Chapter Six
Damon approached the table, halting a few paces back. Lucy had her notebook in front of her with a pen poised over the paper. Not for the first time Damon wondered if what they were doing was good for her. There’d been a moment just after he’d checked the trail when she’d looked terrified. He couldn’t help thinking a missing person case was too close to home.
As if sensing his approach, Lucy looked sideways, catching his eye before tapping the pen against her lip then slipping it between her fingers like a cigarette. Damon responded by holding up two takeaway cups.
The interior of the roadside café was furnished with heavy, dark wood tables and steel chairs, and the walls were lined with shelves displaying rows of gourmet preserves and sauces. If he ever needed fig chutney, Damon now knew where to find it.
“Here you go.” He set the cups down and sat opposite her so his eyes were on the door. An old habit but one he didn’t try and shake. “I ordered us ham and cheese toasties. It was the only thing on the menu without quinoa.”
Lucy tucked the pen behind her ear. “Don’t tell me you’re descended from Vikings too.” She gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She was cracking jokes, which could mean one of two things: she was either anxious or totally relaxed. Based on the morning they’d had, Damon went with anxious.
“I’ll be wearing my helmet tonight.” He took his time peeling the lid off his coffee. “I hope you’re okay with that.”
Lucy’s mouth dropped open then snapped shut. This time she laughed and the corners of her green eyes crinkled. When she picked up her cup Damon noticed her hands were steady.
“Okay.” She pointed to the pad. “The first thing I noticed was the way Wheeler kept referring to Clem in the past tense. Whether or not he had anything to do with his stepson’s disappearance, I’d say he’s made his mind up that the boy’s dead.”
Damon nodded. He’d also noticed Wheeler’s attitude.
“Mm. He didn’t seem emotional, just jittery. Could mean he’s scared, stressed, because he’s done something monstrous and the strain of covering it up is too much,” he said.
Lucy frowned and looked down at her notebook.
“It’s funny you used that word. Monstrous. I keep coming back to what Sadie said about Clem believing there was a monster in the forest,” she said.
She rubbed her hands together and wedged them between her knees. “I wonder if he saw something… or someone in the woods.”
“It’s possible.” Damon thought for a moment, picturing the gate and the window above it. “He would have been able to see the trees from his window. I’ll check out that track on Google maps, but it might be worth coming back in the Jeep and taking a better look.”
He could see the discussion with Clem’s mother had had an effect on Lucy, so he chose his next words carefully. “Sometimes these things are just in kids’ imaginations. Or if the stepfather’s been abusing him, hitting him, Clem might have projected his fear onto something in the woods.”
“Do you think he did?” Lucy bobbed her head in a slight nod. “Hit Clem?”
Damon wanted to say no and put her mind at rest, but Wheeler’s face, smarmy under too perfect brows, came to mind, as did his voice, relaxed and pleased with the sound of his own words, He usually did what he was told.
“What’s your take on the wife?” he asked. He was side-stepping the question, but at the same time Sadie would know better than anyone what went on inside that house. If she was covering for her husband, Lucy would have picked up on something.
“She blames Wheeler for not watching Clem, but she believes he didn’t hurt the boy.” She gave Damon a long searching look. “There’s something–”
“Two ham and cheese toasties?” A waitress placed two plates on the table.
Once they were alone, Damon waited for Lucy to continue, but she seemed focused on her food, picking up half a sandwich then putting it back on the plate and peeling the lid off her coffee.
“Wheeler told me he works from home – something to do with real estate, but when I pushed for details he was vague. If you want to keep working on this...” He let the sentence hang for a second before continuing. “I think you should do some digging into Robert Wheeler. The more we know about him the easier it will be for us to work out if he’s telling the truth.”
“Are you asking me if I want to become part of Granger Investigations?” She eyed him over a waft of coffee scented steam.
“I’ll have to clear it with Larson, but he seemed pretty happy to have you involved.” Damon noticed the way the steam added a dark hue to her green eyes. There were times he willingly lost himself in those eyes, and for a beat his train of thought slipped away.
When Lucy spoke, her tone was as deep as the colour of her eyes, “I won’t turn my back on Clem or Sadie. Not until we know what happened.”
“Okay, so we’re both doing this,” he said.
Part of him was relieved. Lucy was good at what she did, and meticulous. But it was more than just her journalistic skills that made Lucy an asset; her instincts were keen. Keener than anyone he’d ever met, including Larson, and Damon’s usual partner Brock Day. And, the real clincher was simple
: he needed her. Being with her kept him from sinking into the past, from drowning in guilt and regrets. God knew he was guilty. Guilt that couldn’t be washed away no matter how many missing persons he found.
But while he was grateful to have Lucy with him on a case unlike any he’d ever tackled before, there was always that niggling voice reminding him he was being selfish. Last time he’d drawn Lucy into an investigation she’d almost been murdered. This time he was putting her in the middle of something that was already stirring up memories – memories it had taken her over a year to draw a line under.
He bit into his sandwich, barely tasting the salty ham and rich cheese. The odour of orange pulp and coffee permeated the air. What should have been a pleasant smell mingled together with the cheese to create a cloying mixture and became lost to him. He could have told Larson to meet him at one of the local pubs. Letting him come to the house and discuss the missing boy was always going to end this way. Once Lucy heard the details of the case, he knew she would be drawn further in. As he chewed and swallowed, he realised he was manipulating Lucy just as he had done in Night Town.
Chapter Seven
As she nosed the Saab around the gravel road and came to a stop at the rear of the house, Lucy spotted Atlas sitting near the back steps. At the appearance of her brother’s dog, she felt an immediate lightness. Some of the anxiety that had been building in her chest since agreeing to talk to Robert Wheeler lifted.
Atlas waited for Lucy to open the car door before rising on all fours and padding down the steps. His bushy yellow tail swept back and forth with excitement as he bounded across the back yard. Bending down and wrapping her arms around the dog’s neck, Lucy breathed in. Atlas always smelled like night air, clean and wild at the same time.
“I’ve missed you, sweetie.” She ran her fingers over his velvety muzzle and planted a kiss between his ears. “Have you missed me?”
Atlas responded with a smile that only a shepherd could produce, wide and toothy as he licked her cheek. Lucy felt tears sting her eyes and quickly blinked them away. When she stood, Tim was on the porch leaning against the open back door. He raised a hand by way of hello and Lucy returned the gesture.
Atlas, now satisfied with her greeting, turned his attention to Damon. Lucy jogged up the back steps and pulled her brother into a one-armed hug. Tim allowed the embrace, even briefly reciprocating with a tap on Lucy’s shoulder.
Lucy pulled back and patted him on the chest, resisting the urge to plant a kiss on his bristly cheek. “It’s nice to have you home.”
Tim shifted in the doorway. “We both need a bath,” he said.
He nodded to Atlas who was winding around Damon’s legs, lapping up all the attention he could get. When he turned back, his hazel eyes darkened. “You okay, Luce?”
Realising she hadn’t done a good job of hiding her tears, Lucy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m fine. It’s just been a big day.” She moved past him into the house. “Come on, I’ll tell you about it.”
* * *
She could hear Damon’s voice, deep and muffled through the bedroom door. He’d been talking to Larson for at least twenty minutes when Lucy, sitting at the kitchen table, closed her laptop and went outside in search of her brother. She found Tim on the back steps still wearing a ratty woollen beanie despite the warmth of the early spring evening. His face was turned upwards watching the night sky. A thinly rolled joint was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. The sweet smoky smell of pot surrounding him was made sharper by the slight breeze.
Lucy plopped down beside him and stretched her legs. Just watching the tip of the joint glowing in dusky light set off a jolt of craving. “God, I could use a smoke.”
Tim held the joint out, but Lucy chuckled and shook her head.
“No, not that. A real smoke.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I haven’t had one in three weeks, but today felt like a cigarette day.”
Tim took another puff, inhaling deeply, then letting the smoke drift out in a slow cloud. “That little boy, do you think he’s alive?”
Lucy felt a stab of guilt. Talking about the case with Tim had to dredge up painful memories for him more than anyone else. He’d been the one abducted and tortured. She knew that the thick sleeves of his jumper hid a network of grim scars that would always be a reminder of his ordeal in Night Town.
“I think there’s a chance he might be out there.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Just because someone’s gone doesn’t mean they’re gone forever, right?”
Tim nodded and pinched the end of the joint. “If I can do anything… I’ll hang around, help if you need it.”
Lucy couldn’t help smiling, but was glad the darkness hid her pleasure. It wasn’t often that Tim would be pinned down, especially about staying around the house. But in that same instant, her thoughts turned to Sadie and how the woman would be feeling tonight, and the smile faded.
“Thanks, it’s good having you home.” She stood and headed inside. As she passed, Atlas raised his head and she scratched under his chin. Satisfied that he’d receive the appropriate amount of attention, the dog let out a sleepy grunt and let his muzzle rest on his paws.
* * *
The house was silent, save the creak of the floorboards under Lucy’s bare feet and the sound of Atlas’ snoring, low and deep echoing under Tim’s bedroom door. Wondering how her brother could sleep with that much noise, Lucy pressed a pair of whiskey glasses to her chest and used her elbow to open the bedroom door. Damon, wearing only blue boxers, was stretched out on the bed. Arms laced behind his head, he watched her as she crossed the room, his crooked smile lifting the side of his mouth. “I thought we both might need this.” She took a sip of whiskey, letting the sweet taste of toffee and cloves slip over her tongue before setting her tumbler down on the bedside table. With her hair loose around her shoulders and wearing light green cotton pyjamas, she crawled across the bed and handed Damon a glass. He raised his head and took a sip before settling back on the pillows, the tumbler propped on his chest.
“Nice, thanks,” he said, reaching up and taking a strand of her hair between his fingers, sliding his hand downward. This was when Lucy felt most content. The two men she loved were safely under one roof and the house was quiet.
“So...” Kneeling beside him, she let her hand rest on his chest. “I can’t find any trace of Robert Wheeler on Facebook, so I’ve sent Sadie a friend request,” she said.
His skin was warm under her fingers, the muscles underneath hard and tight.
“People reveal a lot in family photos and posts.”
For a moment Damon didn’t answer. Instead, he seemed focused on his glass.
“I haven’t been honest with you.” His words, the way they came out in a tired breath, set off a flutter of panic in her chest.
Lucy slipped her hand off his chest and wedged it between her knees, bracing herself for whatever he was about to say and at the same time wanting to put her hand over his mouth and stop him. Could she have overestimated how perfect things were between them? Maybe she’d spent so much time worrying about Tim, she hadn’t noticed cracks appearing in their relationship. Are there cracks in our relationship?
“I asked Larson to have dinner here because I knew once you heard the details of the case you’d want to be involved,” he said.
He let go of her hair and pushed himself up in bed so they were eye level to one another.
“This case is not like the others.”
He held the tumbler in one hand and rubbed at the back of his neck with the other. “Cheating husbands and runaways, I can cope with, but a child… Brock’s good at what we do, but the stakes are high. Too high.”
Lucy sat back on her heels. At first relieved that this wasn’t the moment when he finally realised he wasn’t happy with her, her relief then gave way to confusion. “I don’t understand, Damon. What are you trying to say? Because it sounds like you’re saying you want me to work with you. We’ve already covered tha
t.”
“Yes.” He leaned forward. “But I manipulated you into this. I knew it would be hard for you, but I still dragged you into it.” He shook his head. “I always fall back on the belief that the end justifies the means. It’s what I did in the army. That’s why I left, but I find I’m still doing it. Even with you.” The last three words came out sounding hoarse.
“You’re wrong.” She kept her hands between her knees even though her skin itched with the need to touch him, to comfort him. “You’re wrong about yourself and about me.”
He opened his mouth to interrupt, but she held up a hand.
“First of all, I knew why Larson was coming. And, I knew you wanted me to be involved, so you didn’t manipulate me. Secondly, I’m not that fragile, not anymore.”
“Yes, but–”
“No, Damon.” She could feel herself getting irritated and took a breath. “Tell me why you wanted me working with you?”
He looked puzzled, startled by the question. “Your instincts are good and…” When he spoke again, his tone became softer. “You keep me steady.”
There were fine lines at the corners of his eyes, lines made deeper by emotion. His willingness to share his feelings was one of the things she loved about him.
“If we find that little boy’s body, I don’t know if I can tell another mother her son won’t be coming home,” he said.
The irritation she’d felt only a moment ago vanished.
“It’s not manipulating someone if you love and need them,” she said, tipping her head to the side. “If you need me, I’m there.”
The line between his brows softened. He gave a nod. “Got it.”
“Now.” Once more, she let her hand rest on his chest. “I have some other ideas about the case.”
Nodding again, he pulled her closer. “Let’s take a break from work.” His lips tasted like whiskey, sweet and warm. For a while all thoughts of monsters disappeared.
