He stepped into the hallway and walked to the front door. The glass was of that bubble effect sixties style; the stuff that shattered so easily when kids banged against it. He glanced up the stairs ready to run should someone appear.
The musty fog followed him through into the front room. A battered sofa was mostly hidden under more piles of rubbish. Bin bags, in an attempt at tidying, were spilling their contents of old pizza boxes onto the floor. On the mantelpiece, Max saw a couple of framed photographs of Cindy. They looked like they were taken years ago when a smile didn’t seem so unnatural on her lips.
The unmistakable sound of footsteps came from the room above.
Max froze.
After an eternity of holding his breath, he let it out. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do. His instinct told him to run, but he’d come here to find Cindy or get a lead as to where she might have run to. What if it was Cindy upstairs? He heard the scrape of furniture and stared at the ceiling.
Thud.
Max jumped. The light fitting rocked.
The footsteps were on the move again, but it seemed as if they were just shuffling around the same bit of room. Maybe the footsteps’ owner hadn’t heard Max after all.
Max made his mind up.
The stairs were littered with old magazines and clothes and Max trod carefully lest he slip. As his eye line reached the floor of the landing, he could see that the room he’d been hearing the noises from was closed: the only room with a closed door. Max quickly checked the open rooms to make sure they were empty before going to the closed door. A padlock had been crudely fitted onto the frame.
The shuffling footsteps sounded different up here but there was no doubting there was someone behind that door.
“Hello?” he called out as he lightly knocked the door with his knuckles. “Can you hear me in there?”
Max pressed his ear against the wooden door, surprised at first by the cold paintwork.
Something slammed into the other side of the door and Max recoiled, banging his back into the banister rail that ran along the top of the landing. He swore, his nerves jangled. He looked longingly down the stairs to the front door, but held his ground.
“Hello, it’s Max. Are you OK in there?”
Max checked the padlock, but it had a good weight and didn’t look like it was going to be easy to force. Maybe the bracket would be easier to pull off. Or if he could find a screwdriver he could just unscrew the bracket. He scanned the doorway, looking for anything else he might have missed, and then he saw it, a small silver key hanging from a hook at the top of the door frame. He took it and slid it into the padlock.
“I’m coming in now, don’t be scared. I’m here to help.”
He slipped the padlock off and let it drop to the floor. The room was dark, much darker than it should have been at this time of day. Dribbles of light came in from the landing behind him.
“Everything’s OK now. Don’t be scared.” In the gloom, it took Max a moment to spot the figure standing against the wall on the other side of the double bed, their back towards Max.
“I’m Cindy’s husband, there’s no need to be scared. Who are you? Why are you in here?”
The figure turned, and Max got the impression of long hair draping their features. The person tilted their head first to the left, then to the right. Max felt like he was being appraised.
Max’s heart was pounding. He raised his arms slowly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just tell me your name.”
The figure started moving, stepping cautiously around the bed, their face still in shadow. But as it came closer, Max realised there were no features to be seen. The face was devoid of any kind of facial feature. Just a smooth mound of flesh. Max took a step away from the blank, shaking his head disbelievingly. Was this one going to try to kill him as well?
“OK then, I’m just going to walk away and leave you be. Sorry for disturbing you.” He turned, ready to run from the room, but with an unexpected turn of speed, the figure darted forward and grabbed him.
16
The blank, for that’s all that Max could think of this thing, had its hands clamped tightly against his shoulders and shoved him into the wall. He struggled, raised his arms against his assailant but its strength surprised him. Max reached for the wall light, hoping the sudden change in light would take it by surprise. But as the light came on, it was Max that blinked against the change, not the creature. Max grinned wryly, realising his stupidity. A creature with no visible eyes was hardly going to be put off by sudden light changes.
Max got a good look at the blank, casting his eyes over the smooth baby like skin. There were no scars or signs of ageing or wrinkles that he could see. This just looked like someone had taken a latex mask and glued it to someone’s face. He could see the muscle’s twitching behind the pale skin, and could see the indents under the nose where the nostrils should be.
How is it even breathing? It shouldn’t be alive. By all rights, this should be dead. It was a walking impossibility.
The grip on Max’s arms tightened and he winced.
“Get the hell off me.” Max brought his hands together as if praying, then forced them up between the creature’s arms, knocking the grip from his shoulders. Before giving it a chance to retaliate, Max kicked at the creature’s midriff.
It fell back silently, hitting the bed and collapsing on the floor. Max spun on his heel and grabbed the door, but something stopped him.
The creature wasn’t chasing him. Instead, it sat slumped on the floor, its back against the bed, head bowed. Its chest was rising and falling rapidly like it was struggling to breathe. With the immediate threat passed, Max stepped back cautiously into the room.
“Are you OK? I didn’t want to hurt you.”
It was impossible to say whether the blank ignored him or didn’t understand him.
“I’ll call an ambulance, let them get you to a hospital.”
Slowly, the creature lifted its head from its chest and Max was looking into the blank features of the creature. In this doleful state, it wasn’t quite as intimidating.
Max got down on his haunches and then he noticed the clothes the creature was wearing: the remains of a floral dress, hung around her, covered in most places with a tatty grey dressing gown. The creature’s hands were wrinkled and dotted with liver spots.
No wonder she wasn’t getting up, it was an old woman.
“Let me get you off the floor,” he said and reached out under her arms. She didn’t resist, or try to attack him, so he continued and got her to her feet, then let her sit back down on the bed.
He was having a horrible thought. The photos on the mantelpiece. There was only one woman this could be.
“You’re Cindy’s mother aren’t you?”
She looked at him with her blank face.
“Why is she keeping you here? How did this happen?”
Max went downstairs and got a glass of water for himself. He knew now that Cindy had something to do with Heather’s death; it wasn’t a coincidence that his girlfriend and his mother-in-law had both succumbed to the same fate. At least Sylvia hadn’t died. But why hadn’t she? When he’d first seen the photo of Heather under the pier, he’d assumed that she’d died as a result of not being able to breathe, but here Sylvia was, not to mention the blank in the police station who’d tried to kill him, both having the same affliction as Heather, and both being able to function.
He needed to speak to Cindy, and there was still a strong chance that Cindy would come back here, so it seemed a sensible idea to settle here for a while and sit it out. If she turned up, Max might get the answers he’s been looking for. If she didn’t, well it was unlikely the police would bother checking here to look for him, so it might be a good place to hide out anyway and think about his strategy. Cindy was his only lead right now and that had to change. If she didn’t turn up, he’d have to think of something else, find a way to prove his innocence.
Sylvia still needed help though and this
was a problem. Max wanted to get her some treatment but he couldn’t risk all the attention that the paramedics would bring to the house. So he decided, that in the morning—unless Cindy turned up first—he would call for an ambulance and get Sylvia some proper medical care.
He’d barely had any sleep in the last thirty-six hours and the adrenaline rush of today’s excitement in the police station had well and truly worn off. A strong coffee helped, and he started looking around downstairs, picking up a few random newspapers, but discarding them just as quickly. An old wooden display cabinet with a built in sideboard dominated the far wall of the dining room. Glass doors adorned the top display section and a strange collection of owl figurines and crystal snowflakes sat inside collecting dust. He pulled open a couple of drawers and leafed through some old papers and knitting patterns before stuffing the lot back in as best he could.
He found the laptop shoved under the armchair. Max recognised it as one of his old laptops he’d given to Cindy last year when he’d upgraded. He sat down on the sofa, and turned it on. She’d set a password for her windows account. Max started to run through the five that he knew she used all the time and got lucky on his third attempt. Max opened up her recent files list but didn’t see anything of interest. The browser was the next thing to check. Max pulled down her Internet history and started working through the list. A lot of shopping websites—how many clothes shops had she visited?
But here was something more interesting. A map website appeared lots of times in the last twelve months which struck him as peculiar as Cindy wasn’t much of a traveller. She went to work on the bus, and drove the short distance to Sylvia’s house. As far as he knew, she didn’t go any farther afield than that.
The map page loaded and Max gazed at the dozens of push pin icons dotted across the page. They were spread across all of the United Kingdom. Surely she can’t have been planning a trip to take in all these spots. There was a list of pins on the left-hand side of the screen but they all had nondescript names: names consisting of numbers mainly, with the odd letter thrown in. It looked like a reference system but he didn’t have a clue what it might mean. Something caught his eye on that list though. One item was standing out like a sore thumb. The only item with a proper description.
Ben Castleton.
OK. This was something worth checking. Cindy had never mentioned anyone by that name before. He clicked on the list item and it showed more details including the full address: Fulwood, Preston. Max found a pen and tore a scrap of paper off one of the newspapers and jotted down the address. If Cindy didn’t turn up tonight, this was another place he could look for her.
And as for the rest of this list, he could do with checking it out. He hadn’t seen a printer in the house so he saved the list to a file and logged into his email account where he saved it in a draft email to himself. He’d be able to grab the list from any laptop connected to the web.
Max grabbed a blanket from the spare bedroom—the only one he could find that didn’t stink of staleness—and cleared some space on the couch. He propped a chair against the door to the front room, turned the lights out, and lay down on the sofa. He thought it would take an age to fall asleep, but he was out like a light in a few short minutes.
17
Payne curled his fingers around the cool glass of his coke and stared into its depths, looking for patterns in the swirls and chains of bubbles in the brown liquid. His stomach grumbled at the smell from the Chinese buffet in the centre of the restaurant, and he checked his watch again; it looked like Charlie wasn’t going to show.
He lifted his phone and tapped out a text to Carol.
Can’t make it tonight. Sorry.
Payne looked through the floor to ceiling windows and wondered why they built this place facing the car park; he could have been supping his pint gazing out across the sea if they’d built it the other way round.
His phone chirped. Carol was sorry too.
A young Chinese waitress sidled over, offered him another drink, which he declined, then gestured to the buffet again. He nodded and smiled politely.
“Still waiting for my friend.”
She returned the smile, before bobbing over to another table.
He shifted on his chair then heard his friend's voice.
“You made it then.” Charlie said and sat down. He tucked a bulging folio wallet onto an empty seat then whistled the waitress over.
“Drink, sir?”
“Rum and coke.”
She scribbled a note, looked at Payne who again shook his head, then left them alone.
“You eating?” Payne asked.
“Not right now.”
Payne headed for the buffet where he loaded his plate with dim sum, Peking chicken, and fried rice. He'd been gone less than two minutes but Charlie's glass was empty by the time he returned.
“Take it easy fella.” Payne said, picking up a prawn toast.
“They're cooked from frozen. Everything here is. That's why they can afford to make such ridiculous quantities.”
“We didn't have to come here.”
Charlie caught the waitress’s eye and motioned for a refill.
“Bit early isn't it?”
Charlie pinched a spring roll from Payne's plate, popped it whole into his mouth, and then quickly spat it into his hand. “Too hot,” he explained.
The waitress replaced Charlie’s drink which he sipped immediately. Payne watched his hand twitching as he settled the glass on the table.
“What’s gotten into you Charlie?”
“You’ve had quite a day,” Charlie said, raising an eyebrow. “Bet you’re counting down the days till you kiss all this goodbye.”
“Not exactly,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t have any plans to leave just yet.”
“You were all set to go at one point. You seemed dead keen to move onto the next big thing. What happened?”
Payne stopped eating. “We’re not having this conversation again.”
“Why not?”
“Why are you being like this? Are you determined to push everyone away? The pub was Anna’s dream, not mine.”
“You were ready to go. I saw how excited you were.”
Payne looked at his friend and saw behind the words. “I know you miss her too. But, I don’t want to go there right now. I’ve got a murderer to catch.”
“Don’t give up on that dream. It doesn’t matter that it was hers, or perhaps that’s what makes it more important. Maybe her dream is worth keeping hold of. It doesn’t look like you’re chasing any of your own.” Charlie reached for Payne’s hand and gripped it tightly with his own. “She wanted you to get away from the police. Don’t forget that.” Payne caught his friend’s stare and was surprised by the determination he saw there. Then Charlie pulled back his hand and drank some more, the moment gone.
“What happened at the station?”
“I told you what happened.” Payne pushed his plate away, not hungry anymore. “Someone tried to blow it up.”
“I got that much from the news. What aren’t you telling me? Do you know who did it?”
“I know who attacked the station because I saw one of them.”
“Well who is it?”
“A woman. She never got a chance to tell me her name. I shot her.”
Charlie tilted his head like he hadn’t heard properly, then a smirk broke out on his lined face, a glow had blossomed on his cheeks from the drink. “You don’t carry a firearm.”
“Not officially.”
“Oh. That’s going to take some explaining then.”
“That’s the least of it. I spoke to Taylor. He said the body was going to be making its way to you at the path lab, but they were sending it to the hospital first. Have you got it yet?”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “No one’s been in touch with me about any body.”
“No? I knew he was lying. Bastard.”
“Who? Taylor?”
“Yes. A team were all over the s
tation after the blast. They took the body away in a van. I assumed they were a special team brought in by Taylor but he’s been keeping the details back from me. He’s been lying to me. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“When you can’t trust your Super on a case like this you’re in trouble.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Sorry.”
Payne was troubled. He’d had the suspicion that Taylor had been keeping things back from him, and now he just knew that he’d been lied to. Charlie, despite the alcohol, was making perfect sense. The case was a nightmare as it was without losing his line of support.
“You weren’t being honest yourself in the lab,” Payne said, picking up his glass.
Charlie just sat there playing with the edge of his napkin, giving nothing away.
Payne continued. “You’ve made out that you haven’t seen a condition like the one on our murder victim before. You’re lying.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. That’s what all the attitude is about. You’re afraid of something. Enough dead bodies have passed through your doors for you to be nothing but the best kind of professional around them. Yet today, you just wanted to swat down anyone who had a suggestion about what could make our victim lose her face like that. The only reason I can come to is that you know full well what caused her condition and that knowledge is scaring the crap out of you. If you could shove it all back in a drawer and forget about it, you’d do it in a heartbeat.”
Charlie tapped the side of his head with his index finger. “Are you reading my mind Spencer?” He grinned.
“I know I’m right. That condition does seem to be catching though. The two who attacked the station today were exactly the same. Two people. A man and a woman. Walking. Thinking. Seeing, goddammit. And all without a face. Now, what the hell is all that about, because I’m just a bloody detective not a scientist? It’s not my job to explain the unexplainable.”
“And that’s my job is it?”
“You’ve seen this before. And now I’ve seen it three times. They killed my colleagues today. And I think that you know who they are.”
The Face Stealer Page 10
