by Beth Thomas
‘Oh. Well, then, why are you here?’
‘It’s all right, don’t panic, we’re just looking for someone …’ Matt starts, and looks over her shoulder into the flat.
The old lady backs away and takes hold of the edge of the door in her free hand. ‘I haven’t got anything,’ she says, her eyes darting about. I notice round her neck she has one of those panic alarms, to notify her loved ones if she has a fall.
‘Oh, no, please, we’re not here to …’ I start, taking a step forward and reaching out. She darts – well, shuffles – back further. Matt puts his hand on my arm and gently pushes me backwards. Then takes a step back himself and puts his hands up, palm out, in a surrender gesture.
‘How about you close the door and talk to us through it?’
She looks momentarily relieved and tries a smile, but I can see she’s struggling with herself. It would be so rude to close the door in someone’s face like that. ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need to …’
‘No, you should definitely do that,’ Matt says now, more forcefully. ‘We’re not here to hurt you in any way, but obviously you will be safer, and feel better, if your door was closed. Please do it, Mrs …?’
‘Williams,’ she says now, blithely giving away her name, when we already have her address.
‘Right, Mrs Williams. Please close the door. If it makes you feel better, you can open it again straight away, but please make sure you put the chain on first.’
‘Oh, all right then.’ She disappears behind the door, which then closes. There’s a rattle of the chain, then the door opens again. ‘Now. How may I help you?’ She’s cheery again, obviously feeling relieved to have so cleverly avoided being burgled.
‘We’re looking for someone,’ Matt says again. ‘He used to live here, I think. About four years ago?’
‘Oh, well, I’ve been here almost as long as that myself, so I’m not sure I can help you.’
‘So you live here alone?’
‘Yes, all alone, since my Ernest died fifteen years ago,’ she says. Then catches herself. ‘Oh, but I have a grandson. He’s twenty-five, he visits me all the time. He’s in the army, you know. He’s very, very fit. And tall. And strong. In fact, he’s here now.’ She turns her head slightly and calls out, ‘It’s all right, Darren, I’ll be back in a moment.’
She’s adorable! I can’t help smiling, but I’m worried that might seem patronising, so I try to stop it before it happens. In the end, I look away and leave it to Matt.
‘Oh, really? That’s great, I’m glad you’re not on your own,’ Matt says. ‘I’m sure Darren takes good care of you.’ I feel a surge of affection for him as he pretends he’s fallen for it, and have to stop myself instantly giving him a huge squeeze. ‘But do you know what happened to the person who lived here before you? A man called Ryan Moorfield?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, no, I’m afraid I don’t. He was gone before I got here, you see.’
Matt nods, so patiently. ‘Yes, I thought he would have. I just wondered if you had any idea where he moved to?’
She shakes her head again. ‘No, I thought I’d already said, I don’t know.’
‘Well, have you had any post delivered here for him, since you’ve lived here?’
She screws up her face and juts her head forward. ‘No, no, no, for the last time, no. I don’t know him, I’ve never heard of him. Now please leave me alone before I call the police!’ Her voice is suddenly a bit high and panicky, and she slams the door roughly, hoping it would bang. She fails to muster enough strength, though, and it clicks shut smoothly. I turn quickly to see Matt stepping back from the door in surprise.
‘Well, I didn’t see that coming,’ he says, eyebrows up.
‘That was very odd, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah. Dear, sweet little old thing.’
‘So what now? This is kind of the only lead we’ve got.’
He looks at me, smiling. ‘Lead? OK, Nancy Drew. Let me think a minute.’
Something occurs to me. ‘Do you think Darren the grandson is really here?’
He considers this, then nods. ‘I’ll bet if he isn’t, his granny will tell us where we can find him.’
‘And if he is here, I’ll put money on him answering the door next time someone knocks …’
Matt nods, then turns back to the door and raises his hand to knock again; but before he can, the door is pulled open, and standing there is a young man of maybe twenty-five, in jeans and a snarl. Matt’s raised fist suddenly looks as if it’s about to punch him in the face, so he lowers it and smiles. ‘Afternoon. You must be Darren?’
The man steps outside and pulls the door almost closed behind him. ‘What the fuck do you want with Ryan?’ His voice is low, presumably so that the sweet little old lady inside doesn’t hear him swearing, but to me it just sounds threatening and I start to feel a chill up my spine. I glance around but there is no one nearby. We are two strangers to the area, asking about someone with a horror in his past, now faced with an aggressive, fit young man in a secluded and deserted housing estate.
And at that moment, I get a flash of inspiration so vivid, I actually shiver. An image comes into my head of Adam, knocking on a door somewhere, asking questions about something. He doesn’t know the area, he doesn’t know the person, he’s just … investigating. He stirs up something nasty, something almost everyone wants forgotten, something no one wants to talk about. I imagine him in this situation; the person at the door swearing in his face; Adam – gentle, helpless, slightly nerdy Adam – stepping back in shock; he shakes his head, puts his hands up, OK, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry; but the person at the door is angry now, furious, doesn’t want his secret to get out, can’t let it get out, won’t let it. He darts forward and seizes Adam’s jacket, taking him completely by surprise, and pulls him roughly back into the flat, into the dark unknown space behind him. The door closes behind them both, leaving the porch still and silent and empty of people. And now all on the street is quiet and peaceful once more.
I blink, as if waking from a hallucination, and look urgently at Matt. He’s nose to nose with the man now, not looking small or nerdy or helpless at all, and I focus on their conversation.
‘… that little fucker that we don’t want anything to do with him any more, you got that, pal?’
Matt nods. ‘I can assure you, my friend,’ he says politely, pulling himself up, dipping his chin, clenching his fists and curling his lip, ‘that our intention is not and never has been to cause hurt or upset to anyone, including your lovely grandmother.’
‘You better not …’
Matt is slightly taller than the other guy, and is staring fixedly into his eyes. ‘Definitely not. All we want to do is find Ryan so that we can ask him about an unrelated matter.’
‘What unrelated matter?’
‘This lady’s husband,’ they glance quickly at me in unison, like Irish dancers, then go back to each other, ‘has disappeared, and she wants to know what’s happened to him. We think Ryan and he might know each other.’
‘Why d’you think that?’
Matt gives a winning smile and juts his head closer to the other guy. ‘It’s a long story, to be honest, and it will take quite a lot of your time to explain it all. It’s nothing whatsoever that might affect you, or your grandmother, because until this very moment, I didn’t even know you existed. I’m just looking for him, that’s all. Do you know where he is?’
There’s an extended hiatus, during which I see a vision of two possible futures: Matt’s car is found in a few days’ time parked in the churchyard of some random village deep in the Yorkshire Dales, no sign of either of us anywhere, but Matt’s credit card is used a few days later to buy two tickets to Johannesburg; or Darren the grandson backs down from Matt’s imposing politeness and frankly giant proportions and gives us an address.
I bite my lip and wrap my arms around myself. Time passes so slowly I can practically feel the earth rotating. After eight hundred years
, Darren the grandson gives a microscopic jerk of his head in a gesture of ‘you win but only because I just can’t be bothered with this any more’.
‘He’s got a place out on Park Road, other side of the railway line. Rented place.’
Matt nods. ‘Thanks man, ’preciate it.’ He looks at me briefly, then back at Darren. ‘And I give you my personal guarantee you will never see or hear from either of us again.’
‘Better not,’ Darren says, and with a final snarl, he closes the door.
Unfortunately, Matt has to knock again immediately to ask him which number on Park Road. ‘But now, you will never see or hear from us again.’
In the car, Matt sets the sat nav to the new address, while I tell him my just forming theory.
‘What if Adam stumbled upon something, you know? What if he’s not mixed up in any of this at all, not shielding Ryan or helping him at all, but more, I don’t know, looking into things? What if he’s the good guy?’
Matt looks as me as he swings the car round. ‘Looking into things?’
‘Yeah. I mean, maybe he doesn’t know Ryan Moorfield at all, but heard about what happened on the grapevine …’
‘The property management grapevine, you mean?’
‘Well, yeah, maybe. Anyway, maybe he somehow found out that other people, other landlords, were being equally slack with their gas safety stuff. Maybe he found out that corners were being cut, lives were being put in danger.’
‘What, and someone’s vanished him, to keep him quiet?’
‘Yeah!’
He thinks a moment, and glances at me. ‘Sounds a bit ITV drama, to be honest.’
‘Really?’
‘Mm. What made you think of it?’
‘It was while you were chatting to Darren. We were there, on this housing estate, miles from home, miles from anyone who knows us. Darren gets a bit antsy, doesn’t like our line of questioning, pushes us off a flyover.’
‘Fuck!’
‘Well it’s possible, isn’t it? This kind of thing does happen, now and then. Not as often as Channel Four makes out, admittedly, but crimes do happen. Maybe Adam was asking too many questions. There are laws being broken, remember. And money is being made. People can get quite jumpy with those kinds of enquiries.’
He looks at me again, then pulls the car off the road and kills the engine. He swivels in his seat to face me properly. ‘You know what, that’s not a half-bad idea.’
‘Isn’t it?’ A broad grin spreads across my face. ‘I mean, yes, I know.’
He shakes his head. ‘This is amazing. What if you’re right? What if Adam has been killed?’
The thought makes me go cold. It’s the logical conclusion to what I’ve been suggesting, but I hadn’t followed my thoughts all the way to the end. ‘Oh … God.’
He looks at me gravely. ‘Grace, this is significant. We need to let the investigating team know what we’re doing. What we’ve learned.’
‘But we haven’t really learned anything yet, have we?’
He thinks. ‘Well, have you told Linda Patterson about the documents and statements that Adam had in that safe?’
I don’t meet his eyes. ‘No.’
‘What about that they relate to someone who was convicted of causing a death? Another landlord?’
‘No.’
‘Well then, that’s what we need to tell them.’
I don’t want to tell them. I want to find stuff out myself, reassert myself as a valid human, a capable adult. It’s not fair. I glance at Matt and he’s peering at me with a quizzical expression on his face.
‘You don’t look happy about that.’
‘No. I’m not.’ I know I’m pouting and that it’s not an attractive look, but I can’t help it.
‘This isn’t a game, Grace. We’re not doing this for fun.’
I glance at him, then look away again. ‘I know.’
He leans nearer and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘Ah, Gracie. You’re so charming when you’re sulking.’
‘I’m not sulking.’
He smiles and sits back a little. ‘You’re so charming when you’re not sulking.’
I won’t smile. I’m stressed and unhappy. I want to find stuff out and it feels like we’ve just about got there, and now he wants to take that away and give it to someone else.
He leans in again. ‘Grace,’ he breathes and I feel it warm on my face. ‘I know this is so important to you. I understand that.’
My insides have gone all jiggly and I feel like I want to smile, but the possibility of Adam having been killed is still there, drenching everything in fear.
‘But we do need to fill Linda in with everything we know. If it’s murder, they need to look at it in those terms.’
‘I know.’
‘But, charming girl, before you ring Linda I want you to look where we are.’
I look up and see we are parked on a nice-looking residential street. I was so absorbed telling Matt my new theory, I didn’t notice us getting here. Just ahead is a left-hand turning called Rutherford Place. I look at Matt. ‘OK, I’ve looked. Where are we?’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Where do you think?’
I look out of the window again, then turn quickly back to him. Now I’m smiling. I’m grinning actually. ‘It’s Park Road, isn’t it?’
He smiles back and nods, like a godmother saying it’s a ‘go’ for the ball. ‘Sure is.’
‘Oh, wow.’ I fling my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. His arms close around my back and hold me and I feel safe, like I’m in the right place. ‘Thank you.’
‘OK. This is the last one before we call it in, and I think we need a plan.’
I lean back and look him in the eye. ‘I agree.’
He stares into my eyes for a few moments, not moving. Then he blinks. ‘Sorry, um. Right. A plan.’
‘Yes. Maybe we shouldn’t barge in there asking questions about Adam. Just in case, you know …’
‘Agreed. So … what?’
I shrug. ‘Couldn’t we have just broken down or something?’
‘What, ask to borrow their phone?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Because the last time that happened in real life was never. Even in the fifties, when cars broke down all the time and mobile phones hadn’t been invented, people didn’t do that.’
‘I bet they did.’
‘Well, maybe they did. But they don’t any more.’
‘No. OK. Fair enough. Have you got a better idea?’
He thinks. ‘OK. We’ll just ask if they’ve seen our cat.’
‘Terrible.’
‘You’re right. Delivering leaflets?’
‘Nope.’
‘Spreading good news?’
‘Jesus!’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘No.’
‘OK, I give up. What have you got?’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Nothing. Shall we just knock and say we’re making enquiries? See what happens?’
He looks resigned. ‘I’m not terribly happy with it, but I suppose it’ll do for now.’
‘Great.’
We get out of the car and walk a few yards up the road, as Matt hasn’t parked right outside the house Darren told us about, as a precaution. It’s a quiet, suburban estate but on that long walk from the car, it feels exactly as if it’s waiting, as if something is expected and everyone in the entire neighbourhood has decided to stay inside with their doors bolted and their curtains closed.
At the gate, we hesitate for the briefest moment, looking at each other. Then Matt just brushes my hand before lifting the latch on the gate and swinging it open. It squeaks as it moves and the sound slices through the silence like a scream. I practically jump out of my clothes and look behind me quickly as if I expect to see … what? Undead Adam again, shuffling towards me with blank eyes, arms outstretched, moaning? Mentally I slap myself in the face and tell myself to pull myself together, while making sure I stay
directly behind Matt so he can’t see what a complete lamo I am. As I trudge up the path, I feel exactly how I imagine it would feel to be walking towards a guillotine. Again, intense reluctance pulls at my steps like a current and I have to force myself to keep going. Eventually after what feels like hours, I arrive next to Matt at the front door.
‘Matt,’ I whisper, and he turns to me.
‘What?’
I look into his eyes for a long time. ‘I’m … scared.’
He moves nearer to me. ‘Ah, Grace, don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.’
I’m shaking my head before he’s finished. ‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean … I feel like we’re about to find out … something. Like I might finally know … something. And I’m scared that …’ My voice catches in my throat and Matt dips his head towards me.
‘That what? What is it?’ He looks genuinely concerned and his frown deepens, but I can’t get this anxiety out of me.
I look at the door, then back at Matt. ‘What if … I was his other life?’
We look at each other wordlessly for a few moments, then turn as one to the door.
‘Here goes nothing,’ he whispers, and rings the bell.
From inside comes the sound of someone coughing, and I reach for Matt’s hand as we wait, curling my fingers around his.
After a few moments we hear some movement behind the door, footsteps coming down a hallway, a fumbling in the lock, and my breath comes faster and faster. This is the despicable person who allowed that poor baby to die. Could he also be responsible, somehow, for Adam’s death? Are we about to look into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer? There’s a rushing in my ears and for a moment it’s all I can hear. My blood pumps faster and faster through my veins as my heart accelerates and as the door swings open all my senses dial up and zone in and I focus everything on what I can see when the man at the door comes into view …
And as I stare into the face of Ryan Moorfield, all the rushing and whooshing and thudding and pulsing just suddenly stops.
Because it’s Adam.
NINETEEN
‘Oh shit,’ he says immediately.
‘Shit,’ I echo, but definitely for very different reasons. ‘Wh …? Why …?’ It feels like I’ve been punched in the brain. Suddenly a million questions are dislodged from where they’ve been hibernating for the past couple of weeks and now they’re all awake and stomping around roaring like a hungry bear. In the melee, I can’t identify the question I want to ask first. The thing I want to do first. I shake my head, as if that will help sort everything out and line it up neatly. ‘You …’
