Too many gaps in his knowledge were beginning to show, evidenced by Erin’s knowledge of Amy’s visit to his mother.
And the fact that Amy hadn’t told him about the visit.
***
The low-set brick clad building formed an L-shape around the asphalt driveway, the space outside its front doors accompanied by signs demarking their use by ambulances only.
Will had parked in a space in the visitor’s car park, then had walked the length of the building, signed in at reception and now tried to ignore the fact that his backside was turning numb in the hard plastic chair he’d been directed to.
The facility manager had frowned at his calling in without phoning ahead.
‘It upsets her routine,’ she’d grumbled.
Will had apologised, and asked to meet with his mother in her private room, away from the prying eyes and ears of the facility’s staff and more alert residents.
She’d huffed, but said she’d go and see if his mother was awake and comfortable, then turned her back on him and stalked away.
Twenty minutes later she reappeared, beckoned to him to join her, and led him to his mother’s room before closing the door behind him.
He pulled a chair over to where his mother sat, her white hair haloed by the sunshine pouring through the window, the panes smeared from the recent rainfall.
She played with a loose thread on the blanket across her legs, and smiled at him as he joined her.
‘How’re you doing, mum?’
He tried to recall when he’d last been to see her, the guilt coursing through him as he realised it had been months, rather than weeks.
‘It’s good to see you,’ she murmured. ‘I know you’re busy, but I worry you work too hard.’
Will lowered his gaze to his hands and shuffled in his seat, trying to get comfortable. ‘Amy’s in hospital, mum.’
Her hand found his, and she squeezed. ‘Is it bad?’
He nodded, fighting back tears. ‘She was injured. Badly.’ He sniffled. ‘I still don’t know if she’s going to be okay.’
He exhaled as his mother squeezed his hand, then her fingers returned to the blanket, pulling the thread.
He wondered how much she was listening, how much she was taking in, whether her damaged brain was working through what he’d told her.
‘It was so nice of her to visit.’
‘When?’
She waved her hand. ‘Oh, I don’t know. You know how it is with me and time.’
‘Well, how about a guess? A few weeks? A month?’
His mother turned her face towards the window, her features devoid of expression. She seemed to be watching a pair of sparrows frolicking in a bird bath in the middle of the threadbare lawn, her eyes flickering back and forth.
Will clenched his fingers into his palms and forced down his impatience. He knew how this worked. Sometimes his mother would retreat into her own thoughts for minutes, days even, and it did no good to try to hurry her along.
He followed her gaze to the bird bath, just in time to see a large pigeon dive-bomb into the water, sending the smaller birds scattering in its wake.
His mother giggled, then turned to him. ‘Oh, it was only a couple of weeks ago – I remember now.’
‘Why?’ He paused. ‘I mean – why did she come to see you, without me?’
His mother shrugged, a blissful smile on her lips. ‘She didn’t say.’
‘What did she want?’
‘I-I don’t remember.’
‘Can you try?’
‘Mmm.’
Will exhaled, forced his frustration down deep, and waited. When it was apparent his mother wouldn’t volunteer any more information without being prompted, he tried a different tact.
‘What was she wearing?’
His mother laughed again, a beautiful sound that filled the room.
Will tried desperately to keep his emotions in check. It had been so rarely that he’d heard his mother laugh freely.
His mother was still giggling when she spoke again. ‘She was wearing an awful old cardigan – goodness knows where she’d found it. It was much too long for her,’ she said. ‘And a hat – a big floppy one that hung over her ears.’
Will’s mind raced. The only reason he could think of why Amy would wear such strange clothing was that she had disguised herself to visit his mother, which meant she was already fearful for her life, and concerned that she was being followed by someone.
‘And she was wearing sunglasses,’ added his mother, a wide smile on her face, the giggles subsiding. ‘It was raining outside, I remember – and she was wearing sunglasses. I told her she should have brought an umbrella instead.’
She fell silent, and her gaze dropped back to the blanket. She tugged hard at the thread and it came loose.
‘Can you remember what she came here for?’ asked Will.
His mother twisted the thread around her index finger, her mouth downturned. She sniffled.
‘I can’t remember,’ she whispered.
‘Come on, mum,’ he urged. ‘Please.’
He slid off his chair and knelt on the floor by her side, took her hand in his once more, and prised her fingers away from the threads she had tugged from the blanket.
Her skin felt cool to his touch, smooth and comforting. He screwed his eyes shut against the memories that threatened tears, pushed the thought aside, then looked at her.
‘I need your help, mum. So does Amy,’ he said. ‘The smallest thing – it doesn’t matter if you don’t think it’s important.’
He squeezed her hand, and then sat on his heels. His heart raced. If he pushed too hard, her mind would close down, block him out and he’d lose her again. But if she could remember…
‘The bible,’ his mother said, a smile lighting up her face. ‘She wanted my bible.’ Her gaze turned to him, her eyes shining. ‘I remembered!’
‘You did, mum – you did great.’ Will stood, then leaned down and hugged her. ‘Did she say why she wanted it?’ he asked, returning to his chair.
He couldn’t understand why his mother would let her most treasured possession out of her sight, let alone give it to Amy. He held his breath as he watched his mother’s mouth work, a frown creasing her brow, and opened his mouth to speak.
She held up a finger, before shaking her head. ‘Shh, Will. Don’t rush me.’
He leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, holding his breath.
A smile lit up his mother’s face. ‘That was it! She said she was going to put it somewhere safe!’
Somewhere safe?
Will turned over the phrase in his mind.
Why? What was so important about his mother’s old bible?
Was that why the apartment had been broken into?
He tugged at his earlobe. ‘I don’t suppose she told you where she was going to put it?’
His mother shrugged. ‘She said she was going to put it back where it belonged.’
Will sighed. ‘It couldn’t be simple, could it?’
23
Later, after he’d said his goodbyes and checked in on the facility manager to make sure his mother was otherwise okay, Will stomped back to the car, lost in thought.
Somewhere safe. Back where it belonged.
Not the apartment, he mused. Amy must’ve known that Rossiter would have no qualms about paying someone to break in and tear the place apart to search for the bible – if that’s what he was after.
Not the newspaper offices, either. Notwithstanding the fact Amy hadn’t told him or Erin about the angle of her story, she wouldn’t risk one of her colleagues beating her to it.
And there had been nothing else in their shared post office box, or saved to the hard drive.
He groaned, and then banged his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. What if Amy had a second, private, post office box which she hadn’t told him about?
He shook his head to clear the thought. No – everything Amy had left for him so far had been similar to a tra
il of breadcrumbs. She was leading him to the story – he just had to figure it out.
Before Rossiter found him.
Before the whole story was covered up.
He emitted a growl of frustration, then started the car and drove away from the aged care facility, switching on the radio in time to catch the hourly headlines.
While the radio announcer intoned that day’s news, he realised he was running out of time.
The General Election was only a week away. And Rossiter wanted to win.
Badly.
At any cost.
Will glanced at his backpack on the passenger seat, the hard drive and his laptop safely tucked inside.
What the hell am I missing?
What aren’t I seeing?
And where the hell is that bible?
***
Will’s eyelids snapped open, his heart racing.
He squinted at the luminous dial of his wristwatch, then rolled over, reached out his hand and switched on the bedside lamp.
Three-thirty a.m.
He rubbed his eyes and desperately tried to recall the thought that had shaken him from his sleep.
In his dream, he’d been running after Amy, unable to catch up with her. Paper copies of her notes fluttered in his hands as he’d gasped for oxygen to feed his tired muscles.
In front, Amy raced through long grass, tossing more pages into the air. She had glanced over her shoulder at him, laughing. ‘Keep up Will – we’re almost there!’
He’d tripped then, and all the paper he held had flown up into the air, before floating to the ground. He’d stood, brushing dirt off his jeans, and had held out his hands as the large confetti fell around him, and then realised they were standing in a graveyard.
At which point, he’d woken.
Will swung his legs over the bed and padded into the bathroom for a glass of water.
Twisting the faucet, he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror, playing over the end of the dream in his mind. He shook his head in frustration, turned off the tap and took a deep gulp of the cool water.
And nearly choked.
His hand shaking, he placed the glass on the counter and tried to calm his jangled nerves.
That was it. The safe place.
Bibles belonged in churches.
Amy had put the bible in the church.
The one where Colin Avery was buried.
Will dashed back to the bedroom and switched on the laptop. He began to pull on his clothes as he waited for the computer to start up, then sank into the chair and began to sort through the files on the hard drive.
Somewhere, in one of the files, Amy had confirmed his suspicions and left him a clue, he was sure.
He just had to find it.
***
Will parked the car behind the Green Dragon pub and followed the faded signs for the church to a wooden stile built into a fence that straddled a meadow. A footpath led through the field, skirting a small copse of trees to the left. The church had its own parking area, but the opportunity to stretch his legs while he worked through what he had learned was tempting. So too was the thought of a quick pint at the pub on his return.
He’d stopped at a service station half a mile down the road from the motel, pausing only to buy a stale heated meat pie and an energy drink.
A truck driver had grinned at him as they waited in the queue at the counter and pointed at Will’s purchases.
‘Food of kings,’ he’d said.
Will had taken one look at the man’s large physique, wondered how long he had before having a heart attack, and smiled politely before handing over his money to the cashier and exiting the shop as quickly as possible.
Now, the hem of his jeans tugged at the long grass as he walked, and he kept a wary eye on the small herd of cows huddled near a stream that ran through the lower part of the meadow.
He couldn’t make up his mind about Rossiter’s niece. Was she really trying to destroy her uncle’s career, or was Rossiter using her to track his movements?
Why had she contacted Amy? What had made her turn against her father’s old friend?
He scowled and thrust his fists deeper into his pockets, his nails scratching his palms. Only three days ago, life had been near-perfect and the biggest worry he’d had was whether Russell was going to kick his arse at their next fencing match.
He sniffled, battled the stinging sensation behind his eyelids and stomped along the path.
It narrowed as it reached the trees, and the grass fell away to reveal a pale coloured mud, with puddles several inches deep in places. Branches hung over the footpath, creating a green tunnel pockmarked with blackberry bushes and rosehip brambles.
Will stopped and turned. A mile back, the thatched roof of the pub poked above the hedgerow that surrounded its boundary line. A crow cawed as it banked gently on the air, before it sank to the meadow with an effortless grace.
No one followed.
Will exhaled, only then realising that he’d been holding his breath, waiting. His heart raced, but he wasn’t sure if that was from the undulating walk across the field, or the fact that he was scared.
Very scared.
He wished Amy had told him more about the story that had been her obsession for the past few months. Maybe he could have suggested a way that she could pursue the political candidate without putting herself in danger.
He was out of his depth, and all too aware of it.
Here he was, chasing after clues Amy had left behind, on the trail of the same investigation that had surely led to her being shot.
He ignored the stinging sensation that pricked his eyes, loneliness washing over him, leaving him desolate.
He wished he could pick up the phone, call the police detective and tell him everything, but his conscience couldn’t let go of the fact that he simply didn’t have enough proof.
Of course, the police would carry out their own enquiries, but by the time they came to any useful conclusions, it would be too late.
Rossiter would, in all likelihood, be Prime Minister and he and Malcolm Gregory would create a smokescreen so complex that he and Amy would spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders.
If they lived that long.
He spun on his heel and continued towards the church. The sign by the stile had said it was only one and a half miles, and his pace increased. He pulled his hands from his pockets and swung his arms at his side, eager to test his theory.
If he’d interpreted his mother’s cryptic words about Amy’s visit, he was on the right track. If not –
A branch snapped in the woodland to his left. He froze.
Straining his ears, he tried to listen beyond the cacophony of crows that rose from the trees above him, wheeling and rising into the air in fright.
He cried out in terror as a blackbird tore from the brambles next to him, before steadying himself, and then fell silent as a small deer emerged from the woodland.
He held his breath, mesmerised by the sight of something moving with such precision and grace, and watched as she raised her head, twitched her ears, and then bounded across the meadow towards the stream and the safety of the copse of trees below.
He smiled, berated himself for reacting so badly, and continued his way along the path.
He’d never spent a lot of time in the countryside. He’d played in a park near his house as a kid, but the novelty of tearing around an enclosed green space at a weekend had worn off as he’d entered his teenage years and instead he’d been more comfortable amongst the concrete and brick buildings of cities.
He began to take more notice of his surroundings, enjoying the fresh air and sense of freedom that came from being outside – really outside – and began to make plans to bring Amy out of the city more often.
Then he frowned, as he remembered she’d already been here. Without him.
As the trees led the footpath round a left-hand curve, the church steeple appeared, rising majestically above a horizon
of oak and yew trees. A second stile marked the boundary of the field and as he climbed over, he was relieved to see the footpath change from mud to gravel, which crunched under his feet.
The path widened and as he turned a corner and walked under the shadow of the eighteenth century building, he noted the empty visitor car parking spaces to the right of the door.
There was no sign of the vicar’s car in its allocated space.
He remembered as a child that churches were often left unlocked so that penitent parishioners and visitors could come and go as they pleased, but wondered if the vandalism of the twenty-first century had caught up with tradition and would dictate otherwise.
He raised his hand and pushed against the old wooden surface, and was relieved when it swung inwards under his touch.
He entered a small porch with wooden benches either side, coloured paper notices for garden parties, fund-raisers and community events fluttering in the breeze from the open door. The papers fell silent as he pushed the door shut, and then made his way through to the nave.
The building opened out into a large space, with vaulted ceilings towering above the stone slab floor. Dust motes drifted in the air between the stained glass windows. Light filtered through the coloured panes, pools of light breaking up the gloom as he wandered across the large flagstone floor.
Will closed his eyes and inhaled the musty air, childhood memories flooding into his mind. A hush filled the room, cocooning him from the outside world. He opened his eyes, sneezed twice, and then turned towards the altar at the far right of the church.
He approached the front pew to the left of the altar, running his hand over the polished wooden surface.
Small posies of flowers adorned the outside of the pew facing the aisle, hanging in wire mesh display sconces. Prayer cushions were neatly propped up behind the front of each pew, their covers displaying the colours and emblems of the local Girl Guides, Women’s Institute and every other community group that had banded together to weave the tapestry covers.
Finally, in front of each place and without regard to any dwindling size of the congregation, a bible lay.
Look Closer Page 11
