by Ben Cheetham
There was such conviction in Kane’s voice that Harlan found himself almost believing him. Almost, but not quite. Everything pointed to Nash. It had to be him. Who the hell else could it be? He raised a placatory hand. “I didn’t come up here to argue. I just wanted you to know that you’ve got nothing to feel bad about. You did really well at the line-up. I’ve seen grown men fall apart at those things. But you held it together. You should be proud of yourself.”
Kane’s tough-guy mask slipped a little. Hesitancy replaced his anger. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
“You want to come in my room? We could play on my Xbox.”
Harlan looked beyond Kane. There was nowhere for him to sit comfortably except Ethan’s bed, which would’ve been like trespassing on something sacred. His gaze moved to the damp patch over the rain-lashed window. Water was seeping down the wall, dripping in a steady stream into a cardboard box crammed full of plastic action-figures and other cheap toys. “It always does that when it rains,” said Kane, following Harlan’s line of vision.
“You’d better move that box.” Harlan started to turn away.
“Where are you going?” There was an anxious edge to Kane’s tone.
“To get a pan or something to catch the drips.”
Harlan went down to the kitchen and rooted through the cupboards until he found a large pan. As he made to take it upstairs, Susan opened her eyes and asked, “How is he?”
“He’s okay. A little shaken up, but okay.”
Susan glanced at the pan. “What’s that for?” When Harlan told her, she heaved a sigh. “The roof’s fucked. I had it fixed a couple of years back, but when it rains hard water gets into the boys’ room.”
“Whoever fixed it didn’t do a very good job then, did they?”
“It wasn’t the roofer’s fault. He wanted to replace some tiles, but I couldn’t afford it. So he just had to patch it up as best he could.”
“Have you got his number?”
Susan shook her head. “He was a mate of Neil’s. I can’t even remember his name.”
“Well we need to get someone out to fix it, otherwise Kane’s going to end up with pneumonia.”
Susan’s breath came with a tremor through her nostrils. She tugged at her hair as if trying to uproot it. “Oh Christ, I can’t handle this. Not now.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll sort it out. You got a Yellow Pages?”
“I think there’s one somewhere around here.” Susan’s gaze skimmed over the piles of missing-person posters.
“I’ll take this up to Kane while you look for it.”
When Harlan got upstairs, Kane had dragged the box away from the wall, exposing a patch of black fungal mush where once there’d been plaster. Harlan placed the pan under the drip. It began to fill slowly but surely. “We need something bigger. That’ll be overflowing in no time. Can you think of anything we could–” He broke off as he turned and saw Kane’s face. The mask had fallen away completely, revealing the fear that lurked behind it.
“He looked at me.” Tears hovered in Kane’s voice. “At the police station, that man Mum went for, he looked at me, and I looked at him, and, and…” He trailed off, trying to choke back the tears now forming in his eyes, lowering his head as if he was ashamed.
Harlan put his hands on Kane’s shoulders. The boy tensed a little, but didn’t pull away. “Look at me, Kane.” Kane reluctantly met his eyes. “You don’t need to worry about him. He won’t ever be able to hurt you. They’re going to put him in prison and never let him out.”
“What if he escapes?”
“He won’t. They’ll lock him away in the deepest darkest hole they’ve got. Do you hear?”
Kane nodded. Some, but not all, of the fear left his eyes. Harlan squeezed his shoulders. “Good. Now keep an eye on that pan.” He returned to Susan, who was in the kitchen, making tea. She pointed to a Yellow Pages on the table. He flicked through it, phoning roofers until he found one willing to come as soon as it stopped raining. Susan handed him a mug. It felt heavy as a rock as he lifted it to his lips. “I think I need to lie down.”
“What you need is something to eat. Get yourself on the sofa and I’ll bring you a sandwich.”
Harlan went through to the living-room and slumped onto the sofa. He was asleep within seconds. When he awoke, there was a sandwich waiting for him on the arm of the sofa. As he took a bite, his attention was drawn to the window by the clatter of a ladder outside. He rose and peered between the curtains. It’d stopped raining. A pair of workmen’s boots disappeared up the ladder. “They came while you were sleeping,” said Susan, entering the room and sitting down.
Harlan returned to the sofa and finished his sandwich. There was a knock. Raising a hand to indicate Susan should stay put, Harlan answered the door. “Alright, mate,” said a rugged-faced man. “I’ve had a look at your roof and someone’s done a right bodge job. They’ve slapped a load of bitumen over your busted slates. I ain’t got nothin’ with me to fix it properly today, but I can put another coat of bitumen on it. That’ll keep you dry for a few days, until I can get back.”
Harlan glanced inquiringly at Susan. She nodded, and he said to the roofer, “Do it.”
Harlan sat listening to the roofer working and Susan busying herself in the kitchen, and trying not to listen to the remorseless ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. The faint acrid smell of bitumen mingled with the scent of whatever Susan was cooking, making him feel a touch queasy. Tick, tick, tick. The clock seemed to be getting louder with every passing second. The sound of it got inside him, reverberating along his bones, echoing in his skull. How much longer? How much longer would Nash hold out? How much longer could Ethan survive? Tick, tick, tick. Even in his weakened state, he fidgeted restlessly. He wanted to do something, even if that something was only scouring the streets for Ethan or handing out leaflets. But he knew he didn’t have the strength for it. All he had the strength to do was sit and wait and listen. Tick, tick, tick…
His mobile phone rang. He snatched it out. A number he didn’t recognise flashed up. Heart hammering, he answered it. “Mr Harlan Miller?” said an unfamiliar male voice.
“Yes.”
“My name’s Guy Farrell of C and G Solicitors. I’m calling on behalf of Jamie Sutton’s–”
“Get off the fucking line, and don’t tie this phone up again. You hear?” Without waiting for a reply, Harlan hung up.
“Who was that?” asked Susan, poking her worry-lined face into the room.
“No one important.”
Harlan closed his eyes, massaging his temples. The details of Ethan’s abduction and everything that’d happened since reeled through his brain, like a movie on endless repeat. Occasionally he pressed pause to examine some minutiae or other, trying to figure out if it was the piece that would solve the puzzle. The piece that would deliver Ethan to him. But the solution remained maddeningly elusive. He felt as helpless and impotent as when Tom died. It made him want to shout, to scream, to weep. Tick, tick, tick. His fingers dug painfully into his temples. His eyes snapped open at a knock on the front door. He rose to answer it.
“All done,” said the roofer. He started to bang on about prices and materials, but his words barely registered on Harlan’s brain. He just kept nodding, until the man turned and got into his van.
Susan called Harlan and Kane to the kitchen. Relieved to get away from the clock, Harlan mechanically shovelled pasta down his throat without tasting it. Kane ate as if he were in a trance. He answered with only the slightest of nods when Harlan asked if he’d emptied out the pan. Once his plate was empty, he rose without asking permission to leave the table, and returned upstairs. Susan didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t seem to care. She wiped and re-wiped the work-surfaces, rubbing almost frantically at invisible stains. Harlan watched her, knowing what was coming. She stopped suddenly, and her head dropped onto her arms on the work-surface. Her shoulders quaked in time to her muffled sobs
. Harlan rose and put his hand on her back. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, willing her the strength to go on. Her head jerked up at a knock on the door.
“I’ll go see who it is,” said Harlan. Peering through the living-room curtains, he saw the dishevelled figure of Neil. “Persistent son-of-a-bitch,” he murmured, with a wry smile of appreciation.
“Who is it?” Susan hissed from the opposite doorway.
Before Harlan could say, Neil’s voice rang out as if in answer. “Susan, it’s me. I know you’re in there and…and I know you still have feelings for me. If I’m wrong, tell me and I’ll leave you alone.”
No you won’t, thought Harlan.
“Please, Susan. I just want to talk. Just give me five minutes. Five minutes for everything we’ve been through together. That’s all I ask.”
Susan moved slowly towards the door, as if Neil’s words were reeling her in.
“I told you I won’t give up on us. Not until you–” Neil broke off as Susan opened the door. His mouth worked silently, as if all the words he wanted to say to her were blocking each other’s way in their desperation to get out. “T…thank you,” he managed to stammer. The look of almost pathetic gratitude written across his face faded as he noticed Harlan. In its place, jealousy vied with nervous hostility. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s stopping me from going out of my fucking mind, that’s what,” Susan said sharply. “Actually, you know what, to hell with this.” She started to shut the door, but Neil jammed his foot against it.
“I’m sorry, Susie. It’s just that I was surprised to see him. I didn’t think you’d ever let him in your house.”
“Neither did I, but things change.”
“Take your foot out of the door,” Harlan said to Neil.
“It’s okay,” said Susan, reaching for her coat. “I’m going out. I shouldn’t be long. If anyone phones–”
“I’ll call you straight away.” Harlan gave Neil a hard look of warning. The younger man’s eyes dropped away from his. Neil held his hand out for Susan, but she walked past him without taking it. Like an eager puppy, he trotted after her.
Harlan lay on the sofa. There was no sound from upstairs. The house was silent, except for the ticking of the clock. The painkillers were wearing off, but he didn’t reach for more. Instead, he focused on the pain, using it to deaden his psychological agony. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. The daylight began to drop, but still Susan didn’t return. Whatever Neil was saying, she was obviously listening. A piercing scream clawed the throat of the silence. Heart lurching, Harlan jerked to his feet. An electric shock of pain almost sent him reeling back onto the sofa. Clutching his wound, he climbed the stairs as fast as his leaden legs could manage. Another scream rang out as he entered Kane’s bedroom. The boy was laid fully clothed on his bed, eyes closed, face contorted in terror. A sheen of sweat glistened on his flushed face. Harlan shook him gently. “Kane.”
“I saw him,” Kane gasped, half-sitting up, eyes popping wide. “I saw him at the window.”
“Saw who?”
“That man from the line-up.”
“No you didn’t, you were dreaming. It was only a nightmare.”
Harlan’s words smoothed the lines of fear from Kane’s face. He dropped back onto his pillows. Harlan’s nose wrinkled at the room’s warm, mildewy air. He moved to open the window. A tang of bitumen wafted in on the cool breeze. “Are you okay now?”
Kane nodded. “Where’s my mum?”
“She had to go out. She’ll be back soon. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
Harlan headed for the kitchen and a glass of water. He swallowed his pills, then sat perfectly still, waiting for them to kick in. Another half an hour ticked by. A new kernel of worry began to form in his mind. Where the hell was Susan? He was about to reach for his phone to find out, when Kane rushed into the room and exclaimed, “I know who it is.”
“What do you mean, you know who it is?”
Kane’s words tumbled out in a breathless rush. “He’s the man I saw at my bedroom window.”
“You had another dream.”
Kane shook his head frantically. “I don’t mean now. I saw him there ages and ages ago. He came to fix our roof.”
Harlan frowned up at the boy. “Let me get this straight, you’re saying the man who fixed the roof two years ago is the man who took Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“How can you be sure?”
“’Cos there was the same smell then that there is now. It’s the smell I smelt on the man I saw in my bedroom. You’ve got to believe me. It’s him. He’s the one! He’s the one!”
Harlan held up a hand, palm outwards. “Okay, I believe you.” As soon as he said it, he realised he meant it. Suddenly the puzzle made sense. The smell, that was the missing piece. It was so elusive that only chance could’ve found it, so intangible that it couldn’t not be believed. That was why Nash had agreed to cooperate with the line-up, not out of some sense of guilt or some warped way of apologising to Mary Webster, but because he had no fear of further incriminating himself or Jones. He hadn’t abducted Ethan. This man, the roofer, he was the one. And Neil had brought him here. All the doubts and questions about Neil came rushing back to the surface of Harlan’s mind. Was he involved after all? And if he was, what the hell was this all about? Was it a sexual thing? No, if it was then he’d already got what he was after. He wouldn’t be pleading with Susan to take him back. As far as Harlan could see, that left only one possibility: money. If Neil was part of this, it had to be about money. Harlan suddenly found himself hoping with everything he had that Neil was part of it, because if he was, if he and this roofer had cooked up some plan to get their hands on the reward, surely that meant Ethan was still alive. “Do you remember the man’s name?”
“I was never told it.” Kane’s anxiously rounded eyes scanned Harlan’s features. “What you gonna do?”
In reply, Harlan took out his phone and dialled Jim. His ex-partner’s voice came wearily through the phone. “What is it, Harlan? I told you I’d phone if–”
“I don’t think Nash took Ethan,” interrupted Harlan.
“What the hell are you talking about? Of course he did. Why are you saying this now when we’re so close to cracking the case?”
Harlan told Jim why. Jim considered what he’d heard a brief moment, then he said, “I don’t buy it. You’re talking about a relatively common smell. Something thousands of people come into contact with every day.”
“So you’re saying this is a coincidence.”
“I…” Jim trailed off into a sigh. “Okay, point taken. I’ll have someone look into this. What’s the guy’s name?”
“I don’t know, but I can find out.”
“Well get back to me when you do. But understand this, Harlan, most of our resources are tied up investigating Nash and Jones, so it may take a few days to get round to following this up.”
“Don’t give me that, Jim. You owe me.”
“I know, and I trust your instincts more than my own. But I need more than what you’re telling me if I’m going to convince Garrett to pull manpower off our prime suspects and put them on this.”
“Fine.” Harlan’s voice rose with irritation. “You need more, I’ll fucking get it.”
“Don’t be like that–”
Harlan hung up on Jim mid-sentence. He looked at Kane. “I want you to go to your bedroom.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. And no matter what you hear, don’t come down here unless I call you. Understand?”
With sullen reluctance, Kane nodded and turned to head upstairs. Harlan dialled Susan. She answered within a ring. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“I just wondered where you are.” Harlan kept his voice carefully neutral. If Susan picked up on his anxiety, there was a good chance Neil would too. And he didn’t want to do anything that might put Neil on his guard.
“I’m heading back now. I’ll be there in a
few minutes.” Susan’s voice sounded different – lighter, stronger. Harlan guessed that she’d done more than merely listen to Neil, she’d bought what he was selling.
“Is Neil still with you?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason. I’ll see you soon.” Harlan hung up and went through to the kitchen. He opened the cutlery drawer, chose a sharp knife with a four-inch blade and slipped it into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms.
Chapter 21
Harlan was hunting through the cupboards for string or selotape or anything else he could use, if necessary, to bind Neil’s wrists, when the sound of the front door opening drew his attention. Susan and Neil were holding hands now. Neil was doing his best to look grave, but there was a kind of excitability about his manner, as if he could barely contain his elation at being given a second chance. Susan looked better too. For the first time in days, there was some real colour in her cheeks. Harlan felt a pang of regret that once again he was going to shake not only her trust in Neil, but her faith in her ability as a mother. If Neil did turn out to be involved, she’d probably never be able to let a man into her life again. That’d be a tiny price to pay, though, for Ethan’s safe return.
Susan led Neil into the kitchen. “So you’ve decided to give it another go,” Harlan said, stating the obvious, not wanting to rush in with questions that might put Neil on his guard.
Susan nodded, giving Harlan a sheepish look, as if she wasn’t sure how he’d react to the news. “People might say I’m a fool for giving him a second chance, and maybe I am, but…well, the thing is...” She trailed off awkwardly.
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”
“I know, but I feel I owe you an explanation. Everything that’s happened this past couple of months, the way Neil’s been there for me, it’s really made me realise just how much he means to me. I don’t want to lose that, not on top of everything else I’ve lost.” She gave Neil a glance. “I understand now why he lied to me. And he understands that if he ever does it again, it’s over. No more chances.”
