The Lost Ones

by Ben Cheetham

  Cathy’s gaze was torn between her husband and grandson.

  ‘Go with them,’ said Henry.

  ‘No.’ said Amanda. She jerked her chin at Henry, ‘Stay with . . . him.’ There was a slight hesitation, as if she was trying to work out who ‘him’ was.

  She followed the stretcher as far as the operating theatre. She caught a glimpse of several figures in surgical smocks. Then a nurse shut the theatre door and all that was left for her to do was wait. And wait. And wait. She paced around, sat down, stood back up and resumed pacing.

  Cathy came into the waiting area. Her face was streaked with tears of mascara. She looked every one of her years and more. ‘Your father has a concussion, but they tell me he should be OK.’

  Amanda said nothing, showed no sign of relief.

  Cathy took her daughter’s hand with an imploring look in her eyes. ‘He’s not a liar.’

  She made to say something else, but Amanda cut in, ‘Please don’t, Mum. Not now.’

  They waited together in silence. Finally, a doctor emerged from the operating theatre. Amanda and Cathy’s hands tightened against each other as he said gravely, ‘We’ve managed to stop the bleeding, but the loss of blood caused a cardiac arrest. Jake responded to resuscitation and is breathing for himself. However, the sudden cut-off of oxygen to the brain has left him in a coma.’

  ‘Will he come out of it?’ asked Amanda, trembling on the edge of control.

  ‘I’m afraid only time will tell.’

  ‘Can I see him?’

  The doctor led them to Jake’s bedside. He was hooked up to a bewildering array of tubes and monitors. His chest was heavily bandaged. He looked as if he was in a deep sleep. Amanda removed her hand from Cathy’s and rested it lightly on his. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she somehow managed to keep them from her voice. ‘Hello, sweetheart. I’ve got some good news. We found Erin. She’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine now. When you wake up, we’ll all go home together. You, Erin, me and . . .’ She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘your dad’. Enough lies had been told already. She watched desperately to see if her words had any visible effect. They didn’t.

  ‘And I’ve got more good news, darling,’ said Cathy. ‘Your granddad is—’ She broke off as Amanda shot her a look that could freeze blood.

  Amanda’s troubled eyes returned to Jake. She couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it, but it seemed to her she’d felt a tiny flicker of movement from him. ‘Jake can you hear me?’ she asked. But once again, it was as if she was talking to a statue.

  ONE WEEK LATER

  Henry stared at Jake from the end of the bed. Jake’s vital signs had been stable for several days. An MRI had shown signs of brain activity, which the neurologist described as encouraging, while cautioning that it was difficult to say what it meant in terms of the prognosis for regaining consciousness. Everything was uncertainty. Henry’s insides were churning with it – for the opposite reason to everyone else’s. All the decades of building his fortune. All the generations it had taken to raise up the family name. All of it hung on a thread as fragile as Jake’s grip on life.

  The worst of it was the loss of control. If Rachel had taught him one thing, it was that without control there was chaos. And once you were caught in that whirlpool it was a downward spiral into madness. He had to wrest back control. The question was: how? A few minutes alone with Jake and a pillow would be a good start. But Amanda was barely ever away from Jake’s side. And when she was, her place was taken by the strange creature who was Jake’s best friend. His mind was in such turmoil it couldn’t seem to hold on to her name. She was the one who’d told the police about Rachel’s diary. That had thrown up some awkward questions. But considering he’d burnt the bastard thing, the questions amounted to nothing but speculation. The girl had complicated matters further when, after keeping it to herself for a couple of days, she told the police about Mary Ingham. That had given him a bit of a shock. He’d always wondered if leaving Mary alive would come back to haunt him. His worry had proved groundless. When the police forced entry to her bungalow, Mary had suffered some sort of fit and lapsed into a catatonic state. Word had it she’d been sectioned. A forensic sweep of the bungalow had, of course, turned up no evidence linking her to Jake’s stabbing. So once again all the police were left with was speculation. But that was where the good news began and ended.

  The girl had been at Jake’s bedside when Henry and Amanda arrived at the hospital. She’d sat with him all night so Amanda could get some sleep. Not that Amanda had done much sleeping from the looks of her.

  Amanda’s eyes were bloodshot and sunken. She was brushing Jake’s hair over and over again – a ritual she went through every morning. The girl was reading a novel to Jake. The neurologist had stressed how important it was to keep his brain stimulated. When she lowered the novel and yawned, Amanda filled in the silence. ‘Erin’s getting better every day,’ she softly told Jake. ‘More and more of what happened is coming back to her. Last night she remembered how she followed a stream out of the forest. She says you once told her to do that if she ever got lost. So you helped save her life. She’s made you a card to say thanks. There’s a mountain of other cards for you to read when you wake up too. A bagful has been arriving every day from people who’ve read about you in the papers. Oh, and your little chick’s doing well. Erin’s been taking care of it. I think it’s really helping her get over what happened to her. She wants to give it a name, but I said that’s up to you. I’m taking her to see your dad this afternoon.’

  ‘Amanda,’ Henry said in a cautioning tone. ‘I don’t think Jake needs to hear about that.’

  ‘Well, I think he does. I want him to know exactly how things stand. Anyway, it’s not as though Tom will be in there for long now.’

  That had been another dollop of shit on the cake, reflected Henry. Carl Wright had pulled through his injuries and corroborated that Tom tried to save him. Tom was still on remand, but only for the illegal eviction, not attempted murder. He would be out in a matter of months, if not weeks.

  The girl yawned again. ‘Is it all right if I head off, Mrs Jackson? I’m totally knackered.’

  ‘Of course, Lauren,’ smiled Amanda. ‘You go home and get some rest.’

  Lauren, that was her name. She would be pretty if she got rid of the make-up. She obviously fancied herself a bad girl, but Henry could see through her. Rachel would have eaten her for breakfast.

  ‘See you later, Jake,’ said Lauren, standing to leave. ‘I’ll bring a new book. Any requests?’ She looked hopefully at Jake’s comatose face. Her gaze moved to Henry. ‘Bye, Mr Brooks.’

  He mustered a smile. ‘Bye, Lauren.’ His eyes followed her to the door. She darted him a glance. His smile broadened. Oh yes, he could see through her all right. She didn’t believe his story about the kidnapper. Or at least she suspected it was a lie. Not that he cared what a silly little girl like her thought. He turned to Amanda. She was a different matter altogether. He wanted so badly to know what was going on in her mind. Her face had always been an open book to him. But now it was as if that book had been closed and locked. She hadn’t questioned his story. Maybe that was because she believed it. Or maybe, like himself, she was biding her time to see how things turned out with Jake.

  ‘We should be going too,’ he said.

  ‘It’s only half an hour’s drive to the prison,’ said Amanda. ‘We’ve got plenty of time.’

  Henry expelled a disapproving breath. ‘Do you really think a prison’s a fit place to take a nine-year-old girl?’

  ‘We’ve been through this already, Dad. I’m taking her. End of story.’

  Fucking Tom Jackson! Henry wanted to explode at Amanda. Will I never be rid of him? ‘Well, who’s going to sit with Jake?’

  ‘Graham.’

  ‘Graham!’ Henry repeated incredulously. ‘I thought you wanted nothing more to do with him.’

  ‘This isn’t about me. Jake loves his uncle.’

 
Amanda returned to brushing Jake’s hair and chattering on inanely to him. Henry was no longer listening. His mind was back in that whirlpool, spiralling downwards. Loves his uncle. Nonsense! She could have asked me to stay with Jake, but instead she asked the idiot who caused all this in the first place. Surely that means she doesn’t trust me . . . He almost flinched when Graham entered the room. He smiled to conceal his distaste at the faint smell of sheep.

  Graham nodded a silent hello to him. His features were as stoically inexpressive as ever, but a flicker of pain passed over them as he looked at Amanda.

  She quickly blinked away from his gaze and pointed out some magazines. ‘If you could read these to Jake that would be great. There’s a TV guide. I’ve circled programmes Jake enjoys. There’s an iPad here too with his favourite songs on it. I think that’s everything.’ She looked at Henry as if for confirmation and he found himself thinking, Maybe I’m wrong, maybe she does trust me.

  ‘I shouldn’t be gone more than two or three hours,’ continued Amanda. She bent in to kiss Jake’s forehead. ‘See you soon, beautiful.’

  Henry gave one of Jake’s feet a squeeze. ‘Bye bye for now, sweet boy.’

  On the way out of the room, Amanda paused and met Graham’s eyes. ‘Thanks for this.’

  ‘Glad to help,’ he said. This time he was the one who looked away.

  As if she’d been released, Amanda hurried from the hospital. Henry’s Range Rover was parked outside. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon as they drove to Ritton Hall. They seemed like a manifestation of the bruises on Henry’s face. As the Range Rover pulled up to the house, Cathy came out onto the doorstep.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked.

  ‘No change,’ replied Henry.

  Amanda glanced about anxiously. ‘Where’s Erin?’

  ‘In the back garden,’ said Cathy.

  ‘I asked you not to leave her alone outside.’

  ‘Oh, Amanda, what could possibly—’ Cathy broke off. Amanda was already hurrying around the side of the house. Cathy heaved a sigh, turning to Henry. ‘She’ll have a nervous breakdown if she carries on like this much longer.’

  Henry headed inside without replying. He was thinking about the final dollop of shit – the question that was tormenting him almost as much as Jake’s stubborn refusal to die. Why hadn’t the blackmailer called? One million or the letters will be all over the Internet by this time next week. That was what the blackmailer had threatened. It was ‘this time next week’ now. He’d spent much of the past few days scouring the Internet for new information about the Ingham murders, his heart skipping whenever he came across a previously unseen link. Every minute the blackmailer remained silent chipped away at his certainty that greed would prevail.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ asked Cathy. She had to repeat the question three times before it got through.

  Henry gave her a little smile and a nod. Cathy rubbed his shoulder. ‘Poor darling, you’re still not right, are you?’

  ‘I don’t think the concussion has quite cleared up.’

  She tenderly touched the bruises on his face that were fading from black to yellow. ‘Well, you look a lot better today.’

  Henry patted Cathy’s hand. ‘Another day or two and I’m sure I’ll be back to my old self.’

  As she headed to the kitchen, he entered the living room and opened his laptop. The ‘new email’ icon pinged up. Blood began to pound in his ears when he saw the sender’s name – ‘Hank’. The email’s subject was entitled simply ‘Love’. He opened it and scanned the message: ‘You were right, I would do anything for it.’ Underneath was a link for ‘www.thetruthabouttheinghammurders.com’. He followed it and was confronted by a photo of a letter he’d written in what, before the events of the past week, had been his darkest moment.

  ‘Dearest Rachel,’ it began,

  I’m writing this to prove beyond doubt that I love you. This is not simply a letter it’s a confession. I told you my name is Hank, but that was a lie. My real name is Henry Brooks. Until recently I was studying law at King’s College London. I was forced to defer my studies after my father fell seriously ill. I had been impatient to return to London, but you made me want to stay in Middlebury. You are my everything and I want to give you everything, even the power to send me to prison for the rest of my life. Here then is my confession: on the night of Wednesday July 26th 1972 I murdered Elijah and Joanna Ingham. I did this for one reason alone: love. I buried the things I stole from the Inghams at the Five Women. I acted on my own without anyone’s knowledge. There it is, my darling sweetheart, the final proof of my feelings towards you. Use it to destroy me if you wish or accept the truth and make me the happiest man in the world.

  The letter was signed, ‘Yours for ever and always, Henry Brooks.’

  As Henry read the letter, he felt as if he was falling. Spinning down . . . down . . . down . . . At the sound of footsteps, he flipped the laptop shut. ‘Henry, what is it?’ Cathy asked as he stalked past her, his face like granite.

  He made his way outside and grabbed a spade. Cathy worriedly trailed after him. ‘What’s wrong? Why won’t you talk to me?’

  Henry flung the spade into his Range Rover’s boot and climbed behind the wheel. Cathy put her hand on his arm, but he shook her off and slammed the door. Eyes dead ahead, he accelerated sharply away.

  THE LAST DANCE . . .

  Amanda’s features relaxed a little at the sight of Erin. The little girl was sitting on the rim of the fountain, absently swishing her hand in the water. There were patches of peeling skin on her face and faded crisscrosses of scratches on her arms and legs. The dark scab on her hairline was the only outward sign of her ordeal that would leave a lasting scar. Amanda knew there were other less visible, but possibly even longer lasting scars. Every night Erin suffered nightmares in which she was lost in a forest with no hope of ever finding her way out.

  At the sound of an engine flaring and tyres biting gravel, Amanda quickly reached for Erin’s hand and drew her towards the front of the house. ‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’ asked Erin.

  ‘Nothing, darling.’

  When they reached the driveway, the Range Rover was already speeding out of the gates. Cathy was staring after it with troubled eyes.

  ‘Where’s Dad going?’ asked Amanda.

  ‘I don’t know. He was looking at his laptop one minute. The next minute he stormed off without a word. I’m worried, Amanda. It’s not like him at all. What if it’s something to do with his concussion? He might not even realise what he’s doing.’

  Amanda frowned doubtfully. From the way her dad was driving, it looked as if he had a definite urgent purpose on his mind. She hastened into the house. Cathy stood with her arms around Erin’s shoulders as Amanda looked at the laptop. Amanda’s face pinched into sharper and sharper lines. Her lips trembled as if she’d been touched by a sudden chill.

  ‘What’s on there?’ Cathy asked fearfully.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ Amanda replied with a meaningful glance at Erin. ‘I’m going after Dad.’

  ‘But you don’t know where he’s gone.’

  ‘I’ve got a good idea.’

  ‘Can I come with you, Mummy?’ asked Erin, looking up at her, wide-eyed.

  Amanda’s voice softened. ‘No, sweetheart. You need to stay here with Grandma.’ She kissed Erin’s head. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘I really think I should be the one going—’ Cathy started to say. She broke off as Amanda gave her a look that was both hard and pleading.

  Amanda’s gaze fell to Erin again. With a physical wrench, she turned and hurried to her car. She put the laptop on the back seat and pulled out of the driveway. A savage agony burnt in her eyes as she thought about Jake’s face when he’d been brought into the hospital. It had looked as dead as dead could be. The sight of it had torn a hole right through her. She’d thought no other pain could come close to that. She’d been wrong.

  She slammed on the brakes as an eerie scarecrow of a figure
stepped into the lane. Frizzy greying hair framed a face as wrinkly as the tree the woman had materialised from behind. An ankle-length white gown hung loosely on her bony, barefooted frame. Her eyes were the only thing alive in an expressionless mask. They stared at Amanda in a pitifully imploring way.

  ‘Mary,’ breathed Amanda. What was she doing here? Had she run away from hospital? All kinds of rumours concerning Mary were swirling around Middlebury. The most outlandish one was that she was involved in a Satanic conspiracy led by whoever killed her parents. Amanda had treated the rumours with the contempt they deserved. From what Lauren had said, it was clear Mary believed she was doing a good deed when she left the doll of Erin on the doorstep.

  Amanda waved for Mary to move out of the way, but she merely stood there as if waiting for something. As Amanda started to get out of the car, Mary darted to open the passenger door and ducked in.

  ‘Get out,’ demanded Amanda. Mary sat staring rigidly out the window. She cut such a pathetic figure that Amanda couldn’t bring herself to put much force into her voice as she threatened, ‘I’ll call the police.’

  No response. Amanda eyed Mary narrowly. Did she know who killed her parents? If so, she had as much right as anyone to confront the murderer. And if not, it was time she found out. ‘OK,’ said Amanda, nodding as much to herself as Mary. She restarted the engine.

  She drove fast to the quarry, skidding to a stop behind Henry’s Range Rover. Broken wood, tyres and scraps of tarp piled up ready to be burnt were all that was left of the protest camp. There was a thick, round stump where the old oak had guarded the quarry’s entrance.

  Amanda ran up the footpath towards the Five Women, with Mary following a short distance behind. Mary stopped suddenly as if she’d hit an invisible barrier. She was trembling violently. Although Mary was the older woman, Amanda felt a motherly pang of sympathy. She held out a hand, but Mary didn’t take it.