'Nice here,' he muttered.
'Yeah, great view.'
'See that tiny islet over to the right?'
'Yeah.'
'St Cuthbert used to live on there. Did you know that one day, when he was visiting the Queen in Carlisle -- not the present Queen, of course -- he knew by second sight that her husband, the King, had been slain by the Picts doing battle in Scotland.'
'Hmm.'
'Did you know he had the gift?'
'No… Going to be some more slaying. Because she got away.'
'Sorry?'
'The girl. The girl’s in trouble.'
Tiny put his large head on Smiler’s knee and whined, accompanied by the giggles of two small girls who were staring at Smiler.
Blinking rapidly, Smiler looked at the girls, who, still giggling, ran away.
He sighed, knowing he’d had an away moment, and patted Tiny’s head. 'Come on, boy.'
He headed back to the village quite unable to shake off the feeling of dread that seemed to have been following him around for weeks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Jill stared at the two brothers, their faces deathly pale. They were looking at the dead girl in fascination, relief clear in their eyes and the sudden relaxation of their bodies. But Jill could detect pity as well, at least from the taller brother, who was still staring in awe at the dead girl. The other one’s face was changing rapidly from relief to anger and back again.
Not their sister, Jill thought, so what the hell was this girl doing in their sister’s bed?
Walking over to the bench, Jill pressed a button under the counter. The alarm would bring two burly porters, double-quick. People did strange things when confronted with the dead, especially if it was their first time. The rare shock of finding out, after you had prepared yourself for the worst, that it wasn’t one of yours lying there on the cold steel slab, strangely sometimes did not bring the relief that one would expect.
As discreet as ever, the porters came in, gave Jill a brief nod before making themselves busy at the far bench, moving stuff around from one place to another. Keeping their backs to the brothers, they listened to every word that was said, ready to spring into action if one of them turned nasty.
'So what now?' Gary asked, tearing his gaze from the girl to stare at Jill.
Jill shrugged. 'Nothing. She’s no kin to you, is she? All I can do is apologise for the mistake.'
'That’s all right.' Liam beamed and nudged his brother. 'Don’t you understand? It means our Shelly’s still alive. She’s still alive, we gotta tell the others.'
'Aye, but you’re forgetting something, aren’t you? Like, what the hell was this poor lass doing in her bed? Eh? Why would she be in our Shelly’s bed? That’s what I want to know… And just where the hell is our Shelly?'
Perplexed, Liam shook his head.
'Tell yer what, ' Gary went on. 'Some bloody half-arsed idiot’s got a hell of a lot of explaining to do… Come on, Liam, let’s get the hell out of here, right now.' He turned abruptly and walked out, leaving Liam to say goodbye.
When they had gone, Larry, the taller of the two porters, turned to Jill. 'Wouldn’t like to be the one he’s looking for.'
'Me neither.' Sighing, she covered the girl up and pushed the slab into the freezer, confining the unknown girl to the cold and dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A few minutes later, Gary stormed into Berwick Police Station, demanding to know, before he’d even crossed the threshold, 'Who’s the stupid jerk, who told us our sister Shelly was dead, when it wasn’t even her? And what the hell is going on here? Is this place full of fucking morons or what?'
He banged his fists on the desk as he glared at the sergeant. 'I have just been to the morgue to identify a total stranger. Do yer have any idea what that’s like? Do you?' Behind his back, a red-faced Liam was mouthing ‘sorry’ to the desk sergeant.
Sitting in the waiting room, Evan glanced quickly up. Have I heard right? Did Gary just say Shelly’s not dead?
Shelly’s not dead. No. Frowning, he shook his head. I must have heard wrong, it’s the grief talking. Who else could it be, if it’s not Shelly? I would know for sure if Danny was playing away. No way would he be able to keep something like that to himself. Not his style to mess about. Anyhow, Danny couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.
Just then, the officer who had taken Danny to the holding cell appeared, to collect Evan.
'Here, you,' Gary shouted, catching sight of the policeman, and storming up to him, 'What’s going? You friggin' lot thick around here or what?'
The constable ignored him, and the desk sergeant came out to try to calm him down. Evan could still hear Gary shouting his mouth off as he and the officer walked down the corridor.
It was obvious Gary hadn’t recognised him, and Evan was pleased. It was to be expected – he hadn’t met up with them for years – but the very last thing he wanted was a run-in with Shelly’s brothers. They had a reputation for looking after themselves. And it didn’t look like Gary had calmed down any. He’d always had a big yap on him.
Walking into the interview room, Evan sat down on the chair indicated by the officer, who then left. The male copper was staring at the woman with an odd look on his face as he put the phone down.
'So, er, what’s going on?' Evan asked, his nervousness obvious in the way he chewed his lip and fiddled with his hands. 'Nobody seems to know.'
Mike and Kristina stared at him. This made him even more nervous.
Evan tried again, beginning to feel really uncomfortable and actually guilty of something. He just wished he knew what. 'Where’s Danny?'
Mike answered his question with one of his own. 'Where’s your girlfriend Alicia?'
'Wh…?'
'She didn’t come home last night did she?'
Evan shook his head.
'Please answer yes or no for the tape,' Kristina said.
Evan cleared his throat. It felt as if it was full of sand. 'No, she didn’t. I’ve been wondering all day where she is.' He looked from one to the other with a sinking heart, wondering where the hell all of this was leading.
'Does Alicia have long black hair?' Mike asked. 'Is her hair very much the same as her friend Shelly’s?'
Evan, his eyes full of a frightening suspicion, quickly said, 'Yes, yes she does… I… I was at the hospital, got in around four and she wasn’t in… Why do you want to know what colour her hair is?'
'Is it usual for her to stay out all night?' Kristina asked, guessing rightly where Mike was leading with his questions.
'No, not really. Actually, not at all, not without letting me know about it… No, she never stops out.'
'Was she very good friends with Shelly?'
Evan’s heart was flipping over in his chest, wondering where all this was going to end up.
'What do you mean, was she?'
'How close were the four of you, eh? Share a lot, did you?' Mike glared at him.
Evan did not like the way these questions were going. Even less did he like this officer’s use of past tense.
'Nothing like what you are suggesting, officer,' Evan replied stiffly.
Mike studied him for a moment. Was Evan visibly shaking? Without taking his eyes off Evan’s face, Mike said, 'The young woman found in your friend’s flat, in your friend’s bed, is not who we first thought. She’s not Shelly.'
Evan was quiet for a moment, digesting what had been said. For God’s sake, it make’s even less sense now. Why would someone else be in Danny’s flat, in Danny’s bed?
'Not Shelly? So that’s what her brother was yelling about… So, er… who is it?' If Evan thought his heart was roller-coasting before, it was definitely on the ghost train ride now. He kept seeing Alicia’s long, silken black hair. Seeing her from the back, walking arm in arm with Shelly the day after they had both dyed their hair. He and Danny had been taking the piss out of them, laughing and joking at the Terrible Twins.
Mike opened the door a
nd gestured for the constable to come in. 'Put him in a cell, please.'
A cell? The words screamed in Evan’s head. 'Why?' he demanded as he rose unsteadily from the chair. 'I haven’t done anything… You can’t put me in a cell.' He stared at Mike. 'I haven’t done anything wrong.'
'Yes, we can. We need to sort a few things out,' Mike said grimly. 'Take him.'
The officer took hold of Evan’s arm above the elbow. Silently, in shock, Evan allowed himself to be led away. When the door closed behind him, Mike said, 'I reckon it might be him.'
'Why?' Kristina was looking at him with that quizzical look he’d always loved. He mentally shook himself. She’s married, that means there’s a huge ‘Don’t Touch’ sign hanging around her neck… Behave yourself. He gave himself a mental kick.
'Do you know something, I think perhaps, Kristina, that we might be right in thinking it’s a love triangle thing.’
'There’s four of them. In case you don’t know, Mr Yorke, a triangle has only three sides.' She held three fingers up, as she repeated with a sarcastic twitch to her lip, 'Three sides.'
'Don’t be picky.'
She laughed. 'OK, so what do you reckon?'
'Remember – although nobody has legally declared it, we still have one girl missing. What if one of them found out that the other one was having an affair with his girlfriend? That would be a motive as old as time.'
'Enough to warrant?'
'Wouldn’t be the first time.' Mike rested the palms of his hand on the desk, and chewed his lip as he looked down at her.
'I don’t buy it.' She shook her head.
'Why?'
'Because the way I see it, it would have to be Evan, but I know you’re betting on it being Danny.'
'Why Evan?'
'Because he could have done it while Danny was asleep on the bench.'
'Or,' Mike rubbed at the small mole on the side of his neck, just above his collar line, 'Danny could have pretended to have slept for an hour or two on the bench. Now that would give him plenty of time. He’ll have a good idea what time the milkman comes. He could have slipped out five minutes before the milkman was due, and pretended to be asleep.'
Kristina tapped her teeth with her fingernail. 'Not sure if any of it holds water.'
'Hmm. Actually, I’m not sure any more either. For a fact, they were seen together too much last night. But I’ve a strong hunch who the dead girl really is.' He strode to the door. 'Reagan,' he shouted, 'bring Miller back in.’
Two minutes later, Evan was standing in front of Kristina and Mike.
'Would you care to take a ride with us, Mr Miller?' Mike asked.
Evan had a feeling that it wasn’t a request. Trembling, he nodded.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
'Idiots!!!'
Dressed in brown monks' robes, tied in the middle with thick string which was fraying at the ends, their hair shaved in the middle into a perfect round spot, the two men kept their heads down and stared at the floor, cringing as The Leader berated them over and over. The tongue lashing had gone on all day, every time something reminded him of the one who had escaped – and he had been reminded often in the last twenty-four hours.
'Do you realise what could go wrong if word gets out? Do you? Do you?' he yelled. 'It won’t just be me, they’ll come after all of us. All of us.'
They kept silent, having answered this question too many times to count. Neither of them had a clue who would come after them. As far as they knew, the man in front of them was The Leader. Everything they did was under his orders. If they thought him mad, they kept quiet out of fear. They had seen too much not to be afraid. They had followed him from France – not that they’d had a choice, they did what they were told, and unless there was trouble, like now, life was good. Very good.
Shaking his head, The Leader began pacing the floor. 'How the hell can she have disappeared?'
Knowing this question wasn’t meant for them, and that the Leader was just sounding off, they still held their silence.
'Impossible.'
He stopped pacing and turned to them. Silently they waited their fate. The Leader did everything on a whim. If he wanted them dead, there was nothing they could do about it. Fighting would be futile, because everyone in his service would turn against them. They had done the same to others.
Just as he opened his mouth, his mobile phone rang. Frowning, he pulled it out, looked at the caller id, and smiled, his thick lips stretching across his fat face.
'Pray these have had more success,' he said quietly, as he pressed the answer button.
He listened for a few minutes. His face, already angry, grew even more so. Eyes bulging, he threw the phone across the room and, hands clasped behind his back, began pacing back and forth.
Stopping suddenly in the middle of the floor, he glared at them. 'Impossible. She’s only a woman! A slip of a girl. No peasant girl can outwit me. Impossible.'
They kept their heads down. A moment later they heard the door slam, then the key turn in the lock. Quickly they glanced at each other, their fear jumping the space between them. Finding out at first hand what it was like to be on the other end of the treatment they had been dishing out for years, the brother on the left felt his heart swell and burst with fear. As he collapsed in a heap, the other, a lapsed Catholic, fell to his knees, imploring the God he had neglected for years to save him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Tarasov and Prince Carl shared a taxi to the airport. Prince Carl was bumming a lift home from Tarasov. His own private jet was in use by his family, who were looking at property on Bali. They joked about it as they watched the English countryside flash past them.
'So both daughters are finally leaving the nest?' Tarasov asked, a smile in his voice.
'Yes, and friends at last. Thought it was never going to happen. Although Sabrina is the firstborn, Aimee is her equal in everything, actually surpassing her in some things. I’m pleased they’ve finally buried the hatchet. The last thing I want is a family war. Both girls have quite a following.'
'Your Sabrina will be the first woman leader for nearly fifty-seven years, is that right? When her turn comes, of course. And that, we both know, won’t be for a long time yet… Hopefully.'
Prince Carl sighed. 'That has been a bone of contention between them for years, ever since they were brought into the loop – when my brother and his oldest son were lost to us in that plane crash.' He shuddered. 'The only thing we can’t account for -- genuine accidents…' He paused for a moment, then, shrugging the past away, went on, 'When Aimee found out that her sister would be the family head when I pass on...' He shook his head, remembering just how very badly she’d freaked out. 'Any problems like that with your children?'
'No,' Tarasov said simply, but thinking, not with my children. The three of them inherited their mother’s weak genes, all of them too easygoing for their own good. None of them will be a force in the families, though a couple of the grand-daughters are looking good. The shame of it all, though, one of the peasant bastards I fathered thirty years ago is a real mover and shaker. He will rise, but can’t ever be in the loop. He will never be recognised as one of mine. Even if I pointed him out, family shoulders will only shrug. So what? It happens all the time. We all have a peasant or two like him.
Tarasov had murdered his older brother when he’d been admitted to the loop – pushed him off a mountain when they had been skiing. Suspicions had been aroused, but no one had come right out and said anything. It happened, had been happening for centuries. It was the way of the families. The leaders had to be the strongest. It was the way, had been since the beginning. Sometimes the true leader was not always the first-born.
He turned to Prince Carl, and broke a cardinal rule. He spoke about family business away from the meeting. 'Tell me, do you think that Simmonds is overreacting? We all know how excitable he can get, sometimes over the smallest little thing. How he doesn’t blow a gasket when he gets het up, I’ll never know.'
He wa
tched as the blood flushed Prince Carl’s face and neck. Prince Carl looked at the driver, noticed the wires coming from his ears. Obviously a music freak. Safe though, they had used him often enough. Turned his face to Tarasov, he studied him for a moment before saying, 'No, I don’t think he is for once. These are trying times. A loose cannon is the last thing we need.'
'Yes. I suppose the fool in Northumbria will only end up attracting attention to himself.'
Prince Carl nodded his agreement. 'I’m afraid we made a mistake in not clamping down on free speech a long time ago. In my opinion, we have always been too lenient with the peasants. They should have found out long ago who the real masters of the world order were. I have always thought it a mistake that would one day rear up and bite us when we least expected it to.'
'Ahh, but think about it, Carl, we have. You can still lose your head in a lot of countries for having a loose tongue. Disappearances can still very easily be arranged.' He took out his gold cigarette case and offered Prince Carl a cigarette.
'No thanks. Not keen on those Turkish ones.'
Tarasov shrugged, took one out for himself, and when he’d lit it went on, 'And the British and Americans are well on their way to losing what they see as an constitutional right. The do-gooders are curbing free speech on a daily basis. It makes me smile when I read of some of the silly things they come up with, and the government backs them! Running scared in case they upset this minority, or that minority. Playing right into our hands.' He rubbed his hands together to emphasis the fact. 'Yes, give credit where its due, Slone worked well on introducing that ploy.'
Prince Carl laughed. 'Yes, he did. Who would have thought the peasants would fall for that one? Especially as he had the gall to call it ‘political correctness.’ And Simmonds, you’ve got to give him credit for taking the competitiveness out of English school sport. Now that was a stroke of genius. Really, the silly misguided fools are doing our work for us. And Christmas, what about that?'
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