‘He’d be locked up. The Chinese Army invaded. They liberated us, and rounded up the Criminal Junta and executed them. Anyone who worked for them is dead, or locked up. I don’t like our government. I’m a slave, and they think it’s okay. But I’m sure that’s true.’
‘Then you’re a fool. Why isn’t George Carron locked up for food profiteering? For blackmail? For trading in human flesh? It’s the sickening way things are. There are fat cats like George and Portia, and nobody can touch them. They have friends. They know things, filthy things about powerful people. That it wouldn’t be expedient to dig up.’
They went on staring at each other, like cats preparing to fight.
‘I’ve got a different idea,’ said Heidi at last. ‘But I need your help. I want to get inside Knowells Farm, and steal a DNA sample.’
She’d been trying to figure out how to convince him. She hadn’t thought she’d be doing the convincing with Clancy standing on a ledge at top of a tall building, hungry for the drop.
‘You? What the hell for?’
‘I told you, remember. I told you I thought George’s dad was involved in my dad’s murder, and you laughed at me. But since then I’ve had proof and I know I’m right.’
She told him about the Rock Mouse, and the wedding rings. How she could put Gorgeous George in the frame. He had been in her room, he had opened her case, he must have handled that envelope: the envelope last seen in Heidi’s house, at the crime scene. And if young George was in the frame for a murder, then so was his dad—
‘You’re crazy,’ said Clancy, when she’d laid it all out.
‘I’m not. The Inspector has kept talking to me, when he didn’t have to. Why? Because I was in Mehilhoc, and he hoped I knew something. I didn’t, but now I do.’
‘This sounds pathetic to me. George Carron, possibly implicated in a single foodcrime murder? Big deal. And if George Junior was even stupid enough, your DNA still wouldn’t be evidence. Other than evidence that he’d been in your room, and he could explain that; couldn’t he? It’s illegal to take scans or physical samples without informing the person.’
‘My sample wouldn’t be evidence,’ said Heidi, ignoring the jibe. ‘But the police could go back with a warrant. You don’t get it. My Inspector is on the case. He’s serious. He’s after George Carron, and this is the way it works. One chink in their armour, one tiny opening, and it all starts spilling out. If you have it your way Clancy, he’ll just be dead. And you’ll be a poor sad kid with mental health issues who went on the rampage. I don’t want him dead, I can’t believe you’re satisfied with that. I want him blamed. I want him brought to justice.’
‘I like the idea of getting in to Knowells—’ said Clancy, slowly.
‘Good. So my plan suits us both.’ Heidi picked up the Coutance pistol. ‘It isn’t loaded. What were you going to do, hit him on the head with it?’
‘I got hold of it on the beach,’ said Clancy. ‘It went swimming with me. The ammo couldn’t be trusted in anger after that. I used it for firing practice.’
‘You came to kill him without a weapon?’
‘It was safer not to travel with a firearm. There were bound to be guns around George Carron. That’s where I’ve been just now: I was trying to buy ammo from Cyril’s dad. He runs the Carron-Knowells vodka still for them, in his caravan park. Which is where your Old Wreck’s hooch comes from, by the way.’
Heidi shrugged. She wasn’t interested in a booze factory.
‘So what happened?’
‘He wouldn’t sell. Nothing doing, I’ll have to think again. I just wish Jo Florence hadn’t destroyed the rest of the stash she found.’
‘If you believe her.’
‘Hm. That’s a point.’
‘If we’re doing this,’ said Heidi. ‘You ought to know the police are looking for you.’
‘I’m not worried. They interviewed you?’
‘The same as they did everybody. I didn’t tell them anything. I’m after George Carron for murdering my dad: I don’t want to land anyone else in trouble. I only slipped on the Russian language question. I said I knew just, like hello goodbye and then I realised, duh, learning records, he could have known I was lying and been suspicious. But he didn’t say anything.’
Clancy nodded. ‘You were going to tell me what you heard them say, but you never did.’
‘I only caught a few words; only once. When they got us on board, one of the officer-types, the one who was on the beach, said We’ve caught some pretty fish. The other officer-type said. Now we’ll have some fun with him. They were laughing, but they were angry.’
‘Do you think running into the reef was a random accident?’
‘Not exactly. Sorrel knew it wasn’t on their chart, remember. Mr Carron had given them an out of date chart, so they wouldn’t dare come too close to him. But they did.’
Clancy put up his hands, his scarred wrists, pulled his hood down and withdrew into the depths. George and Sorrel knew, thought Heidi. The others may have suspected; George and Sorrel knew what was going on. It was like a weight she couldn’t pick up.
‘So,’ she said. ‘Is it a deal? Will you help me get in?’
‘It’s a deal. Give me a couple of days, I’ll work something out.’
25: An Intervention
Heidi woke from a nightmare so horrible she didn’t dare open her eyes in case it was true. The cold dark, the struggling bodies. She could feel them, she could smell them. She lay without moving, terrified of what she might touch: promising herself it wasn’t real. You’re in bed, in the Garden House. You are not in the hold of that ship.
It didn’t happen to you. It happened to those other kids.
Her teeshirt was clammy with sweat: and footsteps creaked on the attic stairs. She sat up, locking her arms around her knees. Someone was stealthily opening her door. She must not look, or she’d see that devil face, but she couldn’t stop her head from turning—
The door was shut: the stairs always creaked a bit. The Bad Dream Cat made a grumbling noise, and stretched to take up half the bed.
She still hadn’t told Clancy about seeing George’s dad look round her door. She hadn’t thought of it; or if she had, she’d decided he wouldn’t believe her. She hadn’t told him about Dr Gunn either. She didn’t know what to make of Dr Gunn . . . She and Clancy needed to talk again, properly, but Clancy had disappeared. She’d been back to the Chinese Temple, twice, and he wasn’t just not at home. All his stuff was gone.
Of course he’d moved out: she’d told him the police were looking for him, and that George was snooping around. He’d had to hide. But she was scared. What if the next thing she heard was that somebody had found his body? What if he just never came back? She was horrified when she thought of how she’d yelled at him. Thrown the Coutance pistol at him. You don’t act like that with someone who’s suicidal!
She checked the WiMax incessantly, but all she got was bland nothing. Bland nothing messages from Chall and Brook, to which she sent bland nothing replies. Mehilhoc Exempt Teens had pulled up the drawbridge, and Heidi was out in the cold. She’d been closer to them when she was walking on water, alone on the artificial reef. Seeing their faces in the dark.
Finally, the WiMax saved her life. There was a message was from Tanya. The Learning Centre was open again and there was an Exempt Teens session; usual day, usual time. She ran down to the village after her lunch chores on Wednesday, and took her place in the subdued group. She was late. Clancy was even later but he arrived; to Heidi’s incredible relief. He muttered an apology and slunk into the back row, hood well down.
Tanya didn’t mention the recent grim events: not once. She went over the CTS skill tests arrangements (Craft Technology and Science); and the schedule for those who’d opted for academic exams. She reviewed Sharing the Care, and failed to get a discussion going on the topic, Sixteen Plus: Exciting New Responsibilities For Young Adults. Then she let them go, after a short, vague speech about standing up to evil, and having a po
sitive young social rebel attitude. As everyone trooped out, in silence, the Hooded Boy brushed by Heidi and tucked something into her hand. He didn’t look at her, just quickly walked away.
Mehilhoc’s Exempt Teens stood in a tight bunch, as if they were stuck together.
‘Got to go,’ said Heidi. ‘Got chores to do.’
She didn’t check Clancy’s message until she was well away, on the steep path through Spooky Wood. He’d used the barbecue napkin she’d left in the Chinese Temple. She read her own pencil-stub scribble. Watch Out, George is about. Clancy had circled Watch Out in red ink. What was that supposed to mean? It seemed like no message at all. Or a message saying: go away and leave me alone. But there was more red ink showing through the white. She opened the napkin. He’d drawn something on the inside. A vivid cartoon of a fat-cat dragon in a bathtub: steam snorting from its long snout and rising in coils from the bubbling water. A roof sketched over its head in two sure flicks of the artist’s pen—
A dragon in a house, he must mean the Chinese Temple, thought Heidi. Then she thought again, and walked slowly the rest of the way to the Door in the Wall, studying a wavy line of symbols that looped around the monster in the bathtub. When she looked closely, they were more than just decoration—
Heidi checked her burglar supplies. Wind-up torch (fully charged); thin housework gloves; mycel food bags. Her pocket Russian/English English/Russian dictionary, in case she found Russian documents. No phone, she didn’t trust that new phone. She couldn’t find the Bad Dream Cat. She left the door of her room ajar for him and headed out. The stairs hardly made a sound. No transparent little girl hovered in the Bedroom Passage as she tiptoed by; nothing stirred in the house. The hens muttered in their shed, the back gate snicked shut behind her. She pushed her latchkey deep into her jeans pocket, and mounted the old bike.
The day had been cool and blustery, the WiMax weather report threatened yet more heavy rain, but not until late in the night. By the time she hid the bike to make her final approach on foot she didn’t need a torch. The moon was up, in a tossing sea of cloud. The spa entrance to Knowells Farm was modest. Trees overshadowed it; the drive was a single lane track.
Clancy must have been watching for her. Almost at once he drifted up, silent as smoke, and crouched beside her.
‘What now?’ she whispered.
‘We go in. The Carron-Knowells aren’t at home.’
‘How do you know they’re out? Do we climb over the fence? Isn’t it alarmed?’
‘Okay, I’ll explain. George senior and Portia are out at a fancy Solstice celebration. They won’t be back til morning, and they took the kids with them. It must be painful, I totally sympathise, but that’s what you get for having rich, important parents. Never mind how, but I have the code to open the little side gate here: mostly used by local servants and such. There are dogs loose in the grounds, but we won’t be in the open for long; there’s a tunnel. Inside the spa, we’re inside the house.’
‘What about armed, Taser-to-kill security goons?’
‘None indoors. Knowells is a smart house. It’ll detect us, it’ll watch us, it’ll analyse our every move. If we’re authorised visitors, which we are, because of my code, it won’t do anything else; or even make an illegal recording of us, unless we pose a threat.’
‘You’ve done your research.’
‘I’ve been working on this since March.’
‘But we’re intruders, so we do pose a threat?’
‘We don’t. We’re visitors, visiting. Going to the bathroom isn’t a threat, is it? I thought all you wanted was a used toothbrush.’
She could not read his expression. Here under the trees, on the edge of the glow from the fence lights, the moonlight was making things worse, not better. She wondered what had really happened at Stauntons’ Caravan site. She thought of Jo Florence’s ammo; that probably had not been destroyed, and the bad agreement she’d made without realising it. Good, so my plan suits us both.
‘What happened to the gun?’
‘Huh?’
‘The Coutance pistol. You had it. Where is it?’
‘The gun is fine. Give me a break, I’m helping you out. I’m not here to assassinate someone who isn’t at home. I’m suicidal, Heidi. I’m not crazy.’
‘You think you’re so funny—’
He grinned. ‘I try. Shall we go in? Truly, Heidi, I’m doing my best.’
He reached out, which she didn’t expect at all. They gripped hands, and then hugged.
‘Over the top,’ said Heidi.
She’d never done anything so illegal before. Or so dangerous. A teen with adult dependents can’t mess about. The risk gave her chills, but not in a bad way. It was a burden off her soul to be taking action. After being so helpless, and feeling so desperate, night and day, every hour, ever since the terrible thing—
Clancy used his code. The keypad buzzed green: they slipped through the servants’ gate.
‘Now we run,’ he whispered. ‘To the tunnel, it’s about 100 metres, right ahead.’
They ran, Heidi’s heart leaping as she sprang forward.
It was no distance, and Clancy’s code worked again. When the door to the tunnel closed behind them night was banished. They were in a brightly-lit, windowless corridor. Video panels on the smooth blue walls showed underwater scenes: flickering shoals of coloured fish, sea horses nodding in golden weed. There was a cold, luxurious, clinical smell; like expensive seaweed. Clancy led the way past a gym, treatment rooms, the doors to a big swimming pool; then up a curving flight of sleek blue stairs to a lobby with a different décor, and two doors, left and right.
‘This is where we go into the house,’ said Clancy softly. ‘Are you ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
The door he chose led to the Knowells Farm Utility area. Like a Utility room supersized: brushed steel laundry machines on acres of glossy stone floor-tiles. Ranks of shining brushed steel closets, for Carron-Knowells supplies of toilet paper and washing balls and wildlife-friendly slug-bait. A supersized kitchen must be somewhere near, but the next door Clancy opened led into a different world: an old, richly furnished, high-ceilinged hall. It wasn’t dark. There were lamps around the walls, shedding warm and mellow light. There were thick, tapestry floor-length curtains that must hide doors and windows; there were black beams overhead, period pictures, antique furniture and a sweeping stairway.
‘I think this was the entire original farmhouse,’ murmured Clancy.
‘The one the mansion swallowed,’ said Heidi.
‘Now you need George’s bathroom. The kids have one each, en-suite. George’s room is up those stairs. Turn left at the Minstrel Gallery, then first right down a little flight of stairs, and you’re in the kids’ wing. You can’t miss George’s crib, there’s a plaque with a little boy kicking a football: saying George Lives Here. Embarrassing, but apparently true.’
Clancy was looking at her intently, a message in his eyes, more important than the words, but she had no idea what the message was—
Someone gasped, a smothered, nervous sound. More lights came on, above them. George and Sorrel stood on the Minstrel Gallery landing, staring down into the hall.
‘What’s going on?’ shouted George.
‘Just visiting,’ said Clancy. ‘Guided tour, I’m starting a small business.’
‘I don’t know how you clowns got in,’ said George. ‘But you’re not getting out—’ He started down the stairs, and stopped, open-mouthed. Heidi looked round and was stunned to see that Challon had appeared. She didn’t glance at Heidi, just strolled across the room, and settled on a sofa by the big olde-worlde fireplace. The tapestry curtains, obvious suspects now, parted again. John, Cyril, Andy Mao, Elaine and all three Florences emerged. They stood in a row behind Chall’s sofa.
‘Sorry George,’ said Challon. ‘This isn’t a surprise party, and you and I haven’t been having a reunion. I’ve been making up to you, and letting you “talk me into” giving up the Wild
Card, so your dad wouldn’t take away my spa access.’
‘You’re a cold bitch!’
Challon shrugged. ‘Needs must.’
‘What’s going on?’ cried Sorrel. ‘It’s the middle of the night! What are you all doing here?’
‘It had to be Challon,’ said Heidi to Clancy. ‘She’s the only one who could have got you in. And those guys,’ she jerked her chin at George and Sorrel, ‘had to be here. The house couldn’t think we were visitors if none of the family were home. Why didn’t you tell me?’
Clancy mugged apology from within his hood, spreading his hands and shrugging. ‘I didn’t think you’d buy it.’
George laughed. ‘I told you not to trust him, Cinderella.’ He continued down the stairs. ‘Well, this is fun. What naughty, naughty yobbos. Ooh, Cinderella, it’ll be the bad toys box for you. And the boyfriend will be in the nuthouse with your—’
‘Forget about Heidi,’ said Challon. ‘She muscled in on our intervention, we couldn’t stop her. This is a Mehilhoc thing. We’re here to tell you it’s over, George. We’ve finally faced up to what’s been going on, and what we have to do. Now you are going face up, and help us to get your mum and your old man sent away. For a long time.’
George sat on the lowest step of the stairs, and folded his arms.
‘Really? Very interesting. Have you spoken to your mother about this, Chall?’
‘Yes I have, as a matter of fact. You can push people too far.’
‘I believe I have my parents’ unspoken approval,’ said Cyril.
‘Brook’s dying—’ cried Elaine. ‘And it’s all Mr Carron’s fault!’
‘Elaine, shut up! ’ snapped Challon. ‘Don’t speak of Brook in this house.’
‘Sorry, Chall,’ whimpered the dishwater girl, wincing as if she’d been smacked.
It might be the first time, Heidi thought, she’d ever heard Challon utter an unkind word.
George rolled his eyes, bared his teeth and gave a huge fake sigh. ‘Okay, I changed my mind. Just get out of here. All of you. You’re talking nonsense.’
The Grasshopper's Child Page 21
