‘What for? We’re not dead yet. I’m sorry I just stood there.’
‘Shut up, yobbos.’ George twisted around, poking the pistol at them. ‘Wreckers built this. Wreckers, smugglers: big business in the olden days. Mum’s great, great, great great-grandy whatever, Farmer Knowells, was in it: hand in glove with the Maylocks. Same as now.’
‘Where are you taking us?’ asked Heidi.
‘Wait and see. Relax, enjoy the ride.’
The quad bounced along at speed, dead straight, for a long time, maybe ten or fifteen minutes. When it stopped Heidi glimpsed a shadowy room like a cave; or a cave like a room. Then the headlights died, and everything vanished. George ordered them out, grabbed them one by one and shoved them into a recess in a damp, cobbled wall. In total darkness he made them climb, Sorrel first, then Heidi: groping for footholds and handholds up what seemed like vertical steps. She heard a roaring like the sea, breathed fresh air and stood on level ground; wet stonework above her and on either side. The roaring was rain. One step forward, and it was like standing under a black waterfall. She couldn’t see a thing.
‘Run for it, Heidi! ’ Clancy’s voice sounded right in her ear. ‘Get going!’
‘I don’t know where I am!’
‘Yes you do! Just think about it—’
She couldn’t find her torch. How could it have fallen out of her pocket?
‘What’s happened to George and Sorrel?’
‘Don’t worry about them! Just run, and tell the police everything—!’
He broke off with a gasp. She heard a struggle, she screamed Clancy! Clancy! and flailed around, trying to grab the fighters. George and Clancy were right by her. She could hear them, panting and landing blows, but she couldn’t find them. Then the noise stopped, and all she could hear was Sorrel’s voice, sobbing, her cries getting further away.
She searched her pockets again: no torch. Bursting with fear for Clancy, and helpless fury, she forced herself to calm down. To listen, and let her eyes adapt. Charcoal lumps and slabs took shape in the downpour: she stood in wet grass that clung up to her knees. The air was tainted with the stink of ancient smoke, and she knew where she was. She was in the ruins of Maylock House: she even thought she could see the glimmer of Swan Lake. She couldn’t hear Sorrel anymore. No sound but the rain.
‘Clancy? Where are you? Are you okay? ’
At least she hadn’t heard a shot. Where was George? She groped along the wall behind her, first left and then right, until she was groping empty space. There was no recess, no hidden stairway: she must have lost her bearings when she was trying to locate the fight. She abandoned the wall and blundered, helplessly. Clancy could be at her feet, unconscious and she wouldn’t know. In desperation, she got down on her knees and crawled.
Her hands found a pair of wet toecaps.
‘Hey there, Cinderella Laureate!’
George pulled her up, and shone a torch on his own face. The mad rain kept crashing down: tons of water tipped out of a bucket the size of the sky. His eyes were holes.
‘Where’s Clancy, George?’
‘I told you not to trust him. I gave you a chance. Nobody can say I didn’t give you a chance. You should have run for it. Come on, too late now. I want you to meet someone.’ He grabbed her arm and twisted it up her back.
‘I know,’ said Heidi, ‘Your dad. No need to twist my arm, I want to meet him.’
‘Yeah, yeah, don’t be pushy, we’ll get to Dad—’
‘What did you do to Clancy?’
‘Just forget Clancy. He’s gone. Come and meet my new friend.’
He let go of her arm, grabbed her shoulders in a cold, wet, painful grip and turned her, round and round, round and round. He was right, she could have run for it, but she didn’t want to. She was afraid for Clancy, but she had to go along with George, because he knew the truth. Sorrel didn’t know the whole truth: George did. Heidi had seen it in his eyes, at the intervention party, before she even knew herself—
Keep running, Sorrel, if you got away. For once in your stupid life, do something useful—
‘Come on, fwitened little Cindy-windy. Careful! Don’t fall!’
The rain was like a squall at sea, and George was pushing her into the hold of the ship with no name. Heidi grabbed at stone and earth, as she half scrambled, half fell to the bottom of a pit. George blocked the rain, and what faint light there was, as he tumbled after her.
‘This is fun!’ he cackled. ‘Don’t move, Cindy. Wait there!’
He was gone. She stood in the dark, feeling terrified now that it was too late to run. The Golden Boy was really losing it, and she had nothing. If he came back it would be bad. If he didn’t it would be worse. How would she get out of here? The pit he’d shoved her into was now a hole in the roof: hidden from her in blackness, way out of reach—
At last there was a glimmer of light; it grew and cast shadows. George was coming back, and he was not alone. He held a lighted candle-end in front of him and waltzed along, his other arm supporting a shambling figure: like a friend so drunk he couldn’t stand up. A friend whose ragged arm jogged; slack around George’s neck. Whose feet dragged, whose head lolled, swinging, making weird shadows on the walls of the underground chamber.
‘Clancy!’ shrieked Heidi. ‘ Clancy!’
Clancy knelt under the sky in a roofless room, rain streaming down his face. The pistol, in its safety pouch again, was in front of him on the ground. Alongside it lay the Russian cigarette lighter he’d found the night he arrived. The mystical sign that Carron was still in his dirty business: fate’s promise that he would achieve his quest.
Mr Staunton had given him the pouch, and some advice: but refused to sell him ammo. The bullets had been provided by Jo Florence. He’d taken Heidi’s torch on the quad ride, so he could escape from her when he needed to. He’d had no trouble recovering the pistol: George was tall, and dangerous if he lashed out, but he was no Joe Florence. There wasn’t much fight in him; not really. Everything was in place, and he was sorry to part from Heidi this way but he had no choice. She wasn’t unbelievably perfect like Challon, she was just the dearest friend he’d ever had, and he loved her. But nothing had changed.
I was lying: I didn’t come to Mehilhoc to kill that man. Only to face him. To tell him who I am, and die in the attempt, that’s all I ask.
Be my witness, Heidi. Understand me.
Getting in was no longer a problem. George would be waiting for him with the answer; underground. He knew he could rely on George tonight. So it seemed right to kneel here for a moment first, with his weapon. To prepare himself. To know what he was going to do, and think once more of Mehilhoc woods in springtime. The wild cherries, white as a bridal. Roe deer in the mist. The patient stars, with their unreadable messages.
He heard her calling his name, screaming his name in horror, and jumped to his feet.
‘Heidi! I’m coming! Keep shouting!’
He ran, following her voice, through the drenching ruins.
George danced with his new friend, singing under his breath. If I had the chance I’d ask someone to dance . . . The candle flame streamed, the drowned boy swayed and nodded and waved his hands. Darkness pressed around the pair, like the crowd on a dance-floor. It was hideous and fascinating. Heidi was so gripped she didn’t even hear Clancy scrambling down the wall. Then suddenly the underground room was brightly lit and there he was, his hand on an ordinary light-switch.
He came quietly to join her.
‘Wow. I knew something was going on with him, didn’t know it was this bad. How’d he get his dancing partner all the way here? We’re miles from the beach.’
‘He didn’t,’ whispered Heidi. ‘Take another look. That’s not a rotting corpse. Can’t you smell the chemicals? It’s been embalmed. The Ninja and Barbara Holland couldn’t work it out, but I can, I know who the expert is. Somebody stuffed the cats.’
‘You’re not making sense.’
‘Yes I am, but it’ll wait. We have to
get him to put the body down. This is too horrible.’
‘I can deal with George. You know where we are, now. And you know where George’s dad can be found, don’t you? Here’s your torch, get out of here—’
Heidi turned and stared, dead straight. She’d read him like a book.
‘Not unless you come with me.’
‘No. Not negotiable.’
‘Fine, then. I’m here to keep an eye on you, to get George Carron, and to find out what happened to my dad. So just stop messing me about.’
‘Sorry.’
‘That’s okay. Let’s both of us deal with George. George, put it, I mean, put him down.’
Clancy moved in on the dancers, speaking gently. ‘C’mon, old son. You can’t treat a dead body like that. Have respect.’
‘He likes it, he likes it,’ sobbed the Golden Boy. ‘What can I do? I want us to have fun. He can’t p-play football, can he?’
Coaxing and circling, they kept at it until George suddenly gave up, let Clancy take the slack weight from him and collapsed, arms around his knees; wet dreadlocks over his face.
They laid the drowned boy down.
Maybe he grabbed my hand on that ship, thought Heidi.
The boy was eyeless and noseless, but his rags of clothes had been carefully replaced over his ragged, embalmed limbs. His skin, where it had survived, was blue-white and smooth as a kid glove. His raw flesh looked cured, like dark red leather. She thought of the sleek animals in the display box. The cats in the Grecian Temple: and she shivered and felt sick; to think of serving his dinner to Stubbly Chin. To think of Stubbly Chin sitting naked on the swimming pool steps, crowing at her, Heieidi! His ankles hidden in the green, scummy water: not so that she wouldn’t see the shame of his tag. So she wouldn’t see that it wasn’t there.
‘Now all we have to do,’ said Clancy, ‘is get George, who has gone completely off his nut, to take us the rest of the way to the Garden House basement. Come on, George?’
‘He’s my dad,’ whispered George. ‘My dad.’
‘Tough luck. My heart bleeds. Come on, you know it’s over. Help us.’
‘You’ve got no idea. You can’t imagine—’
Clancy sighed, and shone his torch around. He saw the steps cut into the wall; leading up to the secret entrance that had once been hidden in the back of a fireplace in Maylock House. The black hole in the roof, where the air pit was. The quad bike stood where they’d left it, but the tunnel had completely vanished. The underground room had no visible exits.
‘Did you know about the smugglers’ passage, Heidi?’
‘Brook’s mum told me. She said it was blocked up after the fire, and warned me not to explore. I never thought of looking for an entrance in the ruins.’
‘I did. Carron had to have somewhere, other than his own home but nearby. It had to be somewhere nobody would poke their noses: I guessed that meant the Garden House. I found my way to this place, but then I was stuck. I’ve pulled and knocked and poked at every stone.
I’ve never even found the quad tunnel; not an echo. But now I know there’s a way onward because the way in was here, just a few minutes ago. George, how do we get to Daddy?’
‘Can’t tell you,’ mumbled George. ‘Can’t—’
The drowned boy lay staring with empty sockets. Heidi sat back on her heels. After what she’d seen at Knowells, she wasn’t completely mystified. ‘I think I get it. When I was upstairs at Knowells I found a secret room. It wasn’t there, and then it was. Like the quad tunnel was there, and now it completely isn’t. The police had hacked Mr Carron’s camouflage, but they were spooked about it. I heard them, the cops who caught me, saying Carron was using technology he shouldn’t have. They didn’t know who the criminal tech expert was, but I do. It’s Roger.’
‘What? Dodgy Roger Maylock? Oh, come on. Your Old Wrecks have been letting Carron use their basement, that’s all. They’re too far gone, or else too scared, to object. And on the payroll, of course. Like everyone else in Mehilhoc.’
‘It’s not Tallis; only Roger. He’s supposed to be on a tag: he isn’t. He’s got rid of it, and the cops don’t know. You can’t do that, but he’s done it. He’s supposed to be under domestic surveillance, he isn’t. He must be faking everything they see. I don’t think he’s “on the payroll”. I think he’s Carron’s partner. They’re running their evil empire right under a house where the cops think they know everything that goes on. Remember the hotspot I couldn’t find? I don’t know how the trick works, but I know where it’s got to be.’
Clancy shook his head. ‘You’re still not making sense.’
‘Okay, forget Roger. The point is: the stuff I found had to be beyond hidden, it had to be hidden so it couldn’t be spotted if you scanned the house brick by brick, because—’
She couldn’t say a word more. Not a word more, not even to Clancy.
‘Well, I can’t explain, but I saw what happened. Everything broke up. It was as if the secret room had been turned into pixels and deleted from reality, and I saw it come back. I’m thinking the key has to be biometric, but really, seriously complex. Maybe the whole person; not just their DNA or whatever. Or two whole people; maybe Portia as well. . . Hey, George? You went somewhere and fetched your friend. I know you left this room. How did you do it?’
‘A person. Or someone almost identical?’ said Clancy, catching on. ‘What do we need from him? A severed finger? Do we drain his blood?’
George looked up. The bones of his face stood out, his eyes were bloodshot, wide and wild. ‘Not Mum, only Dad. No blood, nothing like that. I am the key. It’s flaky, but it can find him in me, and that’s how I found out—’
You’ve seen that ledger, thought Heidi. And she truly pitied him, but she didn’t relent.
Rotten Meat.
‘Don’t kid yourself, George. You knew plenty when we were on that ship. You’ve known for years that your nice life was built on food crime, and blackmail and slave trading. Now you know you’ve got to help us.’
‘Shut up, Cinderella. You’ve got nothing on me.’
George got to his feet and stumbled over to the wall opposite the quad bike. He waved his arms and jerked his legs; cackling, dreadlocks swinging like dripping rats’ tails.
‘Oops, not making the right shapes. I’ve forgotten. Can’t help you, sorry!’
Then he hit the sweet spot. The wall broke up; it reformed. A door appeared and George turned to them, grinning. George older, heavier: George overlaid with the stark, commanding face that had peered at Heidi as she lay in bed. Whatever he wanted to do, he would do it—
The horrific change only lasted a moment. The door stayed where it was. George pushed on it and passed through, still cackling. Heidi and Clancy followed.
The first room was a workroom, with a strong smell of chemicals, an array of shining metal tables; racked tools, and shelves of strange things in jars. Then came a narrow passage, dimly lit, where they could save their torches but had to walk in single file. They hurried to keep up with George but didn’t speak to him, afraid to break his mood. Heidi counted steps and imagined she was running; from Swan Lake to the stranded yellow archway.
‘Ooh, problem, we’ve hit another wall,’ yelped George. ‘Here we go again!’
This time the wall became a sliding panel. On the other side was a brightly lit office space: with a low ceiling, smart desks, 3D biometric printers, and everything else you’d expect to find in a business premises of the futuristic modern world.
Clancy looked for camera eyes and couldn’t see any. Maybe the Carron-Knowells-Maylock HQ used something more sophisticated. He wondered about his fateful phone call, and whether George had really cracked up or was he faking it. He steadied himself: preparing.
George sat at a desk, and spun himself idly around. ‘They’ll be upstairs,’ he said. ‘My dad and Roger. Having a few Solstice drinks.’
Heidi stared at dog-eared photos pinned on a noticeboard. Some of them looked like copies of the pictures
she’d found torn-up, stabbed and burned. She followed the pattern of the worn vinyl floor tiles with her eyes: between desks and office machines, to the inner face of the Steel Door. She was standing where her dad had lain, bleeding and dying in her dreams—
We ought to make a movie, she thought, and get out of here. But they had no camera. ‘Tell me about my dad, George. What did he know? Why did he have to die?’
George gave a fake sigh. ‘No idea. Sorry, you’ve lost me.’
‘Your dad had him killed. Whoever did it took something from my parents’ room, and that was a problem, because the police might start looking for someone else besides my mum. So your dad figured out a way to return the evidence, and you planted it in my suitcase—’
‘Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘Oh, give it up. I know it was you. I worked it out. You put the suitcase in my room. You took the Rock Mouse. I knew the knots were different. You opened the Purple Suitcase, and planted the envelope and the rings—’
A flush had risen in George’s cheeks. He was pink and scowling, like a little boy. ‘Oh yeah, okay. I may have escorted your suitcase. I may have taken a peek. I didn’t plant anything.’
He was blushing. Heidi stared, the pixels shattering, reforming in a different picture—
‘My God. You took the money! The money in the envelope!’
‘What if I did? A few measly notes, so what? Calm down, why make such a fuss?’
Something broke open in Heidi’s head. Scenes jumped at her. She herself, shaking with panic, was emptying the hidey-hole. She, herself, was reaching up, her own hands were grabbing the Purple Suitcase. Stuffing the envelope into it—
But when did I do that? But how—?’
It was gone.
‘I know why he’s here,’ said George, stabbing a finger at Clancy. ‘It’s his choice. You shouldn’t have tagged along, Cinderella Laureate. You turned up at the Garden House, thanks to Brook’s mum. It was annoying, that’s all. Mum was going to get you moved on, nothing worse than that. Why don’t you run for it? You’re not involved.’
‘Let’s all run for it,’ said Clancy, suddenly. ‘You guys go first. Tell the cops.’
The Grasshopper's Child Page 23
