Luke had become more of a friend than any of the other guys she’d been with, but she’d still entertained doubts about them lasting longer than her previous relationships. Maybe that was because she’d never passed the four-month mark with anybody, but Luke and it had made her nervous. Becoming pregnant with his child had immediately changed her perception. She wanted to make it work for their baby’s sake. That’s why she’d come to this place – a trip away to consolidate things before they became a family.
Her parents thought she was just a frightened kid, but Libby was more capable of handling herself than they knew. She’d been to the doctor’s for a morning after pill at fifteen when she’d refused to be placated by her then boyfriend’s assurances that everything would be OK. Her parents had known nothing of it.
There was much they weren’t aware of. From the moment she’d been attacked by Mr Sloman’s boar she’d hidden behind their misguided perception of who she was.
At eight, she’d been playing at the perimeter of Mr Sloman’s land by one of the collapsed walls and had decided to trespass to pick some sloes from the branches that had seemed so laden in comparison to theirs. They lay only just beyond the wall and she’d climbed through the gap and scuttled down the pile of bricks the other side. She’d stripped the berries from the trees and dropped them into the fold up of her jumper and had amassed quite a haul before the animal appeared.
She’d heard the impacts of its heavy hooves and turned to find the enormous, soot-coloured animal studying her with its tiny, glistening eyes. It had immediately charged her and she’d fled back to the wall, falling against the brick pile and losing her precious cargo. When she’d turned and tried to sit up, the animal had rammed its snout against her belly, the weight of its dense body compressing her against the sharp bricks. Pinned there Libby had cried for help, but the animal refused to release her. She remembered the sound of it snuffling against her, the strings of spittle about its dark features connecting it to her and the stones steadily piercing her spine.
She’d picked up one of the mossy bricks with both hands and slammed it as hard as she could against the boar’s skull. The animal didn’t make a sound, but its legs had buckled and when she’d struck it again the pig had slumped onto its side. The brick was dark with its blood and her fingers had been red and sticky.
Then she’d buried it under the bricks. She’d been terrified of what she’d done. But even after she’d wiped the blood off her hands in the grass her injuries only necessitated Libby telling her parents part of the truth.
Part of the truth; she supposed every kid was that to their parents. Hers had certainly never guessed she could be so strong when it counted. But having spent these past weeks congratulating herself on being so mature about the trip with Luke she now knew who was to blame for them ending up where they had.
She’d been in the driving seat for every significant stage of their relationship. It had been her decision to sleep with him and she certainly hadn’t panicked about a morning after pill on the first occasion they’d had sex without protection. Maybe, despite herself, she’d really wanted this baby with him.
Becoming pregnant made her realise how selfish she’d been when Mum had been expecting Jessie. She now understood even more why it had been so momentous for them. Libby had felt it as soon as she’d seen the result of the test, an instinct to protect. Especially after what had happened to Mum.
Mum had said the best thing she’d ever achieved was being a mother to Libby. Libby always thought it was just something Mum said to her when she was feeling insecure.
She’d only started to comprehend the gravity of becoming a parent and visualised her Mum and Dad thousands of miles away, not knowing where she was and what was happening to her. She wished, more than anything else, she could have had the opportunity to tell them she wasn’t in any pain.
Having stepped quietly to the right side of the cage, nearest the hood, Tam had managed to unclip the stack of food canisters. The girl had reacted to the dull click and lifted her head. He’d waited, counting to fifty. Now he carefully stood up and slipped his hand into the back pocket of his shorts. His fingers found the cold metal of the screwdriver he’d smuggled out of his father’s toolbox. He clasped it and pulled it out.
He started to painstakingly prise up the staples that held the chicken wire to one edge of the frame.
At Baltimore International Will called the cab driver and left a message telling him he’d left his taxi in long-term parking. It was half the distance he would have had to travel to pick it up from Bel Air so he figured he’d done him a favour.
He took the bracelet and pendant out of the glove compartment, wrapped them in the scarf and carefully pocketed them. Then he checked in with the new flight to Chicago. He had an hour and thirty-five minutes to wait. He headed to the upper level, trying to ignore the twinges at his midsection. He found a sports bar with a TV, but there was no breaking news about Bel Air.
He considered alcohol to numb the pain, but knew better. In the past it had only led to sleep or blackouts. It was the very last thing he needed, given his physical and emotional condition. He slumped at a corner table. “Anything on the other channels?” Will listened to Carla surf through them as he kept the phone to his ear. He prayed there wouldn’t be until he’d at least taken off.
“Nothing. Holt Amberson has been relegated, but Strick is still getting plenty of air time.”
“What else?” He opened his laptop.
“A lot of shocked politicians’ tributes; he was an environmental and health care reform champion.” Carla sounded oddly distracted.
“Has something happened there?”
“Everything’s fine,” she said defensively. She took a breath and it seemed to focus her. “They’re already laying flowers outside Strick’s home.”
Sleep deprivation and a grim inertia had seized him. It seemed unreal that he’d been there less than twenty-four hours ago, levering the family’s dead faces from the dirt. “Have the police department released any other details?”
“Just that it’s an official homicide and that the surviving son is a leading light at Baltimore University. There were some minor scandals. Expense claims abuse, but he was cleared after an independent investigation. Another rag accused him of impropriety with his personal secretary, Monro.” Her delivery was rapid now, feeding in the new facts to sustain them both. “Anwar’s been back to me again, but there’s nothing significant in Holt Amberson’s background.”
“And no connection between them?” Will found the site and clicked on the apartment block with the red outline around it.
“Nothing that’s in the public domain.”
“Ask Anwar if there’s any coincidences between Amberson and Strick’s interests.”
“Won’t that be a little obvious?”
“It’s breaking news.”
“He already knows we’re hiding something.”
“You know how to pacify him better than I do.”
She didn’t respond.
He clicked through to the images taken inside the property. Ultra-modern and masculine. There was a granite kitchen, circular bed, lavish walk-in shower, blue baize pool table and neon-lit bar in the den. It didn’t look like someone’s permanent residence, more a weekend apartment.
“They haven’t posted any more photos of Libby on the website.” Her voice was flat with fear.
He was only too aware that it had been nearly twenty-four hours since they’d been presented with any evidence she was still alive.
She muted the TV. “And we have no idea if Luke is still with her.”
“I’ve tried to reason with them, but they only give me seconds on the line.”
Her tone hardened. “This time ask for concrete proof she and Luke haven’t been harmed and don’t take no for an answer.”
From their table on the other side of the bar, Pope and Weaver watched Will finish his call and then dial another number and wait for a response.
&n
bsp; They’d spotted him ahead of them in the line in the terminal. Pope had followed him up to the sports bar while Weaver checked them in. They were positioned behind him. Pope didn’t shift his eyes from the back of his head.
“Looks like we’re on the same flight.” Weaver gestured to the waitress.
“He must be running on fumes by now.”
“I know the feeling. Who do you think he was talking to?”
“Probably his wife.”
“You think she’s told us everything?”
“Doesn’t matter if she hasn’t, we’re not going to let him out of our sight.”
Weaver ordered them a couple of cold beers. While they drank them Pope didn’t take his eyes off Frost. He kept the phone against his ear, shifted in his chair, checked his laptop and glanced at his watch. He could almost feel the turmoil emanating from him. With the life of his daughter in the hands of whoever was probably at the other end of the line he couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going through his mind.
He used Weaver’s iPad to run a check on the new victim, but found nothing obvious to link Strick to Amberson or Frost. His phone buzzed. It was a text from Lenora. He didn’t open it.
Nothing from Patrice, his conversation with her seemed like a week ago. Sean’s twenty-first was nearly over. Another milestone had passed by without his presence. Should he hit her number? He imagined them ignoring any incoming calls with his name in the ID. He knew they’d done it in the past. But what could he say even if they did pick up?
He promised himself that when he was done with the story he would call to make amends. Over the years Patrice’s attitude towards him made it easy for him to disassociate himself. He always thought that was a deliberate ploy because she wanted him out of the picture. But it was Patrice that had sent the message earlier. Was it her way of reminding him why they weren’t still together or had she really wanted him to call in as he’d promised?
His dereliction of duty to a life he no longer led didn’t make him feel any less guilty. Patrice had never demanded anything from him, emotionally or financially. She’d moved into her mother’s old property and had gradually become her full-time carer. His other divorced colleagues, including Weaver, thought that made him the luckiest man to get out alive. But being made to feel so instantly surplus to requirements afflicted him.
Tam freed the last staple. Now it was just a case of bending the wire inwards. That way he could slip his arm through and untie the line around the girl’s neck. He planned to pull the hood out and feed the canisters in and estimated that if she saw the food she probably wouldn’t scream. He couldn’t be certain of this though and had a clear run to the open door. Plus she would still be unable to escape from the cage.
If she allowed him to feed her without noise, he could replace the hood and tie it at the neck again before bending the wire back in place. Nobody would know he’d tampered with it.
A current of excitement passed through his stomach as he put his palm against the loose wire at the edge of the frame. He pushed on it, lightly at first and then more firmly when it didn’t give. As he increased the pressure a tiny grunt escaped him. He quickly checked the girl in case she reacted. She remained motionless. The mesh started to curve inwards. If he removed one more staple from the bottom of the frame he would have the corner he needed to reach her.
He bent to his knees again, but as his body crouched it knocked the stack of food canisters sideways. Unclipped, they toppled against the cage, noisily clanging and spilling their contents.
The girl’s body stiffened. As Tam stood his eyes rolled upwards. Seconds passed. The girl lifted her head again. The door at the top of the stairs banged.
Feet frantically scuffed down the concrete steps. Tam knew he couldn’t make it through the door and over the gates in time. He only just scampered behind the stack of empty cages before the lights buzzed on.
He peered out and saw Skinny Man booting chickens into the air as he made his way to the cage. He stopped only momentarily to absorb the food canisters scattered about it before trotting through the door that led to the ramp.
Tam’s relief was only momentary. Maybe Skinny Man would believe he’d fled and scaled the gates in such a short space of time, but chances were he wouldn’t. When he came back this way it wouldn’t take him long to find him.
He bit his tongue and cautiously picked his way through the chickens towards the steps. He scuttled quickly up both flights and paused at the top to see if anybody was in the loading bay the other side of the door. When he was sure there wasn’t, he slipped through.
The same lorry was still parked there. He stole back across the metal gantry towards the main factory floor, swivelling his head to check the security cabin was empty as he passed it. When he reached the door the other side that led back to the slaughterhouse, however, it was locked. He pushed it repeatedly, as if it might miraculously give with a third or fourth attempt.
Tam seated himself on the edge of the gantry and dropped down four feet onto the forecourt. The red shutters were pulled down at the bay and when he reached them he saw they were padlocked into a bracket in the concrete.
He pelted back to the door that led down to the chicken house and opened it to listen. Above his breath he could hear the main door move along its runner and boom shut before a lock was shot. Then he could make out the birds’ rising alarm as Skinny Man did a rapid circuit of the room before he started to climb the steps again.
Tam’s chest heaved, but he couldn’t catch a breath. He was trapped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The crab rotated, its increasingly aggressive circuits mesmerising Will as he leaned in to touch it again. He had to stroke its broken body before he let it go.
They had to leave. He could hear the ugly gull wheeling above and the click of his father’s teeth on plastic behind him. Will could see his long shadow and the pipe jutting from it, black wisps of smoke across the rain-dappled sand.
He didn’t want to abandon his vigil even though there was a bank of grimy clouds rolling in from the sea. The rain trickled down his nine-year-old face and the crab scored the paint pot with its pincers, more flakes of white adhering to its shell. It wouldn’t survive back in the water. It was too damaged. There were fragments of its dark carapace scattered around the bottom of the pot and its legs creaked around the slivers that had slipped into its joints. He knew better than to ask if he could take it home. No pets allowed in the house.
“Put it back in the water, Will. Let it crawl under a rock to die,” his father said.
A jolt from behind. Will blinked, but as he tried to refocus on the crab, he was looking at a blue pouch with a dog-eared selection of in-flight magazines poking from it.
He’d spent most of the hour’s flight boxed in by the surly, teenage children of a drunken couple with New Jersey accents. They were sitting behind him and redirected the aggression from their slurred argument by haranguing the two brothers about how they should behave when they got to Aunt Lauren’s. The kids nodded, but listened to their iPods. The couple tried to overcome this by repeatedly thumping the backs of their seats every time they wanted their attention.
Will waggled himself upright and, as he watched the herding of children back and forth to the bathroom, recalled the last time he, Carla and Libby had been on a plane. Libby was sixteen and had reluctantly accompanied them on their final family trip. Capri had been a regular destination for them since she’d been able to walk. It was the first time Will realised he’d lost touch with her.
She’d spent the whole time texting and having muted phone conversations with her friends about why she didn’t want to be there. It had been like a stranger had supplanted the daughter who used to love the food and culture and wandering around the bay of the Marina Piccola.
Will had lost his patience. Her behaviour seemed to negate all the years of happiness they’d had there before. He knew there were always chapters to close as a father. Like the time he’d stored all her re
dundant toys in the empty attic room. Boxed and sealed away, there had been something final about stowing the props of her innocence. But on that holiday he felt as if he’d suddenly become redundant. On the third day he’d wished she’d stayed at home.
Carla had handled their daughter’s doleful presence with resigned ease. But it was more than just passively dismissing it as a phase. She’d accepted her moodiness and peer-pressured behaviour because she effortlessly saw past it to the daughter who still needed love and protection.
Libby would always need their protection and Will had felt that unequivocally as soon as she’d announced her pregnancy, but he’d been far too angry with her to offer the implicit support she got from Carla. How much of that anger had been directed at what he perceived to be her carelessness and how much because they were still hurting from losing Jessie?
To Will it had seemed like Libby’s announcement couldn’t have come at a worse time, but it had a significant effect on Carla and how she was dealing with the loss. It energised her again and even though Will realised that Libby’s baby had been entirely an accident, her stepping so quickly into Carla’s shoes had been tough to accept. He hadn’t put a time limit on his own healing. Suddenly events had necessitated him discarding his feelings for one child in favour of another.
Now his reality had ruptured again and the family-to-be of Libby, Luke and their unborn child – a family he hadn’t even yet acknowledged – was in jeopardy. He still felt winded, but fate never waited for anyone to catch up. He knew it was why Carla had put away the picture of Jessie.
He considered his situation and estimated how much time he’d spent speculating about how Jessie could have impacted their lives. During that last holiday with Libby, he’d mourned a daughter he could still see and touch and ignored her presence for the whole week.
The seat was punched again. Will unbuckled himself, stood up and turned on the squat and brawny couple sitting behind him. They both wore the same Somerset Patriots sweatshirts and red-rimmed eyes. Unshaven Dad had a cobweb tattooed on his neck and a lobe-stretcher in both ears.
Scare Me Page 17
