by Lara Dearman
It was only when she switched off the landing lights before going back downstairs that she noticed the glow coming from around the edges of a hatch in the ceiling. She found the hook leaning against the bathroom wall and pulled down the trapdoor to the loft. It opened easily, the weight of the ladder folded into it pushing down as she pulled. She straightened it and climbed up.
Empty. Nothing up here. A desk and a chair in an empty room. And on the carpet, a scattering of straw.
* * *
She sat at the kitchen table, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed, wondering whether it would have been better to have discovered some concrete proof that Roger was a killer rather than be left with this feeling of unease and uncertainty. She shouldn’t have come here to his house. It had been reckless. She was being reckless again. She lingered over the sideboard before leaving. All those pictures: a policeman and a husband; a charitable man. Not a killer.
The map of Guernsey on the wall caught her eye. Points all over circled in coloured pen. A logo in the top left corner. Festung Guernsey. Horace Gallienne had mentioned Festung, the people who maintained the Nazi fortifications. What did Roger have to do with them? She looked closer. All of the circles – they were bunkers. And one of them was right near here. It was labelled Beauregarde, Les Sages Lane. Not just nearby. On this property. It was marked in green. Two circles with a hatched line running between them. She checked the legend. Two entrances and a chamber.
She opened the kitchen door and let her eyes adjust. She could make out the tall shapes of the trees at the edge of the property and, in the distance, the sea, lucent under the crescent moon. Between here and there lay a vast swathe of black and shadow she knew to be fields and hedgerows – and somewhere amongst them, a Nazi bunker.
Just like the one that filled her nightmares.
Now was not the time to go looking for it. Not because it didn’t need finding. Because she was alone and she was very, very scared. Not as scared as Lisa Bretel. She was out there. Jenny could save her. She took out her torch. Shone it in front of her. Took a deep breath. Calmed her thoughts.
I’m not afraid of the darkness.
Only what it hides.
43
He stood at the hedge and watched the lights flick on and off as she made her way through his home. What was she seeing? An old man lost in a big house? It had always been too big, even when his wife had been alive. She had complained about it, too draughty and damp and what did they need all that space for anyway? But he would never have sold it. It was here, in the field where he now stood, that he had knelt, so many years ago and first received enlightenment. Where he had felt old Joe’s hand on his shoulder and understood, if only for a moment, what it meant to feel something akin to friendship.
He had become distracted, trying to prepare everything. He’d lost track of time. He had wanted to greet her. To talk to her. To bring her out here. Because she was different. She wore her vulnerability so lightly, not like the others, the little sparrows with broken wings. She was something else. A seabird. A cormorant. Yes, that was it. Diving beneath the surface, further and further down, trying to solve the puzzle. Too far, little bird. Much, much too far. There were secrets far nearer to the surface. He would help her back up. He would tell her all about them.
He needed to think quickly. Should he run and catch her? Should he shout and lure her out here? He hesitated. Since he had decided to include her his mind had been clear of noise and distraction. But now, the faintest buzzing. Barely perceptible, but it was there. It was her, she brought it with her. A flash of anger. Don’t be rash. Think.
Light. The back door. There she was. Coming to him.
Clever girl.
44
Jenny
The torch was bright but illuminated only a small area directly in front of her. Everywhere else was black. If she glanced to one side or the other, even for a moment, she knew it would consume her. So she focused. Straight ahead. No bullshit breathing or counting. Just one foot after the other, through sticky, wet grass, clutching at her shoes. The further down the field she walked, the wetter it became, until the grass turned to mud and she trod slowly, carefully, concentrating on how much she could see, not how little, avoiding the shallow slicks of yellow water which lay on the sodden earth.
A hedge. She shone the torch left and then right. A gate. And on the other side of it, just a few steps into the next field, she found it. A metal grille covered the entrance. It was completely dark down there. Blacker than night … She shone her torch through the bars of the grille. Steps led directly down. Her pulse quickened and sweat pricked her top lip in spite of the cold night but she ignored the rising panic and placed the torch on the ground by her side, angling it carefully so the light fell directly on her hands and the grille. She tried to lift it. Too heavy. She tried pushing it to the side.
A shadow. Tall and black. And a voice.
‘It’s terribly heavy, you know. Let me help you.’
* * *
He had a gun. At least, he told her it was a gun, and she had no reason to doubt him. He pressed it firmly into her back, took her phone from her pocket, threw it into the hedge. Then he pushed her forwards. She stumbled down the first few rough steps. He told her to stop and she heard the clanging of the grille and a click behind them.
‘Watch your step, now, we wouldn’t want you to take a tumble, would we?
She had no choice but to walk slowly. The steps were steep, little more than a concrete ladder, and she was shaking, unsteady on her feet. At the bottom, ten feet or so from the surface, a solid wall with an arched opening in it, a little lower than head height.
A tunnel.
‘It’s a little uncomfortable from here, I’m afraid. You have to stoop down. Go on in. Don’t worry. I’m right behind you.’
She felt him. Felt the gun between her shoulder blades and, worse, his hand on the small of her back. But she couldn’t go on. She stood, frozen. He pushed, harder now. She heard the click of the safety.
‘Do it.’
She stifled a sob. Bent down. Stumbled in.
Everything black.
She held out her hands on either side, felt hard, wet stone. Eyes streaming. Throat burning. It was choking her, the darkness. She was going to die. Here, in this tunnel.
She heard him, scraping along behind her. The thought of him touching her again was enough to keep her moving forwards. She wiped her face with her hand, wiped away the sweat and the tears and saw there was light up ahead. Focus. She moved faster.
She emerged into a dimly lit, rectangular chamber, with low ceilings, just high enough to stand up straight. Directly opposite her was the arched opening of another tunnel, which must lead to another exit, presumably also barred and padlocked.
In the middle of the chamber, laid out on the floor, was Lisa Bretel. Her skin was deathly pale, deep purple and yellow bruises swelling around her eye, her lips split and bloody, her long, softly curled hair fanned out around her head. From the neck down she was wrapped in what looked like a white sheet, the edges grimy where they touched the damp floor. He was still in the tunnel and Jenny knelt at Lisa’s side, shook her frantically, felt for a pulse. Her skin was warm and Jenny felt the faintest throb of blood pumping through her veins. She was alive. Barely.
‘Lisa, wake up, Lisa, you have to wake up!’
‘Stop! Don’t touch her.’ She stood, swung around. He had the gun trained on her. His hand was shaking.
‘Don’t touch her! She’s clean. She’s ready.’ He took a deep breath, forced a smile. ‘I brought you here to help, Jennifer. Not spoil things.’
‘What have you done to her?’
‘I’ve looked after her. She didn’t make it easy for me. Screamed and cried. Soiled herself.’ He grimaced. ‘But we’ve worked it all out. She came round in the end. Had something to eat and drink, something to help her relax, and then I washed her and dressed her. Doesn’t she look beautiful?’ Shadows danced across his face and, as he loo
ked down on Lisa, he wore an expression of beatific calm.
‘We’re all ready.’ He walked towards her, placed the lantern on the floor. He was a head taller than Jenny, broader than her; even without the gun she would have been frightened of him. The only advantage she had over him physically was her youth, and his age did not seem to have hindered him so far. She forced herself not to look away, keeping her eyes fixed on his as he held a hand up, pulled a tendril of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Only when he let his hand linger on her shoulder did she turn away from his touch. He raised the gun, slowly. Placed it against her cheek. Cold. The smell of oil and sweat. He guided her head back towards him, left the gun barrel resting against her face. Then he took her arm and walked her to a chair in the corner of the chamber, pushed her shoulder firmly down so she sat. He stepped back, the gun at his side, but she could still feel it on her cheek, as if the metal had burnt her.
He picked up the lantern, held it aloft, between them, so she was dazzled by it and could no longer see his features and he became just a shadow behind the glare.
‘If you move from this chair I will shoot you in the face.’ A lump of fear lodged in her throat like a stone. ‘Do you understand, Jennifer?’ She nodded.
‘You’re a curious girl, aren’t you? I wonder what it is that makes you so interested in other people’s business. Is it a reflection on your own life, do you think? Is there something missing, Jenny? An empty space inside you need to fill?’
She stayed silent, eyes half closed against the glare. Let him talk. Talking was better than shooting.
‘Or perhaps it’s not your fault at all. Perhaps it’s all in the genes. Because you’re just like your father. He didn’t know when to keep his nose out of things either.’ She twitched and her eyes widened as she strained to see his face.
‘Oh, you didn’t know? Yes, old Charlie was always getting himself into scrapes. Fancied himself as bit of detective, always had a conspiracy theory to share. It was a source of great amusement to us all in the force. He was such a nice chap – well, you know that, of course, and we all thought it was rather funny, here comes Charlie with another story. Until somebody stopped laughing.’
‘What are you saying?’ She could not conceal the tremor in her voice.
‘I’ve got you, haven’t I?’ He smiled. ‘It’s too easy, really. Always a daddy issue, you see. You. Me. All the little birds. Daddy didn’t care or Daddy wasn’t there. It always comes back to that.’
‘What are you talking about?’
He ignored her.
‘What do you know about my father’s death?’ Boiling tears of anger and frustration rolled down her cheeks.
‘Oh, not much really. I’ve been retired for a while, as you know. But I’ve kept my fingers in a few pies. I have my friends on the inside who have followed in my footsteps, who are happy to help the right people for the right price…’
‘What do you know about my dad, you sick fuck?’ she screamed at him and he took a step towards her, his finger tensed on the trigger. She turned her head involuntarily, braced for impact but he just stood there, unmoving.
‘I want you to write about me.’
‘What?’ It came out as a whisper. She turned back to look at him.
‘I want you to tell everyone why I did what I did.’
‘I don’t know why you did what you did.’
‘I helped people, Jennifer. That’s all I’ve ever done.’
‘How? Are you helping Lisa right now? Look at her, Roger.’
‘Of course I am. They were nothing, before I took them. They were sad and damaged and ignored and I made them something beautiful.’ He seemed to be struggling to get his words out and he held one hand to his ear, rubbing and pulling at it, distracted. ‘I want you to tell people. Will you do that, Jennifer?’ He knelt beside Lisa, gun at his side and stroked her cheek. ‘I gave all the others to the water. I had to. But now, now we can do this properly. We can give her to the flames.’
Jenny tried to keep her voice even. ‘Roger, you’re not helping her. You’re hurting her. Look at what you’ve done to her. She has a mother who loves her. She has friends, she’s at college.’
‘You don’t know her, Jennifer, not like I do. I’ve read all about her. The cutting, the drinking, the problems she has at home. I choose carefully, you know. I do my research.’
‘Jenny!’
Faint. In the distance. But they both heard it and it seemed to focus him. He stood, turned to Jenny, raised the gun, pointed it back at her head.
‘What a shame. We didn’t have time for a proper chat. We’re going to have to work quickly.’ He left the lantern on the floor and walked to the shelves, towards a row of cans. She couldn’t risk attacking him. Not while he held a gun. But she needed to buy some time.
She threw herself out of the chair and kicked the lantern with as much force as she could muster, away from Lisa and against a wall where it smashed in a burst of blue flames, and in the final surge of light before it died, she saw the look of horror on his face as he spun back towards her and she felt it a second before she heard it, a searing pain in her shoulder, then a noise like no other she had ever heard, ringing and reverberating off of the concrete walls and she fell to the floor, deaf and blind in the dark.
* * *
She opened her eyes. No difference. Pitch-black. Ears ringing. Shoulder throbbing. Arm twitching. The pain was good. It focused her. On staying alive.
She moved her hand tentatively up her arm, felt the damp warmth of the blood well before she reached the point of entry. She tried to sit. Dizzy. She’d passed out. Not for long. At least, it didn’t feel like it.
It was Michael’s voice she’d heard, calling for her. But he wasn’t here. Why wasn’t he here? Think. Think. He didn’t know where the bunker was. Might not even know there was one. Even if he found it, Roger had locked the grille behind them. She screwed her eyes tightly shut, thinking the darkness within might be a comfort, a barrier to the darkness all around her, but it didn’t work. She took deep, ineffective breaths, but the oxygen got lost somewhere between her throat and her lungs, and, instead, panic flowed through her veins, up to her heart and her brain and if she let it in she was done for.
‘Silly girl, breaking the lamp.’ He tutted.
Movement, shifting, clanging, objects falling over. ‘Don’t worry. There’s a torch here somewhere.’ Humming. He was humming as he blindly searched the shelves. Monotonous, tuneless. Like the buzzing of a bee.
Think.
They were both in the same boat. Both blind. Her ears were ringing from the shot. His would be worse. She was injured. He was unhinged. Equal match.
‘They’re coming. You know they are. They’re going to find us.’ She tried to sound matter of fact, not desperate.
‘Who? Your friend DCI Gilbert?’ He said it with disdain, enunciating each letter as if it pained him to say them. ‘Oh, he’s been and gone, he and a couple of little stooges. They couldn’t get in. It’s locked, you see. Here’s the key.’ She heard the clang of metal hit the floor somewhere to her right. ‘Yes, they sounded terribly panicked. They’ve gone off to fetch a bolt-cutter and call for backup. It was all very dramatic. Sounds like he’s very fond of you, poor old Gilbert. I do hope your daddy issues haven’t gone too far, Jennifer.’
‘Fuck you!’ She spat it towards the sound of his voice.
‘Now, now, no need to get upset over that sad excuse for a man. He’s always been a thorn in my side, with his bloody conscience and his “no stone unturned” every time a fucking tomato plant disappeared. Always reviewing the evidence, is DCI Gilbert. Such a tedious man. I had high hopes he’d kill himself a while back. And then, of course, there was the heart attack, but he lived through that too. I wouldn’t have minded, if he’d been a worthy opponent. Someone like you, Jennifer. Someone with a little chutzpah, as the Jews would say. I would have enjoyed that.’
A moan from the middle of the room.
‘Li
sa!’ Jenny called out. ‘Lisa, stay where you are. They’re coming for us, we’re going to be OK.’
‘Oh, she won’t be going anywhere fast, don’t you worry. I gave her a very large dose. I’d be surprised if she ever woke, to be honest. I don’t want her to suffer. In the flames.’
‘They’re coming back, Roger. They know it’s you. You’ll only make it worse for yourself if you kill us. Or if we die here. I’m bleeding badly. It’s not too late. You don’t have to do this.’ She edged on her knees towards the area where she’d heard the keys fall.
‘I appreciate your concern, Jennifer, I really do, but having a couple more deaths on my hands would hardly make a difference to my fate.
She tried to keep her breathing regular and her voice calm. She extended her good arm in front of her and painstakingly ran her fingers over the rough floor, side to side, scraping off patches of her freezing skin in the process. She shook, from the cold and the shock and the pain. She needed to be careful, to make sure she didn’t jangle the key when she hit it. And she needed to keep him distracted.
‘I could write about you, Roger. But I’d need more information. About Amanda and all the others. About what happened to my dad.’ She sounded faint, far away, her own words echoing in her ears.
Stay awake, find the key, and then, and then …
‘Poor little bird. You don’t sound very well. I was so hoping to say a proper goodbye. I had such big plans. I fear you’ve ruined them.’ More clanging and shifting. ‘Where is the damn thing?’ He was frustrated. She needed the key before he found the torch. She shuffled forward and searched again, rough concrete and more rough concrete until, there. Cold metal. She placed her hand over it, muffling the harsh scraping sound it made as she pulled it towards her. A small ring and two keys. Two exits. A way out. Behind her. There was no way she could drag Lisa out with her, not with her injured shoulder, not quickly enough to dodge a bullet. There was no way she could leave her down here either. He was fussing and muttering and she edged back, towards where she thought Lisa was.
