by Mark Morris
‘Just hear me out a minute.’ There was a sharpness to her voice, which I found oddly heartening. Last night she had seemed so done in that I was worried she might go to pieces. ‘What I’m saying is that maybe you did activate the heart in some way, and it latched on to your memories and showed you an image you’d find… I don’t know… familiar. Comforting, even.’
‘Latched on to my memories? You’re talking about that lump of rock like it’s a living thing. Something that thinks.’
Clover looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, we don’t know what it is, do we? We don’t know what it’s capable of. It’s more than a lump of rock, though, that’s for sure.’
I held up my hands. ‘Okay, granted. But let’s not confuse ourselves more than we are already by coming up with mad theories. Let’s just keep things simple for now, take it one step at a time.’
‘Agreed,’ she said. ‘But can I say one more thing?’
I sighed. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Not really.’
‘Go on then.’
‘Well, it’s just that last night, after you used the heart to…’ She cupped her hand and swung her arm round.
‘Kill McCallum?’
She grimaced. ‘Yeah. After you’d done it, didn’t you say you threw up? In the garden?’
‘So?’
‘And then after the vision or the dream about Lyn, you threw up again… and then passed out.’
I jerked my shoulders grumpily. ‘So what’s your point? I’d say it was a fairly natural reaction after—’
‘No, no, you don’t get it. What I mean is, what if the heart made you sick? What if using it is bad for you?’
‘Like smoking?’
‘I suppose. But with more immediate effects. What if…’ She paused and I could see she was thinking the theory through. ‘What if every time you use it, it takes something out of you? A bit of your life-force? Your soul?’
I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. In the ordinary scheme of things it would have been ridiculous. All the same, I found myself putting a protective hand lightly on the centre of my chest, as if trying to hold something in. ‘Nice thought.’
She leaned back on the bed, resting on her elbows. ‘It’s just a theory. I don’t know any more than you do.’
Her words seemed to hang in the air. Despite everything we’d been through together, I still wasn’t a hundred per cent sure that I could trust her, or if she knew more than she was letting on. At the same time I felt instinctively that I could – but how far could I trust my own feelings? I rubbed my hands vigorously over my face to try to wake myself up, and got a whiff of sweaty armpits.
‘I need a shower,’ I said.
‘Well, I didn’t like to say anything, but…’
This time her tone was playful. She grinned at me and I grinned back. It struck me how amazing it was that we could still dredge up even a fraction of a sense of humour after what had happened. It was a good thing, I suppose, though as the grin stretched my mouth I was aware of a voice inside my head, reminding me that Kate was missing, that I was a murderer, that Clover and I were in deadly peril.
‘Have you checked your emails this morning?’ I asked, pulling my own phone out of my pocket.
Clover nodded. ‘Yes. Sorry. There’s nothing.’
There was nothing in my inbox either, or on my voicemail. Nothing from email man, that is. And my battery was worryingly low.
‘Why don’t I order some breakfast while you take a shower?’ Clover said. ‘Then when we’ve eaten and cleaned ourselves up, we’ll go out and buy some new clothes? Something cheap, practical and anonymous.’
I nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan. We need phone chargers too. Have a look in the London Guide. See if there’s a Fugitives From Justice R Us near here.’
The shower was one of those power jobs that blasts water at you so hard it feels like it’s scouring your skin. It was just what I needed. I turned it up as hot as I could stand and worked up a lather with the shampoo and soap, giving my hair and body a good scrubbing. I felt a need to strip last night’s dirt away. Not just the physical dirt, but the dirt of what I’d done and what I’d seen. I felt like I could have stood under those pounding jets for hours, but after five minutes I started to get anxious about leaving Clover on her own. I switched off the shower, grabbed a fluffy white towel and started to dry myself. I was just wishing we had some toothpaste, and made a mental note to add it to our list of purchases, when Clover shouted, ‘Alex!’
There was urgency in her voice, but I couldn’t tell whether she was excited or scared. I had an image of her answering a knock on the door, to find that instead of the room-service guy it was the tall man from last night, his arms stretching out towards her.
‘What?’ I shouted, frantically wrapping the towel around my waist.
‘Come and see. Quick or you’ll miss it.’
Still damp, water trickling down my face, I pulled open the bathroom door and stepped through a cloud of steam into the bedroom. The TV was on, and Clover, perched on the edge of the bed, was leaning forward, eyes fixed on the screen. Following her gaze I saw wobbly footage of a building on fire, lines of white text on a red banner scrolling underneath. A newsreader’s clipped voice was providing information in bite-sized chunks. I was trying to make sense of what I was seeing when Clover said, ‘It’s Incognito.’
‘Shit,’ I said, and looked at her as the news report ended. ‘What did they say?’
Clover looked stunned. ‘They said police think the fire started in the main bar and took hold quickly. They said it was near closing time, so the club wasn’t full, but that they think there are at least a dozen casualties.’
‘Did they mention you?’ I asked.
She shook her head.
‘Scorched-earth policy,’ I said.
She blinked at me. ‘What?’
‘It’s a military strategy used against Napoleon’s army when they advanced across Russia in the 1800s. The retreating population burned all the land so there was nothing for Napoleon’s men to use – no food, no shelter, nothing.’ I shrugged. ‘What’s being done to us reminds me of that. All our resources are being cut from under us.’
‘Except the difference is that we’re not the advancing army. We’re the ones on the run.’
‘True. And at least we’ve still got money and shelter for now.’
There was a knock on the door. ‘Room service.’
‘And food,’ Clover said, pushing herself up from the bed.
‘Tell him to leave it outside,’ I said quietly. ‘Just in case.’
Clover nodded and repeated my request.
‘No problem, madam.’
Clover put her ear to the door and after fifteen seconds or so she said, ‘I think he’s gone.’
‘Give me a minute,’ I said and went back into the bathroom.
With no other alternative, I put yesterday’s clothes back on. After my shower they smelled even staler than before, but that couldn’t be helped. When I was dressed and had laced up my boots I went back into the bedroom, walked across to the door and listened. Hearing nothing, I opened the door a crack, looked up and down the empty corridor, and picked up the tray that had been left there.
‘Is it going to be like this all the time now?’ Clover asked as I pushed the door shut with my foot.
‘Like what?’
‘Us skulking about, scared of our own shadows?’
‘We just need to be careful,’ I said, knowing it wasn’t much of an answer. I put the tray on the dressing table, then picked up the heart and pocketed it. As I did so my mobile rang, and I jumped. For a moment I thought the sound had come from the heart.
I took out my mobile and looked at the display screen:
Candice calling.
Glancing at Clover I cautiously pressed ‘Accept’.
‘Hey, sweetheart.’
‘Hi, Dad. I just wanted to say thank you so much!’
For a moment I was silent, wron
g-footed by the joy and relief in my eldest daughter’s voice.
‘What for?’
She laughed. ‘The money, you idiot. How did you manage to get hold of it – or shouldn’t I ask?’
The money. Immediately I realised what must have happened. Someone had paid off Candice’s boyfriend’s debts. But who? And why?
Winging it, I said, ‘So it arrived, did it?’
‘Dean rang me ten minutes ago to say that Mitch had been paid in full, and that we were in the clear.’ She gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘I can’t tell you what a relief it is. You’re a total star, Dad. We’ll pay you back, I promise.’
‘No hurry,’ I said, my mind working furiously.
She paused slightly. When she next spoke her voice was sombre. ‘Are you okay? Any news about Kate?’
‘Not yet. I’ll let you know the instant I hear anything.’
‘Do you want me to come over?’
‘No, thanks, sweetheart. In fact, I’m staying with a friend.’
‘Okay, well… call me if you need anything. Even if you just want to talk. I hope everything works out, Dad. And thanks again. I love you.’
I felt myself welling up, and realised that my emotions were closer to the surface than I’d thought. I cleared my throat. ‘I love you too. See you soon.’
I cut the connection and looked at the phone in my hand for a moment.
‘You okay?’ Clover asked.
I cleared my throat again and put the phone in my pocket. ‘Someone’s paid off my eldest daughter’s debt,’ I said. ‘Fifteen grand.’
She blinked. ‘Who?’
‘No idea. Benny?’
‘Why would Benny do that?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t him.’
We stood there in silence, as if each was waiting for the other to offer an explanation, and then Clover gestured at the tray on the dressing table.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Food’s getting cold. Tuck in.’
I wasn’t sure I had much of an appetite, but as soon as I started eating I realised how hungry I was. Clover had ordered the full works: orange juice, coffee, cereal, bacon and eggs with all the trimmings, toast and marmalade. After throwing up last night, my belly was growling and I went at it ravenously, relishing every mouthful. As I ate, I thought about that scorched-earth policy and how important it was to get sustenance when we could. What if our enemies, whoever they were, were powerful enough to freeze our bank accounts and credit cards so that we couldn’t get access to money? Within a few days we’d be reduced to living on the streets with nothing to eat, where we would be easy prey for our pursuers. If that happened I decided we would be better off going to the police and telling them everything. Despite what email man had said, Kate would have a better chance of survival if I was alive and in a position to influence the search for her.
For now, though, I thought it was more to Kate’s advantage if I stayed out of the clutches of the law. Of course, I could have been playing this completely the wrong way. I was under no illusions that I was out of my depth, and was operating purely on instinct, reacting to circumstances as they happened. I was still clinging to the hope that email man would get in touch, proposing a magical solution which would leave all parties satisfied and me somehow in the clear.
We had almost finished breakfast when the room was filled with a noise like rippling wind-chimes. I jerked out of my seat, sloshing coffee over my hand, before realising it was Clover’s metallic-pink iPhone. She snatched it from the bedside table and looked at it.
‘Speak of the devil,’ she said, turning the phone around to show me the display screen.
Surrounded by little dancing musical notes, I read the words:
Benny calling…
‘Should I answer it?’ she asked.
I hesitated, then nodded.
Fixing her eyes on me, Clover put the phone to her ear. ‘Benny, hi.’
I heard the scratchy murmur of Benny’s voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. After a few seconds Clover said, ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry.’
I guessed that Benny was asking Clover about the fire because after a few seconds she said guardedly, ‘I’m not sure how it started. The police are looking into it.’
When Benny next spoke, Clover raised her eyebrows at me, silently asking me what she should say, how much she should tell him. I held out my hand for the phone and she gave it to me without debate. Benny was still talking, but I cut in on him.
‘Benny, it’s Alex. Alex Locke.’
There was a moment’s silence and then, apparently unruffled, Benny said, ‘Alex, what’s going on?’
I looked at Clover and said, ‘Benny, have you ever heard of the Wolves of London?’
His silence pretty much answered my question. When he next spoke his voice was warier than I’d ever heard it. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because whoever they are, I think they’re after me and Clover.’
Another silence, even longer this time. So long, in fact, that eventually I said, ‘Benny, are you still there?’
This time he answered immediately. ‘I think you both need to come and see me. Tell me where you are and I’ll send someone to pick you up.’
SIXTEEN
BAD DEEDS
Two hours later we were sitting in the conservatory attached to the back of Benny’s house, drinking coffee so strong it was like a slap to the senses. The caffeine, combined with my lack of sleep, made my limbs tingle and my thoughts quick and feverish. I looked out over Benny’s back garden, which was the size of a football stadium and dominated by a lawn like a billiards table. Although it was October, the grass was such a bright emerald green in the autumn sunshine that to my gritty eyes it seemed to vibrate with life. The flower borders must have been a riot of colour in the spring, but at this time of year they were full of little bushes and twiggy things that looked brown and dead. The garden was surrounded on all sides by a double enclosure of tall trees, which were shedding their leaves, and a high wooden fence.
Benny’s wife, Lesley, a pretty, soft-spoken woman, perhaps ten years Benny’s junior, was out on the lawn, playing with a little yappy dog, throwing a red ball for it over and over.
Whoever it was that said crime doesn’t pay clearly didn’t know what they were talking about. I knew Benny had been born and raised in Hoxton, but he had obviously done well enough out of his chosen profession to rise above his humble beginnings and leave the horrible council estates of East London far behind. His house, which was maybe not quite palatial enough to be called a mansion, was in a genteel, leafy suburb just south of Guildford. It was only a forty-minute train journey to Waterloo, but it seemed a million miles away from the noise and dirt of London.
Within half an hour of speaking to Benny, a dove-grey X-type Jag with tinted windows and a dark-suited chauffeur who looked capable of snapping an average-sized man in two had cruised into the private car park abutting the hotel. I had told Benny that we needed to buy clothes, toiletries and phone chargers, that we didn’t have anything with us except what we were standing up in, but Benny had said that he would sort that out for us, that under no circumstances were we to venture on to the streets.
‘Are we really in that much trouble?’ I asked.
Benny’s response had been characteristically non-committal. ‘It’s best not to take any chances.’
Despite his calmness, his swift response to my mentioning the Wolves of London served only to turn my paranoia up another notch. Every second that Clover and I spent in the open – even leaving the hotel and hurrying across the car park to where the Jag was waiting for us – I half-expected some sort of attack. Where that attack would come from, or what form it would take, I had no idea. In the past twenty-four hours the world had become an unpredictable place, one in which it seemed that literally anything was possible.
I didn’t start to relax until we had worked our way out of the snarl of traffic in central London and were accelerating south on the A3. Even t
hen, when Benny’s Jag was sliding smoothly through the southbound traffic, eating up the miles, I couldn’t shake off the notion I would never feel truly safe again. I glanced at Clover, who was staring anxiously out of the window on the opposite side of the car, and guessed that she felt the same. Sensing that I was looking at her, she turned and a nervous smile flickered on her face.
‘You all right?’ I asked.
‘Yeah,’ she said, then surprised me by reaching across the gap between us and gripping my hand tight. For the rest of the journey we sat holding hands like a couple of daft teenagers.
Benny’s house, The Redwoods, was at the end of a private road lined with impressive, widely spaced dwellings, all of which had been individually designed and built. It could hardly be seen from the road because of a high brick wall and a tightly packed screen of tall trees beyond it. We only knew we had arrived when the chauffeur stopped in front of a pair of black iron gates, opened the glove compartment and extracted a silver remote no bigger than a credit card. Opening the window, he pointed the remote at the gates and pressed a button. When the gates swung soundlessly open, he replaced the remote in the glove compartment and guided the car up the drive.
The house was on our left, attached to a double garage, whose closed doors were directly in front of us. I expected the doors to open like the gates had done, but the chauffeur halted in front of them and cut the engine. As he stepped out of the car to open Clover’s door for her, I got out on my side. I was standing up straight, stretching my back, when Benny appeared at the door of the house, beneath a porch with a red-tiled floor, over which jutted a wooden canopy, painted blue and decorated with hanging baskets.
Wearing a pair of silver-framed bifocals and a blue polo shirt untucked over designer jeans, Benny looked like a businessman relaxing at home on a Sunday morning.
Mildly he said, ‘Hello, Alex. You look as though you’ve been crapped out of a cow’s arsehole.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, because I feel even worse.’
To my surprise Clover ran past me and straight into Benny’s arms. He hugged her like a father greeting a long-lost daughter and then led us inside.
