Chasing the Dark

by Sam Hepburn

  CHAPTER 5

  When Oz and I got to Elysium that night I was amazed to see Yuri looking a bit better and I felt like Santa when he started unpacking the clothes I’d brought him. I’d gone upstairs to boil some water to clean his leg, and I was standing in the hall getting creeped out by the thought of a murder happening there when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I nearly had a heart attack but it was only Yuri.

  ‘I need bath, Joe,’ he said.

  He was right about that. He stank.

  ‘Find a bathroom and get something you can use as a towel. I’ll heat you some water.’

  He pointed up to the landing. ‘Two doors from stairs there is bathroom.’

  ‘OK.’ He’d obviously been getting to know his way around.

  I dug out the biggest saucepans I could find, boiled some water and made a couple of trips lugging them upstairs. The bathroom didn’t have any windows so I stood the torch on the floor, filling the space with rings of dim blue light. The walls looked like they were covered in white marble, there was a matching bath sunk into the floor and all the taps were gold and shaped like dolphins. Yuri came in and pulled off his grubby shirt. Suddenly I wished I’d left it dark. His back and arms were like something out of a horror comic. The bits that weren’t seared with wrinkly red scars were tattooed all over with spiders, stars, snarling wolves and a building crowded with towers and turban-shaped domes. He turned around. I heard my breath catch. A one-eyed skull was leering at me through the twist of barbed wire circling his chest. Maybe he hadn’t been joking when he said he’d been in hell.

  I shut the door on him, took Oz for a midnight run in the garden and tried to blank out Yuri’s tattoos by picturing the windows of Elysium blazing with light and Greville Clairmont, Norma Craig and their glitzy mates out on the terrace dancing, drinking my nan’s cocktails, and diving into the pool. But all the time I kept thinking about the murder and seeing one-eyed skulls forming in the shadows. I went back to the cellar, lit a couple more candles and started laying out the food I’d brought. As I shoved Yuri’s old coat to one side I felt something hard and heavy bump the side of the workbench. Glancing round, I dipped my hand in the pocket and pulled out the old Oxo tin I’d seen the first time I came. Holding my breath, I rubbed the dried mud off the hinges and pried back the lid.

  Blimey, Yuri. Where’d you get this lot?

  It was full of jewels. Poking my fingers through the glittering stash, I separated a diamond-studded tie-clip with matching cufflinks, and a necklace, earrings and bracelet all made of big green stones. If they were real emeralds they had to be worth a mint.

  The thump of Yuri’s feet in the hall jerked my jaw shut and my brain back into gear, but I only just got the tin back in his coat before he limped in, buttoning up one of his new shirts. I stopped feeling like Santa and started feeling more like Baron Frankenstein watching his monster rise from the slab. Scrubbed up, Yuri looked almost human and he smelled of Doreen’s lavender soap. He sat on the mattress, letting Oz climb up next to him, while I put a new bandage on his leg. The wound was still disgusting, and the red had taken on a nasty greenish tinge.

  ‘How did you do this?’ I asked.

  ‘They take me to forest to kill me. I fight with driver and car turn over. Everyone is hurt and I get away.’

  ‘Who’s they?’

  He spat on the floor. ‘Bad people.’

  I could see he was getting angry so I changed the subject quick.

  ‘Any luck with your phone call?’ I said.

  ‘I leave many messages. I tell him they try to kill me. He no call back.’

  He’d switched from angry to upset. To cheer him up I handed him the mini cheesecake I’d nicked from one of Doreen’s fridges. He shoved the whole thing in his mouth, chewed for a bit then frowned at me.

  ‘Why you live with your aunt?’

  I was amazed he’d remembered. ‘My mum . . . she . . . died in a car crash.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Couple of . . . weeks ago.’

  I could feel my eyes welling up. I snatched up his smelly blanket, turned away and started shaking out the dog hairs so he wouldn’t see me cry. The tears kept coming and I kept flapping that blanket like a crazy bullfighter.

  Yuri’s strong, bony hands caught my shoulders and swung me round to face him.

  ‘When you think of her, it hurt bad. Yes?’

  Shut up! Shut up! I don’t wanna talk about it!

  ‘This hurt is good,’ he said.

  Angry now, I pulled away, wiping my eyes. ‘How d’you make that out?’

  He thumped his chest with his fist. ‘It keep her alive in your heart.’

  I stared at him for the longest time, totally thrown by what he’d said. But I tell you one thing, it made a change from the usual garbage people come out with when you tell them your mum’s just died.

  It wasn’t the crash dream that woke me next morning. It was George, coming in to say goodbye before he left for Germany. He’d been really decent about that money and I was sorry he was going.

  ‘I want you to do your best to keep your aunt happy while I’m gone,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll try.’ I picked at the duvet cover. ‘Did you think of any jobs for me to do? I really want to pay you back for . . . you know, what I took.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Joe. But if you really want to help me out there is one thing you could do. Do you like cars?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  I didn’t tell him that round Farm Street, ‘liking’ cars meant nicking old bangers, taking them for a joy ride and setting fire to what was left.

  ‘I bought an old Spitfire last year, fancied doing it up. But with things getting a bit tight money-wise Dilly wants me to get rid of it. So if you could give it a good clean I’ll put it on the market when I get back.’

  ‘No problem,’ I said, really glad he’d come up with something I could do to help him out.

  ‘It’s in the garage.’ He sighed and walked to the door. ‘I’ll be sad to see it go.’

  ‘Hope you get the contract,’ I said.

  He turned and nodded, and for the first time I saw the strain behind his smile. ‘Yes, Joe, so do I.’

  Oz just didn’t get it that the hose wasn’t alive. He went into full attack mode every time the water sprayed his way. He made so much noise that Doreen came out to complain and caught me at the wheel trying to work out the controls with Oz riding shotgun beside me. She threatened to lock him in the shed if he didn’t pipe down and pointed out a couple of dirty marks I’d missed on the bonnet.

  Still, by the end of the day I’d got that little red twoseater hoovered, washed, waxed and polished to such a gleaming shine that even she couldn’t find anything to moan about.

  She was working that night so I had a cheese toastie in front of the telly. By the time I’d watched a couple of movies and read a bit more of Kidnapped I was beginning to feel a bit calmer. Yuri wasn’t about to die on me, George looked like he’d forgiven me, and Doreen hadn’t noticed the missing food.

  Boy, had I underestimated Doreen.

  Around midnight I was poking around in one of her freezers when she burst in covered in face cream, dressing gown flapping, screaming her head off. ‘I knew you were a thieving little scumbag the minute you walked into this house and now I’ve caught you red-handed.’

  I played innocent.

  ‘Sorry, Aunt Doreen . . . I got hungry. I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

  The good news was that my backpack was still in the hall so she hadn’t caught me stuffing it with food. The bad news was that I was holding a portion of frozen venison casserole in a foil tub, which isn’t most kids’ idea of a late-night snack. I’d been planning to heat it up when I got to Elysium and give Yuri a treat. Go on, Joe. Explain that away.

  She grabbed it out of my hand. ‘Venison!’

  ‘Oh, sorry … I thought it was . . . ice cream.’

  Not bad, Joe, not bad at all. Now keep smiling and maintain eye contact. Whatever
you do, don’t look guilty.

  ‘Go to your room, now!’

  I hung around with my ear to my bedroom door, waiting for her to go back to bed like any normal person. She didn’t, though. Not Doreen. From the smell of it she was brewing up a gallon of industrial-strength coffee, and when I peeked over the bannister, she was sat in the lounge with a thermos and the door wide open, staking out the stairs. I retreated to my room and gave it an hour or so before I sneaked down, hoping she’d dropped off to sleep. But she was just sitting there and had a fit when she saw me. I mumbled something about a drink of water and beat it back upstairs. Yuri would have to go hungry for one night. I just hoped he wouldn’t think I’d abandoned him.

  In the morning, Doreen was still prowling around like a Doberman in a goods yard, so I got out of there double-quick and used some of the twenty-pound note George had given me to get Yuri two sausage rolls and a Mars Bar from the village shop.

  Soon as I hit the woods I saw fresh tyre marks on the track. I started to run, panicked that it was cops arresting Yuri or hit men come to finish what they’d started. As I got nearer I saw that the metal panels that had been covering the gateway had been torn down, revealing a carved, stone archway and a pair of iron gates that were standing wide open. There were vans on the drive. Things went misty. I kept running, though my legs were like rubber and my breath wouldn’t come.

  The mist cleared. It wasn’t cops or hit men. It was an army of workmen, swarming round the house, lugging ladders up the steps, clambering on to the roof and clearing the garden. I dodged behind a tree and watched a big blonde woman hauling some weird contraption bristling with nozzles out of a van that said Queens of Kleen down the side. A stressed-looking bloke came over and started shoving his clipboard under her nose and giving her a right mouthful. She wasn’t having it. She shouted back that all her people had been working flat out since the crack of dawn and if he wanted things done any faster he could give Mary bleedin’ Poppins a call. He stormed off and started having a go at the painters.

  I lobbed a stick over the wall and hissed at Oz, ‘Go on, boy. Fetch!’

  Not being a stick-fetching sort of dog he watched it go and went back to biting his bum. So I waved the sausage roll around and chucked that. That got him going and once he was through the gate I ran in, yelling at him to come back. He threw me a look like I should make up my bloody mind, wolfed the sausage roll and peed up the wheel of the Queens of Kleen van. I rushed over to the blonde woman, saying I was sorry about my dog and how he wasn’t used to the gates being open. She didn’t care and she didn’t want to chat. I went on pushing.

  ‘Was there . . . er . . . anybody living here, you know, squatters or anything?’

  ‘A few mice and spiders.’

  ‘I couldn’t take a look around inside, could I?’

  She frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘My nan, she used to work here years ago . . . she’s not well. It’d really perk her up if I could tell her what it looks like now.’

  ‘Oh, go on then – five minutes.’

  Oz cut ahead of me and made straight for the cellar. The door was open. I raced down after him. He skittered to a stop and let out a whiny bark.

  Yuri had gone. All that was left was his bedding, his old clothes and a couple of burnt-out candle stumps. I should have been punching air that he’d managed to get away. Instead I crouched on the bottom step feeling as if someone had torn out my insides and tossed them in the trash. Who cared if Yuri was a crook or a loony or even a murderer? Looking after him had filled a great big hole in my life, and now he was gone.

  I reached for his torn trousers, feeling through the pockets in the crazy hope he’d left me a note. All I found was the crumpled scrap of newspaper scrawled with the number he’d been so desperate to ring.

  Oz sat looking at me, tail sweeping the floor, like he expected me to bring Yuri back.

  I threw down the trousers. ‘Sorry, Oz. That’s it. He’s gone.’

  People were stomping into the room above, slamming doors, dragging furniture around, and I could hear Clipboard Man yelling at everyone to get a move on. I wiped my nose across my sleeve and trudged upstairs.

  Light was pouring in through the newly cleaned windows and the whole house was filling with the sounds of hoovering, banging and voices. It was strange. I felt this sudden kick of sadness that I wouldn’t be coming back.

  A younger, bored-looking Queen of Kleen with dyed black hair was having a fag by the van.

  ‘Who’s moving in?’ I asked.

  She took a long drag and blew out the smoke. ‘Some old biddy called Norma Craig.’

  As I ran through the woods, I glanced back at the house. For the first time I noticed the carving on the arch above the gates. It was two prancing bears holding up a shield, identical to the crest on the key ring Yuri had given me. I didn’t fancy getting caught with a set of keys that easy to identify so I pushed them deep between the roots of the big oak tree by the side door and kicked a pile of leaves over the top.

  The news about Norma Craig was sweeping through the village like a flash flood. On my way back, I passed a huddle of dog walkers gossiping about the murder, got stopped by a couple of people asking the way to Elysium and saw a TV van with a big satellite dish on the roof heading down the track. It looked like Norma Craig was still big news. All I cared about was Yuri. I wanted to believe he’d be fine. After all, he’d got George’s money, clean clothes, and all those jewels. Not to mention my phone. My phone! I was an idiot. I could call him and see if he was OK.

  Doreen was out when I got back to Laurel Cottage so I used the phone in the kitchen, leaning against the worktop to dial the number. It went straight to voicemail. Damn. The battery was probably flat. I jiggled the receiver, watched Oz digging up Doreen’s roses and tried to think what else I could do. Suddenly I was searching my jeans, rooting through all the pockets. After a burst of panic, I felt my fingers curl round the scrap of newspaper Yuri had left in the cellar. I let out a whoop of relief. Maybe he’d finally got through to the bloke he’d been trying to phone. Maybe he was with him now. I jabbed in the number.

  It rang once before a man’s voice came on the line – young, posh, sure of himself.

  ‘You’ve reached the voicemail of Ivo Lincoln. Sorry I can’t take your call. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’

  I dropped the receiver and threw up in Doreen’s shiny sink.

  CHAPTER 6

  Doreen had one of those waste-disposal units that grinds up trash and slurps it away, so dealing with the puke was easy. Sorting the mess in my head was going to take a bit longer. One minute Lincoln was giving Mum a lift in London, the next Yuri was calling him from Saxted. Who was this guy? I’d never even heard of him till a couple of weeks ago and now his fingerprints were smeared all over my life. And every time his name cropped up things turned nasty.

  Still feeling sick, I called St Saviour’s College. This time the guy in the porters’ lodge said the Professor was around, so I left my number and a message to call me urgently. Then I fetched down Lincoln’s holdall from my room, and laid out all his stuff on the worktop. I switched on the laptop and looked at the password box. The answer – or at least some it – had to be here. I wandered round the kitchen – opening drawers, staring out the window, twanging the knives in the knife rack – trying to piece together everything I knew about Ivo Lincoln.

  According to the papers, he’d been a real wonder boy and, if the pictures were anything to go by, quite good-looking – for a lanky, long-haired toff. Which was why Eddy had got so steamed up about Mum being in his car. Most of the reports said she’d cadged a lift off him because it was raining and she’d had a few too many. I’d gone along with that, just to shut Eddy up, but deep down it had always grated. First, Mum had sworn to me that she’d cut her drinking down to one glass of wine a night. Second she had a rule about never getting lifts from strangers after gigs. She was so paranoid about it she’d done a deal with an all-fe
male minicab service who always drove her home. So even if it was tipping it down that night and posh boy Lincoln wasn’t coming across as a perv or an axe murderer, why chance it? But then, if she wasn’t cadging a lift and she wasn’t cheating on Eddy, what had she been doing with Lincoln? And something else was bugging me. How come Yuri had decided to hole up in the exact same village that Mum had grown up and been buried in?

  I’d gone round in a circle, got nowhere and ended up right back where I’d started. But Lincoln being a journalist kept throwing up another possibility; one I was having real trouble getting my head round. Was there a chance that Mum had been helping him with a story? It didn’t seem likely. Not unless he’d been doing a feature on thirty-something singers who still had dreams of hitting the big time. Yuri on the other hand . . . well, he coincided a lot more closely with my idea of someone a hot-shot reporter might want to talk to – on the run, up to his tattooed neck in all sorts of dodgy stuff, and petrified that ‘bad people’ were trying to kill him. Come to think of it, could that be why they were trying to kill him, to stop him selling information to Lincoln?

  A terrible thought began circling the edges of my brain. I made a supreme effort to shut it out but it waltzed in anyway, making my breath stop and the room start pitching around. The hospital had given me a leaflet that said grief did funny things to your brain and you shouldn’t be surprised if you started ‘indulging in fantasy as an outlet for your emotions’. I’d chucked it straight in the bin but now I did a quick bit of DIY counselling and told myself to get real before I cracked up. It didn’t work and even sticking my head under the cold tap couldn’t slosh away the horrible feeling that I was on to something. The phone rang. I lurched across the room and grabbed it.

  ‘Hello?’