by Will Harker
I hope you’re OK, Scott.
Let’s talk later, if we can.
H x
I felt my heart expand in my chest. He hadn’t been scared away. We might still have a chance.
If I wanted to carry out my plan for the next stage of the investigation, then I needed to call Campbell. But that could wait an hour. First, I had to see Harry. I took a quick shower, devoured four slices of toast (word to the wise—if you ever happen to overnight at Her Majesty’s pleasure, never accept the offer of breakfast), pulled on a fresh T-shirt and transferred my notebook to the back pocket of a clean pair of jeans.
I had no doubt that, confiscating my possessions last night, the police would have tried to read the contents. If they’d been able, I might have had serious questions to answer. From an early age, however, I’d been in the habit of encrypting anything important in a code my father had taught me. Secretiveness runs deep in the travelling community and many old-timers scrawl their account books in this impenetrable cypher. No tax man has yet broken it. Anyhow, the details of my investigation would have read like badly-written poetry.
The traffic was horrendous as I headed into town. I didn’t have to look far to see the cause. Up ahead, a dozen brightly-painted Travellers’ lorries crawled at a snail’s pace through the winding streets. I couldn’t help but smile. It might be a dying industry, but the arrival of the fair could still work its old magic. On either side of the road, little kids clutched their parents’ sleeves and pointed excitedly.
Meanwhile, I drummed my fingertips on the steering wheel. I thought of my dad on the heath, waving rides into their designated spots. I thought of Sal and Jodie setting up their candy floss stall. I thought of Zac laying out the baseplates of Urnshaw’s dodgems. Anything to distract me from the nervous jitter of my stomach. I knew Garris still had his doubts about Harry’s presence here, but the idea of him being involved in these murders was preposterous.
Parking in the multi-storey across the road, I made my way to the library. The protest was in full swing, a forest of placards waving in the air. Like the chants, the slogans were all fairly sedate: HANDS OFF OUR BOOKS! SAVE BRADBURY END LIBRARY! RESPECT OUR LIBRARIANS! All they were missing was a polite middle class ‘please’ at the end. I knew from Harry that, as local government employees, the librarians themselves were forbidden from taking part or even voicing support for the protest. Carmody had said something about it last night, and it was as this crossed my mind that I saw the deputy mayor himself standing at the edge of the crowd.
He and another man—large, red-faced, smiling—were being harangued by a small mob of pensioners. Much as I wanted to head straight in to see Harry, I thought it best to build some bridges here too.
“Mr Carmody, may I have a moment?”
He turned, his look of relief at having been saved from the onslaught of old dears souring when he saw me.
“Mr Jericho. Yes, I wondered if we might–”
“Jericho!” The larger man spun around and, taking my hand, pumped it up and down as if we were both desperately trying to inflate a rubber dinghy. “Son of the immortal George, I hear. Great-great-something or other of the legendary Slip-Jointed Jericho. A pleasure, sir.”
“Mr Hillstrom,” I said, retrieving my hand from his sweaty grip.
“The same. Now look,” he glanced around a little theatrically and dropped me a wink. “We’re all sorry about what happened last night. Unfortunate mistake and all that. But bygones be bygones, eh? Glad to have got it straightened out for you with the old bill, weren’t we, Alistair?”
Alistair offered a smile so thin his lips practically disappeared. Then the mayor slapped him on the back and I had to grab Carmody before he went sprawling into the road. Physically, Hillstrom was the exact opposite of his deputy. A former rugby prop would have been my guess, that hard-earned muscle turning quickly to fat as middle age bedded in. With a mop of blond hair and a pair of penetrating eyes, he might have been quite a looker in his day, though the clear signs of alcoholism had already robbed him of much of his charm. One thing was certain—this wasn’t the lean figure I’d seen beyond the railway crossing.
“I’m grateful for everything you did on my behalf,” I said. “And I really am very sorry for what happened in the forest.”
“It was a little peculiar,” Carmody said carefully, an eye on his boss’ reaction. “Coming out of nowhere like that and accusing me of spying on you. I mean, do you get a lot of people stalking you, Mr Jericho?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” Hillstrom laughed. “Handsome fellow like yourself. I bet armies of young ladies are forever losing their heads and becoming a nuisance. And you have your father’s winning ways, of course. I must say, he charmed the entire town council when he appeared at our organising committee last year. Got the heath for a nominal rent, didn’t he, Alistair?”
That invisible smile again. “He did indeed.”
“I must say, though,” Hillstrom went on, an edge creeping into his voice. “I would like to know what you were doing at the old family pile. If asked, I’d happily have given you the tour, but the fact is we don’t encourage trespassers. Especially with the supermarket deal at such a delicate stage. Have you heard we’re redeveloping much of the forest? Very exciting!”
“I was checking out the scene of the tragedy,” I said. “I noticed the house from the bridge and thought I’d take a look. I’m sorry if I’ve upset any official town business. I just thought it was curious and wanted to investigate.”
“Investigate what?”
“One or two things that have been puzzling me. For example, why did your great-grandfather build his house so that it overlooked Travellers Bridge? And what did the motto he commissioned really mean? ‘The mind intent upon false appearances refuses to admit better things?’”
Hillstrom barked out a hollow laugh. “Who can say? It was all so long ago.”
“And yet worthy of commemoration.” I nodded towards the road where a lorry emblazoned with my father’s florid signature was just passing by. “I must say, I really don’t understand your attitude to the past, Mr Mayor. A horrible tragedy is to be the centrepiece of a weekend of celebrations and yet a fine historical building with ties to your own family is to be torn down. And now you’re busy closing your library, too.”
“The march of progress, Mr Jericho. The house is practically derelict anyway. And honestly, who uses libraries these days? If a thing cannot justify itself commercially then it is of no benefit to the community. As for the celebrations? Well, we’re always looking for something to draw the tourists to Bradbury. Our little horror story is quite charming, don’t you think?”
“Five people drowned, Mr Hillstrom.”
“Ah. Yes. I’m sorry, I’d forgotten the personal element. Still, your father didn’t seem squeamish about it.”
“Not in the slightest,” Carmody added.
I nodded. “Must be a great solace to the citizens of Bradbury to have such practical men leading them. By the way, I heard another horror story recently. The last owners of that old house. They were distant cousins of yours, weren’t they? The Matthers? Did you know them?”
Hillstrom suddenly looked uncomfortable. “No. I was very young when they... Well. It was an unfortunate business.”
“Did both mother and son die in the fire?”
“I don’t believe so. That’s to say, I’m not entirely sure.”
“Really? That seems– Mr Hillstrom, are you all right?”
A spasm of pain had twisted his features and suddenly he was gripping his wrist.
All at once, I was back in Miss Debney’s cottage, that emaciated witch holding out her own withered wrist to me, “He saw that I saw, and so he did this. He did this he did this he did this…”
Hillstrom smiled through his discomfort. “A touch of arthritis. Plagues me from time to time. Been a perfect beast these past few days. And such a trying
week, too.”
“Oh,” I said. “Why’s that?”
“The mayor’s car was stolen the night before last,” Carmody said.
Hillstrom nodded grimly. “Police are on it, but I doubt they’ll find the culprit. No fingerprints you see. The scoundrel burned it out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I MOVED SLOWLY THROUGH the protesters, accepting leaflets and badges, automatically offering words of support. Meanwhile, the sight of the mayor clutching his thick wrist stayed with me. “He will wrap his wings about you and unthread your life.” The thin man who had brought Webster to my trailer, attaching a morsel of Adya Mahal’s flesh to his collar was not Marcus Hillstrom, and yet there remained the coincidence of that gesture. What did it suggest? Garris and I had considered an accomplice working with Campbell. The same could surely be true of Hillstrom.
A weaker man under the thrall of a dominating personality? It was clear that Carmody stood in awe of his superior, but to indulge in the same perverse obsession? Wasn’t that taking deference a little far? Then again, I knew the lengths a submissive character might go to in order to please. A case I’d worked with Garris had concerned a pair of nurses on a maternity wing. One administered lethal drugs to the babies in their care, while the other gave the order. The latter hadn’t physically harmed any of the children herself while the former would never have murdered anyone had she not encountered the dominant personality.
Before entering the library, I looked back at the two men. Hillstrom had been evasive about the Matthers incident. Was that just distaste regarding a skeleton in the family closet? Or had he known Mrs Matthers and her son? Could his deputy be that distant cousin? I imagined them as little boys together, playing in the bedroom that overlooked Travellers Bridge, making up stories about the freaks who had drowned there. A shared childhood fascination that had twisted into something darker as they grew.
With most of its regulars outside waving their placards, the library was pretty much deserted. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Over at the issue desk, a young woman with brown ringlets and green fingerless gloves was busy scanning books. Catching sight of me, she beamed and waved me over.
“You’re him, aren’t you? The old boyfriend?”
“Yes, I–”
She leaned across the desk and swatted me with a bookmark. “Be good to him. He’s an absolute diamond, which I’m sure you know. Even Moira adores him, and it usually takes her months to warm up to anybody. So don’t you go breaking his heart or you’ll have his fellow librarians to deal with.”
I smiled. “I promise you, Val, I’ll be careful with him.”
“You did the thing!” She squealed. “He said you can do this trick where you just look at people and know all about them.”
I came around the desk and touched my forefinger to her name badge. “This gave me a bit of a clue.”
She let loose a gale of laughter and shoved me so hard I almost collided with the shelf behind me. Although she weighed about eight stone, I was pretty certain Val could have taken out Carmody with a single punch. Kerrigan too, come to that.
The office door opened and Haz blinked out at us. I spread my arms in a tah-dah kind of gesture. Meanwhile, Webster squeezed his head between Harry’s legs and gave me a welcoming yap.
“Hush,” Harry said, and the juk looked suitably chastened.
“I see the two of you have become firm friends,” I said. “Usually that monster has to eat at least three of your fingers before he takes to you.”
“He’s been as good as gold,” Harry said, scratching Webster’s ear and sending him into raptures.
“OK,” Val said after a pause. “It’s obvious you two have something to discuss. I’ll man the shop while the lovebirds have their heart-to-heart.” When I tried to slip by, she treated me to a fairly vicious poke in the ribs. “Remember what I said, you break our boy, we break you.”
I wasn’t entirely sure she was joking.
Webster settled under the desk while Harry flipped the switch on the kettle and I closed the door behind me. Making a fuss about cups and spoons, he kept his back turned.
“So they let you go?”
“They did. Thank you, by the way, for trying to visit. And for the note you left. And for the shower and, well, just thank you.”
He nodded. “Did they give you a caution? I was lying in bed last night, Googling all the possibilities. I guess you’re still on parole and so they might send you back to prison if you’re convicted. I’m not sure what good it would do, but I could try to have a word with Carmody. Scott, if you had to go back then–”
I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around him. Rested my face against his shoulder. Breathed in the scent of him. He stopped fiddling with the tea things and placed his hand against my face.
“I was lucky,” I said. “My dad and Garris sorted the whole situation. It’s over.”
He let go of a breath. “Thank God. So your father and the fair are here already?”
“They’re pulling onto the heath right now.”
“And that man, Garris. I mean, I’ve only met him once, but…” He shook his head. “He seemed a bit hard, uncaring, but he clearly thinks the world of you. You’re very lucky, Scott, to have people looking out for you.”
I was about to make some comment about my dad’s real motives for getting me released when Harry turned to face me.
“What was that last night? The way you were looking at Carmody, it was like you weren’t seeing him at all. If I hadn’t been there, what would have happened, Scott?” I tried to look away but he drew me back. “You didn’t used to be like this when we were together. Yes, I knew you were angry and still grieving for your mum, but there wasn’t all this…”
He struggled for the word and so I supplied it. “Darkness.”
“Does it all come from what happened to those little kids? Their blood isn’t on your hands, Scott.”
“I let their murderer get away,” I said hollowly. “He’s still out there, walking free, spreading his hate, revelling in what he did. Kerrigan doesn’t give a thought to Sonia Malanowski and her brothers, but they haunt me. Every day, every night, I...” When Harry tried to reach for me, I very gently pushed him away. “And it isn’t just the kids. Before I joined the force, I did things, Harry. I hurt people. Bad people, but still.”
“Tell me,” he said softly.
“No. I don’t want you to know that person. I’m trying to forget him myself.”
He nodded and turned back to the mugs on the windowsill. “But we can’t forget who we are,” he said. “The things we’ve done.”
“Haz, what happened with your dad was different.”
“Was it? We’re not the same people we were back in that little Oxford pub. That Christmas was a long, long time ago and since then the world hasn’t been very kind to either of us. You have your secrets, I have mine, and maybe we won’t ever want to share all of them. But accepting that, perhaps we can start again.”
Abandoning the tea, he went and collapsed into the chair beside Webster.
“You can keep your secrets if you like, but I don’t ever want you to think you’re alone. Even if things don’t work out between us, I will always be here. That darkness, that anger, whenever you feel it, you come to me.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak. Not at first. He might think that he had changed too, but this was the same sweet, generous soul I’d met all those years ago at the Eagle and Child. The boy who had helped me find my place in the world. Now he was offering to do it again.
“Would you like to come away with me for a night or two?” I asked. It seemed to break the mood and he burst out laughing. “It’ll only be a short trip, but I could do with the company.”
“OK,” he frowned. “When?”
“Later tonight, if I can manage it. You’ll need your passport.”
He considered for a moment. “Val could cover for me… All right, why not? Where are we
going?”
“I’d like to keep that to myself, if that’s OK?”
“Is it something to do with your case?” When I hesitated, he stretched out and kicked the inside of my boot. “Fine, you man of mystery, but what about Webster?”
At the mention of his name, the gummy-eyed juk lumbered to his feet and lapped at Harry’s knuckles.
“I know you’re best buddies now,” I said. “But my dad can take him back and we can visit any time you like.”
“Does this mean you will finally take me to the fair?”
“When it’s up and running,” I said. “And only if you’re good. In the meantime, you have work to do and I have a visit to make. I’ll text you later with the details of our trip. Come on, boy.”
I took Webster’s lead from the desk, clipped it to his collar and started for the door. Harry snagged my sleeve, turning me around.
“When will you be home?”
That word again. I smiled. “I’ve got a bit of a drive. Probably around seven, and we may have to head straight to the airport as soon as I get back. Does that sound OK?”
“It sounds very OK.”
A barking Webster made a pretty effective path for us through the protestors and we were back at my car in no time. There, I stowed the old boy on the back seat while I called Campbell. That weary, disinterested voice answered at the tenth ring. He listened with utter indifference to my plan and said Miss Barton would make the necessary arrangements.
“So you’ve found a Dr Watson, have you?” he muttered.
“I have. It’s the librarian you employed to research the bridge tragedy. My ex, as it happens.”
“Really?” he yawned. “I had no idea you knew each other.”
“Just another coincidence it seems. Speaking of which, did you ever live in Bradbury End yourself, Professor?”
That sibilant titter greeted my suggestion. “What an idea! No indeed.”
