by Tom Bale
‘That’ll make a change,’ Ellie quipped. She’d poured herself a refill; now she took a big gulp of wine. ‘Shall we get the awkward part over with?’
‘What awkward part?’
‘The Saturday snogfest. What’s our official communiqué? Blame it on the booze?’
Although Joe chuckled, inside he felt slightly hurt. He hoped her flippancy was a mask to conceal genuine feelings for him.
‘Why did Glenn give you a hard time about it?’
‘Because he’s a stinking great hypocrite. Anyway, nothing happened, did it?’
‘No,’ he agreed. There was a relaxed, thoughtful silence.
‘For what it’s worth,’ she said, ‘on Saturday night I wanted you to tear my clothes off and drag me into the bedroom.’ She spoke slowly and deliberately, taking care not to stumble over the words. He wondered how much wine she’d had.
‘And now?’ he asked.
‘Now I’m rather less sure. I have a hunch that you won’t be around for much longer.’
He realised she was waiting for an answer. Dipped his head to indicate it was possible.
‘And while a one-night stand would be pretty glorious, I think we’d both end up feeling a bit shabby.’ She studied him closely. ‘You might be separated from your wife, but it seems to me you’re still married in your heart. God, that sounds slushy, but you know what I mean, don’t you?’
‘I do. And you’re probably right.’
‘So go,’ she said. ‘Leave now, before I change my mind and keep you chained up here for ever as my sex slave.’
They both smiled, but Joe felt a cold shiver along his spine. Thinking of Alise, and Kamila, and any number of women before them.
Ellie picked up on his discomfort. ‘Scary image, eh? You look like you did when you flaked out on me in the Shell Cavern.’
‘I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘Just tired.’
He followed her out to the hall, feeling both touched and disappointed. At the door she leaned close and kissed his cheek, her lips soft on his skin for a microsecond longer than he expected.
‘You know something, Joe Carter?’ she said. ‘You’re a gentleman. And if you’re still here by Friday, you’re welcome to take me to the Crow’s Nest for a farewell dinner.’
‘I’d love to,’ he said. But even though he meant it, he was aware that it felt like one of those pledges that was destined not to be met.
Sixty-Nine
JENNY HATED HER captor. She loathed him. Feared him. Resented him
Now, more than any of these things, she missed him.
Her plan to mark the passage of time had been hopeless, but even without it she knew it had been at least three days since he’d visited; perhaps longer. The stench of human waste was appalling.
All her food was long gone; the bottle of Evian water, doled out in the tiniest sips, no more than a sweet, delicious memory. Her lips were so dry and swollen that it hurt every time she brought them together.
She no longer felt hungry. She had gone beyond hunger. What she felt was a lightness that had spread throughout her entire body; a sensation that she no longer existed. She drifted like a balloon, her mind barely anchored in the real world … for she had made sense of his curious distinction.
I didn’t kill her. She died. There’s a difference.
And the warning that had followed:
You’ll learn.
He wasn’t coming back. He had left her to die.
Now even the knowledge of her abandonment couldn’t rouse much feeling. In her lucid moments she understood that it was because of her physical weakness, the lack of food and water, robbing her of the will to react.
And yet it hadn’t always been so. There had been a time, many hours before, when she had drawn upon miraculous reserves of energy and determination. Recovering from the disappointment of burrowing through the stud wall, only to hit solid rock, she had challenged herself to examine the problem and come up with a solution.
Her conclusion, brilliant in its simplicity, was that she should try another wall. The wall with the door. It stood to reason that there must be some sort of access beyond the door, otherwise how else would her captor come in and out?
The idea had been enough to sustain an attack on the plasterboard, using the same method of alternating splashes of filthy water with a frantic digging using the battery and, inadvertently, her fingertips. She had lost several fingernails in the process, and her hands ended up bruised and soaked in blood, but she had broken a small hole through the inner panel before the exhaustion and delirium set in.
In the hours that followed she had lain slumped against the door, one hand gripping the hole as if waiting for the instruction to get back to work. An instruction that never came.
Then she was awake, not merely drifting but abruptly, vividly conscious of her surroundings and her predicament. If she didn’t find liquid soon, she would die.
The thought set her heart thudding madly, as though she’d just been running for her life; the last dregs of adrenalin were pumping energy into her system and she had to make that count for something.
Jenny found the torch, the second set of batteries long dead. Then knelt, groping in the darkness until she had positioned herself level with the new hole. Before she could change her mind, she drew back the torch and beat it against the wall with all her strength until the plasterboard yielded, leaving a hole large enough for her fist.
The torch had been smashed in the process, but that was irrelevant. She put her hand into the void and wrenched out the soundproofing material, tossing the fibres over her shoulder with a mad abandon. This new-found strength might desert her at any moment.
A sudden sharpness made her gasp. When she withdrew her hand she could feel something protruding from her palm. Unable to see, she reached out tentatively with her other hand and identified it as a nail. She couldn’t tell how far it had penetrated, but knew it had to come out.
The pain was like hot, wet lightning. She felt blood running from the wound, and with revulsion she instinctively pressed her hand against her mouth, smearing blood over her parched lips. Hot and salty, it offered little relief.
She explored the contours of the nail with her fingers. It was about three inches long, bent into the shape of the letter C.
A gift. She had a tool to work with.
Holding it like a dagger, she eased her hand into the gap and thrust the point of the nail against the outer panel, stabbing and gouging while the blood continued to run from her palm, her whole hand now throbbing like an abscessed tooth.
She cried out when the nail punctured the plasterboard. Crouching down, she peered through the inner hole and saw something remarkable. A pinprick of weak light.
She had broken through.
As well as the light, she realised, there was sound. It seemed to echo her own ravenous heartbeat: a living, breathing, pumping noise, low-pitched and thrumming. The wound on her palm had stopped bleeding before she worked out what it was – and the irony pierced her more sharply than the nail.
It was water. Water in huge volumes, flowing quickly and very close by, but utterly beyond her reach.
Seventy
LEON FELT THE noise rather than heard it, vibrating through the bed for so long that he thought it might be a minor earth tremor. Only when it occurred a second time did he lift his head and recognise it as thunder, very distant.
He settled back and lay still until his decision was made. When he got up, it was with a clear head. He seemed to move more freely, as though a physical burden had been lifted.
He was back on his home turf. Yesterday was done with, irrelevant. He knew the way forward.
In the shower he caught himself singing, with conscious irony, ‘London Calling’ by The Clash, bellowing out the chorus while he thought about how he was going to stick it to Danny Morton.
Padding downstairs at eight, he took a wander around the ground floor, the thunder growling quietly every few minutes, like a neglected dog.
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Fenton hadn’t yet surfaced, but Glenn was up, sweet-talking Pam. Leon collected some juice and a couple of chocolate croissants, then he and Glenn retreated to the office.
‘What’s the latest?’ he asked.
‘A&E patched up Todd’s nose. He’s going to look stupid for a week or two.’
‘No change there, then.’
‘It’s wounded pride more than anything. Same with Reece.’
‘Fuckwits,’ Leon muttered. Venning had made it plain they’d been spoiling for a fight. ‘But what was Joe doing in the basement?’
‘Having a lie-down, according to Kestle.’
‘I don’t buy that.’ Leon consumed half a croissant before he spoke again. ‘I want you to get his van checked over by a mechanic. It’ll be obvious if anyone’s worked on the engine recently.’
‘You think the breakdown story was bullshit?’
Leon nodded. ‘And call Reece. Tell him and Todd to come in, soon as they can. I want everyone else out of here this morning. Just them two, plus Bruce.’
Glenn loitered, clearly hoping for an explanation. When Leon didn’t supply it, Glenn said, ‘Sure you want Reece and Todd back here so soon?’
‘Yeah.’ Leon smiled. ‘I’m arranging a treat for them.’
Joe had set his alarm for seven, but when it started bleeping he switched it off, turned over and went back to sleep, vaguely aware that there was a storm approaching. The thunder intruded into his dreams, became the rumble of stone walls collapsing all around him …
He woke in a cold sweat. Sat up and waited for the shock to subside. He wasn’t sure if he should go into work, but he showered, shaved, and went down for breakfast. It was almost eight o’clock, and Diana looked relieved to see him.
‘I didn’t know if I ought to wake you.’
‘I’m not due in till later,’ he said. As with Ellie, he hadn’t told her about Alise, or the fight with Leon’s men. He felt he’d brought enough trouble upon them all. From now on he had to resolve this himself.
‘Did you hear the thunder?’ Diana said. ‘Sounds like it’s going to be another foul day.’
In more ways than one, Joe thought.
* * *
By the time Fenton sloped in, at half past eight, Leon’s plans were well advanced.
‘I just spoke to Claudia Watson,’ he said cheerily.
Fenton, baffled, said, ‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘Just a bit of business. You remember Claudia?’
‘Well, yes, of course.’
‘Oh yeah, she was your birthday present. Your fiftieth, wasn’t it?’
Leon sniggered, and Fenton looked away. He was drinking tea from a prissy little cup, complete with saucer. He even stuck his finger out as he drank. Leon had never really noticed before, and it added to his doubts about the man.
‘Where was Glenn off to?’ Fenton asked.
‘Getting Joe’s van checked, to see if the engine thing was genuine.’
‘Hmm. Why would he fake a breakdown?’
‘To give him cover for what he was really doing.’
‘Which was …?’
‘I dunno for sure, but I’m going to find out.’
There was another peal of thunder, slightly louder than the last. Still no lightning, no rain, but the wind was getting up. Leon could hear the veranda creaking with every gust.
‘I wonder if it was another mission on behalf of our foreign friend?’
‘Alise.’ Leon savoured the name, enjoying Fenton’s surprise. ‘Don’t worry,’ he added. ‘The room’s clean. I got Venning to do a thorough sweep.’
‘You don’t think Morton’s people are spying on us?’
Good try, Leon thought. He said: ‘Spies can be anywhere, Clive.’
Fenton didn’t seem to understand what Leon was getting at. ‘Do you really think she survived?’
‘She must have done. Unless the body got washed out to sea, it would have been found by now.’
‘Then let’s hope she’s feeding the fishes. Otherwise she remains a threat. Especially if Joe is working on her behalf …’
Leon flapped his hand. ‘That’s not a worry. Clive. I need you to make a phone call.’
Fenton brightened up, an excited rattle as he set the cup down. ‘Ah, yes. Now you’ve had time to sleep on it, surely you can see the wisdom in making another approach?’
Leon said nothing. His silence gave Fenton encouragement.
‘What I’d suggest is that we put it to him quite bluntly, in the kind of language he understands. We have Joe. If you want him, the price is a million pounds. Almost like a ransom demand.’
Leon pretended to consider it. ‘I will tell Danny Morton where Joe is,’ he said. ‘But when I do, it’ll be to tell him he blew his chances. Because by that point Joe will be dead.’
Seventy-One
THE LANDLINE RANG at ten to nine. Diana passed the phone to Joe. It was Clive Fenton.
‘Good morning, Mr Carter. Were you planning to come in today?’
‘I hadn’t decided,’ Joe said, assuming that Fenton would tell him not to bother.
‘Regarding last night, I’ve received a full account from Reece, as well as from Phil Venning. Now I wish to hear your side of it. Shall we say ten o’clock?’
‘Fine.’ Joe put the phone down, impressed that Venning had kept to his word.
Diana was loading the washing machine and didn’t turn round until he finished the call. ‘Has something happened?’
‘Why do you ask?’
Crossing her arms, she gave him a stern look. ‘I was married to a policeman, remember? I know when something’s not right, just like you do.’
It was a pointed reminder that on Sunday she had given Joe the truth. Now he owed her the same candour.
He told her about the call from Alise, driving to Looe and finding her with terrible injuries. ‘They were clever. Too many people knew of her feud with Leon for her to simply disappear. Faking a suicide was the perfect solution.’
‘But now she’s survived, surely she’ll go to the police?’
‘She says not. There’s no evidence, and Leon is bound to have arranged for another solid alibi.’
‘So he’ll get away with it again—’ Diana stopped abruptly. ‘Oh, Joe. Please tell me you’re not thinking of taking him on alone …’
‘Not as such. I know I’m outnumbered. What I’m hoping to do is get hold of some evidence that incriminates him. Then I’ll gladly leave it to the authorities.’
Diana didn’t look reassured. ‘So what was the phone call about?’
‘Uh, a minor altercation I had with a couple of the security guys.’ Joe grinned. ‘I’m sure I can talk my way out of it.’
Nine forty-five. The storm was pushing closer, the skies darkening. A squally wind rattled the tiles above the porch as Joe prepared to leave.
Diana hovered anxiously. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a lift?’
‘It’s not raining yet. If I hurry I’ll be there before it starts.’
‘I’m not sure you should be going at all.’
‘I have to face them at some point.’
‘Do you?’
He said nothing. They stared at each other for a moment, then embraced. Holding him tightly, Diana said, ‘Please be careful, Joe.’
When they separated, Joe had a sense of how much had been left unsaid. He knew Diana would be thinking of Roy, and the mistakes he’d made in trying to confront Leon. Afraid that Joe was preparing to make the very same mistakes.
Joe couldn’t put her mind at ease, because he feared she might well be right.
As he left the house, a Range Rover pulled up and backed onto the driveway, its brake lights a vivid red in the dull gloom of the day. The driver opened his window and beckoned to Joe. It was the man he’d met out on the veranda on his first day. Bruce.
‘Clive said you were going in for ten, and I was down this way. Hop in.’
Joe glanced up at the sky. Any second now it was going to tip it d
own. Silly to refuse.
Climbing into the passenger seat, he caught Bruce grinning at his hesitation.
‘Reece and Todd are idiots. You gave ’em a right pasting, according to Phil. Done a bit of fighting in your time, have you?’
‘A bit.’ Not a route he wanted to go down, so Joe said, ‘You?’
‘Bloody loved a scrap, I did. Got in a lot of trouble over it. Luckily I ran into Leon, and he gave me a second chance.’
‘You like working for him?’
‘Oh yeah. Leon’s a top man.’ Bruce gave Joe a conspiratorial glance. ‘Clive’s a weirdo, but easy enough to deal with. You’ll probably get a slap on the wrist for this. Just keep your head down in future and you’ll be okay.’
Joe nodded. ‘Thanks for the advice.’
A loud crash of thunder commanded their attention as they got to the house. Sheet lightning flashed above the trees to the west.
‘Raining in Padstow, I bet,’ Bruce said. ‘Be us next.’
They entered the house. Bruce told him that Fenton would see him in the office. As he peeled away to the comms room, Joe called, ‘Is Venning still here?’
‘Nah, finished at nine. He’s on nights.’
That was a shame, Joe thought. He knocked on the office door, waited for a summons, and walked in. Fenton was behind the desk. With a self-important, headmasterly air, he laced his chubby fingers together and announced: ‘Leon has requested that I deal with this on his behalf.’
‘Where is he?’
The big man bristled at Joe’s impertinence. ‘He’s away.’
‘Anywhere nice?’
Fenton ignored the question. He cleared his throat. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear that Reece has decided he won’t be pressing charges for assault. Neither will Todd.’
Joe shrugged. ‘They came looking for trouble. I responded.’
‘Yes, well, there are conflicting opinions. Suffice to say we won’t tolerate any repetition of this behaviour. That’s clearly understood, I hope?’
‘Perfectly.’
There was an awkward silence. Fenton seemed unnerved by Joe’s composure. At last he said, ‘Good. We’ll regard the matter as settled. Now, I haven’t looked at the schedule yet, but I believe there’s work available for you today.’
