Skin and Bones

by Tom Bale

  Kate took the lead, still holding on to Julia, with Sandy close behind. Although Julia's legs felt stronger now, the pain in her abdomen was growing more intense. Her eyes were smarting and her heart felt like it was beating at an unnatural rhythm. They hurried through the kitchens and saw a couple of other guests just ahead of them.

  The cold night air was a fabulous shock, like plunging into a pool. There were about a dozen women grouped on the lawn, some doubled over, some crying and hugging each other, some just standing in a daze. There was a loud crash and flames leapt towards the French doors which led out to the garden.

  'Get back!' Kate shouted. She and Sandy began ushering people to the bottom of the garden. Julia could hear her muttering as she did a head count.

  'Best to head for the beach,' she said. 'Then along the path to the road. The fire brigade are on their way.'

  'What happened?' Julia asked. 'Was it an electrical fault?'

  There was another crash from the building, and at the same time the alarm abruptly cut out. Julia glanced back and saw smoke pouring from an upstairs window. Sandy saw it too, and looked heartbroken.

  'Brick through the window,' she said, 'followed by a Molotov cocktail. One in the lounge, one through the front door. Bloody miracle they didn't hit anyone.'

  They reached the gate, everyone trying to file through without panicking. Someone stumbled, and there was a shriek. 'It's all right,' Kate shouted. 'Just follow me.'

  Once they were through the gate, Julia insisted she could walk unaided. While Kate went off to check on the other guests, Julia rested for a moment and wiped her eyes. She felt much more alert now, but the nagging pain had spread to her lower back and kidneys. Trying not to dwell on it, she followed the line of guests around the perimeter of the grounds. Smoke poured into the sky, and tiny fragments of ash rained down on them. The sea lay off to her left, dark and almost silent, just a faint slurp against the sand.

  The hotel had been firebombed. That was crazy. Why the hell would—

  Then she thought of Peggy Forester, burned to death within hours of their visit.

  Reaching the footpath that ran between the beach and the road, she heard sirens approaching. There was a small crowd of spectators on the pavement, watching the fire from a safe distance. When they spotted the line of evacuees, a few came forward to help. Julia saw one man remove his coat and offer it to a woman wearing only a thin dress.

  The first fire engine drove past, braking hard as it reached the hotel. A second appliance was just behind it. Almost everyone turned to look, and there were a few muted shouts and cheers. Then Julia noticed one of the spectators had kept his back to the road. He was watching the guests file towards him. Too far away to see clearly, but he was wearing dark clothes. His face was obscured by something. He'd turned his collar up, or perhaps had a scarf wrapped around his mouth.

  Despite the distance, Julia knew the moment his gaze settled on her. She felt it in every nerve ending, and as he broke away from the crowd and hurried towards her, she recognised the set of his body: fast, powerful, determined. Exactly the way he had moved when he strode into sight from Hurst Lane.

  It was him. The second killer. Coming for her.

  Julia turned and ran.

  Her only option was west, towards the dunes at the back of the beach. The killer had blocked her path to the north. The tide was too close to go south, and the burning hotel was to the east.

  A cautionary voice told her she shouldn't be doing this. In her current condition just walking was a struggle, let alone running. But it had been an instinctive decision, made without any rational thought. Too late to change her mind now.

  It got darker and colder as she climbed the dunes. The sand was loose and deep, and after just fifteen or twenty strides she was exhausted. Marram grass whipped at her bare feet, and a discarded Coke can sliced the skin on her little toe. Risking a look behind her, she saw a vague black shape reach the path and pause, scanning the beach.

  Julia threw herself down, dropping the diary. Spotting a deeper hollow about ten feet away, she crawled towards it, grabbing clumps of grass and wriggling on her belly. She was acutely aware of how isolated she was, but knew that staying in the crowd wouldn't have protected her if the killer was armed. At least this way she wasn't putting other people in danger.

  Any more than she had already, she thought grimly.

  Reaching the hollow, she curled up, paddling with her feet and hands to dig herself into the sand. It was freezing cold, and she began to shiver. The pain in her lower back was spreading through her body like icy water, a sensation accompanied by a haunting image of internal bleeding. She fought off the idea that she might escape from the killer, only to fall unconscious and perish alone in the sand.

  She lay on her side, her sight of the dunes now restricted to just a few yards. Sounds drifted across the beach as if from another world: sirens, doors slamming, the crackle and spit of the hungry fire.

  And then something closer. Much closer.

  Heavy footsteps on the sand.

  She pressed herself into the hollow, trying to merge with the land. She stopped breathing. Above her the sky opened like a vast dome filled with stars, each one impossibly cold and remote. She felt a wave of vertigo, a feeling that she might tip forward and be pitched into the void.

  A few grains of sand fell on her face. She heard an exhalation, angry and frustrated. He was right above her, perhaps only a couple of feet away, but the shape of the dune meant he couldn't see her.

  He must have gone out on to the beach and circled round. That meant he'd guessed her route. Outmanoeuvred her. One more step and she was dead.

  She shut her eyes and waited. Her lungs felt as though they would burst. Her head swam with the effort of not breathing, not moving, not jumping to her feet and begging him to finish her off: anything to break the unbearable tension of not knowing if she would live or die.

  There was another angry sigh. Another dusting of sand on her eyes and her lips.

  Then something snarled, low and menacing and very close.

  Forty-Six

  It was a dog. Julia could hear it panting. She thought she could smell it, too, a warm wet odour, with a tang of the sea.

  The dog growled again. This time she placed it. Across to her right, a few feet away.

  A man's voice cried, 'Billy! C'mere, now!'

  But the dog held its ground. It went on snarling, and it sounded like it meant business. She heard the rustle of movement from above, the killer reacting to this new threat.

  'Billy! Heel!'

  The dog gave an answering yelp, but instead of running back to its owner, it took another couple of steps towards her. She could see it now, a lean black shape against the sand, lowering its head as if preparing to attack.

  Craig had once prided himself on his fitness, but it had been a few years since he'd exercised on a serious basis. One of his knees started protesting within the first mile or so, and a stitch set in that left him gasping as much as panting. Every time he felt his resolve weakening, he glanced up and focused on the leaping flames. He had to know where the fire was. He had to know Julia was all right.

  He heard the sirens as the fire engines passed on the coast road. Smoke was pouring into the sky, and he prayed that wherever it was, the occupants had escaped in time.

  When he got to the beach he found running on the compacted sand much easier on his joints, and he was even able to pick up his speed a little. Despite the burn in his lungs, he felt almost euphoric, as if the ordeal he'd been through had only made him stronger and more focused.

  He was a couple of hundred yards away when he saw beyond doubt that it was the hotel. Despite the valiant efforts of the firefighters, the building was being consumed by flames. He knew at once that in one sense he was too late: Julia's fate had already been decided. Either she had got out in time or she hadn't. If she hadn't, there was no way she could survive.

  That realisation brought him up short. He leaned over,
breathing hard, and spat on to the sand. It was as his heart rate slowed that he became aware of a man's voice, just ahead of him, calling for something. Then he heard barking and saw a dog, up on the dunes. He was about to dismiss it and run on when he spotted something else, a dark shape just beyond the dog that moved slightly, revealing a flash of pale skin.

  Quite abruptly, the dog stopped barking, turned and looked at its owner, then ran back towards the beach. Julia waited a few seconds, too scared to move, before cautiously raising her head. Now she could see two figures on the beach. The dog was again growling, but its owner moved in and grabbed its collar. The other figure, instead of hanging back, seemed to be moving in her direction.

  Her heart pumped furiously, but she knew she couldn't run any more. She was confused. How had the killer managed to get back down to the beach so quickly, and without the dog sensing it?

  Something else bothered her. Even in the darkness, the outline and movement seemed familiar. Not just familiar, she realised. Miraculous.

  She called out, as best she could, and tried to sit up. She had to make sure he had noticed her. By now she could see his face, dirty and dishevelled and full of worry. Somehow he didn't look quite right, and she wondered if perhaps he was merely a hallucination, in which case she would probably just fall back and freeze to death in the sand.

  His relief at seeing her was so great that at first he didn't stop to wonder what she was doing here. As he reached her, he saw her eyes roll up and she passed out. He knelt down and made sure she was breathing, checked her airways and felt for her pulse. Her skin felt dangerously cold. He eased his hands underneath her and gently began lifting her up. As he did, she moaned and opened her eyes.

  'It's okay,' he murmured. 'Take it easy.'

  He had her upright when suddenly she wriggled out of his grasp.

  'My diary!'

  'What?'

  She twisted, pointing at something in the shadows. When he was sure she wouldn't collapse, Craig let go of her and searched until he found the diary lying in the sand. Turning back, he saw that Julia's whole body was trembling uncontrollably. Without a word he opened his arms and she fell into his embrace. He held her tight, her tears dampening his neck as she nuzzled into it.

  'He was here, Craig,' she said. 'He came to kill me.'

  Moving slowly, they made their way over to the road. The crowd of onlookers had grown. There were police cars and ambulances parked at the kerb. Most of the guests were wrapped in blankets and borrowed coats. The fire crews were up on ladders, spraying water from three different vantage points, but it looked like a lost cause.

  Julia told Craig what she knew about the firebombing, how she'd spotted the killer and hid from him in the dunes. She thought he might doubt the story, but there wasn't a trace of disbelief in his face.

  'He ran me off the road. I think he'd overtaken me a minute earlier, which means he'd followed me from the hotel.'

  'So he knew where I was staying?'

  'I guess so. After dealing with me, he must have come back here and started the fire.'

  'That's not all,' she said. She told him about Peggy Forester. 'The news report was suggesting an accident, or maybe suicide.'

  'You think he was there this morning, the same time as us?'

  She nodded. 'Did you get a look at the car?'

  'Not really. It was a four-wheel drive. A Land Rover, maybe.'

  'There was one parked in Hurst Lane. I think I saw it in Falcombe as well.'

  The conversation was interrupted by Kate, who ran towards them, holding a blanket. There was a second when her relief was tempered by a suspicious glance at Craig, but she seemed prepared to put aside her misgivings. She wrapped the blanket around Julia, then embraced her.

  'What happened to you? I couldn't find you anywhere.'

  'I went on to the beach to get some fresh air,' Julia said. Staring over Kate's shoulder, she saw Craig give a rueful nod: endorsing the lie.

  They broke apart, and Kate grabbed her hand. 'Come on. We need to get you checked over.'

  Julia allowed the other woman to lead her to an ambulance. While she was explaining Julia's medical history to a paramedic, there was a small commotion within the crowd. One of the hotel guests was ushered to a waiting police car and bundled inside, then driven off at high speed. Julia realised it was the woman she had played cards with.

  'The police think she might have been the target,' Kate confided. 'She's giving evidence at a trial for heroin smuggling.'

  Julia made the right noises of concern and sympathy, and once more exchanged a meaningful glance with Craig. Kate left her in the paramedic's charge and plunged back into the crowd. Julia was helped into the ambulance and lay down on a stretcher. After a thorough examination, the paramedic decided her blood pressure was slightly low, and recommended further tests at hospital.

  Then he turned to Craig. 'Are you the next of kin?'

  Craig was just a fraction too late to answer, but the paramedic shook his head. 'Doesn't matter. That cut on your head needs looking at, anyway.'

  Before they left, the paramedic was called away to treat a firefighter for smoke inhalation. As soon as they were alone, Craig moved close to Julia and spoke quietly.

  'It looks like the police have jumped to the wrong conclusion. The question is whether we can risk putting them right.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'First, we know they don't believe in the idea of a second killer. Secondly, if we make a statement alleging we were followed here, then we should really admit to visiting Peggy Forester. And aside from the killer, I bet we were the last people to see her alive.'

  Julia looked doubtful. 'But would they really suspect us . . . ?'

  'She's Carl's mother. Carl murdered my dad and tried to murder you. Frankly, I can't think of a better motive for wanting her dead.'

  Julia sighed, realising how credible that might seem, compared to their own allegations.

  'As for what happened here tonight, what can you really tell them? A man followed you along the path, and you ran away from him. Did you see him clearly? Can you describe him?'

  She shook her head. 'I didn't imagine it,' she said, her voice wavering.

  'Hey. I know that.' He took her hand. 'He drove me into a ditch, remember? I'm just saying there isn't a lot we can prove at the moment. Certainly not enough to get the police interested. All we risk doing is putting ourselves in the frame for Peggy's death.'

  Julia had to agree. 'So we're on our own?'

  'I'm afraid so. But at least tonight he's come out into the open. We know he exists, and he's shown us what he can do. We really only have one choice now, don't we?'

  Julia saw the cold anger in his eyes. She heard movement outside the ambulance, the paramedic returning, and quickly nodded.

  'We fight back,' she said.

  PART THREE

  Forty-Seven

  Vanessa was awake by 6 a.m. Most nights now she slept only fitfully, woken by poor circulation and delirious visions of death. Often there was a pressing need to urinate, and although she had accepted the humiliation of incontinence protection, there were many times when she could not bring herself to use it. Better to suffer the discomfort of getting up and struggling to the en suite bathroom.

  Afterwards she decided against returning to bed. The room was too hot, and her skin felt slick with sweat. In small bird-like steps she moved to the window and drew the curtains back, intending to let in some fresh air.

  A grey, misty dawn cast an ethereal light over the countryside. The sky above the Downs was pale and clear, promising another unseasonably warm day. Vanessa watched birds circling high overhead and heard the distant competing cries of gulls and crows. It was only when he moved that she noticed George in the garden.

  He was at the far end of the lawn, sitting on the bench that overlooked the terraced area leading down to the tennis court. At the top of the steps was a large stone plinth forming the base of a tiered fountain. The centrepiece of the top tier
was a delicately carved figurine of an angel. As Vanessa watched, George leaned forward and almost toppled on to the path in front of it.

  He remained on his knees, not moving. She imagined the cold seeping into his ageing joints, but if he was aware of it he gave no sign. He was dressed in the same trousers and sweater as the night before, and she wondered if he had slept at all.

  Then, to her astonishment, she saw him clasp his hands together and dip his head in prayer. She had to say it to herself before she could believe it.

  He's praying to the stone angel.

  It brought a smile to her face, but never one to soften her own stone heart. She whispered to the glass: 'You won't bring her back.'

  Seven o'clock, and Julia was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling of her flat in Lewes. After nearly four weeks away, the surroundings felt both comforting but slightly unfamiliar. When she'd finally got to bed she thought she might sleep for days, and yet just five hours later she was awake and reflecting on what she had said to Craig.

  We fight back.

  Now, with the clarity that daylight brought, much of that confidence had evaporated. Instead she felt an irrational conviction that the killer was untouchable.

  After a swift journey in the ambulance, she and Craig had spent the evening in the Conquest Hospital in St Leonards. While Craig waited in A&E to have his cuts cleaned and dressed, Julia underwent a thorough range of tests, including a CT scan, and her heart rate and blood pressure were monitored over several hours. Finally she was seen by a disarmingly handsome young doctor whose upbeat conclusion didn't preclude him from delivering a severe rebuke.

  'You've had a remarkably lucky escape,' he told her, 'and not just from the fire. There's a lot of messed-up tissue in there.' He poked a long finger in the direction of her belly. 'Unless you let it heal properly, there's a chance the whole caboodle will rupture like a bag of rotten tomatoes.' He smiled at the expression on her face. 'I'm resorting to such unpleasant imagery precisely because it's more likely to lodge in your mind. Now, repeat after me.' He intoned in a slow, exaggerated voice: 'Walking is good, but walk slowly. Don't run.'