‘What does that mean? And continue to assume that I’m stupid.’ Harry sounded very close to losing his patience completely.
‘He doesn’t want us here, Inspector. Least of all an authoritative, older man with a gruff tone.’
‘NVCs?’ Maddie knew exactly what they were but wanted to stall Harry’s rising temper.
‘Non-verbal communications. The one thing none of us can control completely. The boy upstairs is very scared. The fact he is not telling us this means we will need to read other signals to know this to be the case, and to know when he is a little less scared. It is a very delicate and lengthy process.’
‘So he is not likely to start talking any time soon? And you’re confident he is a witness to something?’ Harry said.
Anna fixed her gaze on him. Her own NVCs were unmistakeable. She was not impressed. ‘I need to see the boy to make my own assessments, but we can certainly presume from the circumstances in which he was found that he has been involved in a trauma of some sort.’
‘So how long does it normally take for such a kid to be able to speak again? To tell us what they saw?’
Anna stood up straighter. ‘I find it increasingly tiresome explaining such things to police officers. A child’s ability to communicate is not fully developed. Indeed, it is one of the few areas of our development that never really stops. Seeing something incredibly traumatic would put a strain on you or I if we were asked to describe it. We might struggle to put into words what we experienced. It is not untypical for a child to shut down completely, to not even try. The human mind is a very protective element — protective of itself, of its own welfare. He might not even remember what happened, certainly not in any detail. Nor does he want to. You are police officers, Inspector Blaker, you are here to ask questions, to help him remember. You are the enemy here . . . don’t forget that. I am confident that I can assist with this boy recovering with the right care and the right treatment, but what you need from him can only set him back.’
‘And you say you help the police?’ Harry said.
The woman licked her lips. ‘No, I didn’t. I help other professionals to communicate with terrified children, to help them understand what has happened, to understand that their experiences are not normal and that they don’t need to be afraid of this world — that not all people mean them harm. As part of that I can sometimes assist with obtaining information required by the police. But that is not my primary concern.’
Harry fixed her in a stare. ‘I can’t just consider this child on his own. There’s a bigger picture here. I need to consider that he was covered in someone else’s blood and that at any second said someone else may pass a point where recovery is no longer possible. That is literally life and death. I don’t want a kid caught up in this. I would rather they were never involved in my work. But involved he is. And I need to start making some progress with him as soon as possible.’
‘And how was progress? When you defied my request to speak with him and went straight up to talk to him. How did that go? Did he speak with you?’
‘He communicated. That is more than he has done with anyone else. He has a connection with DS Ives. I think we can build on that. We were starting to . . . then you came through the door and the aggression in your voice pushed him away. That’s what you might call a setback.’
Anna’s lips were back in a pout. Her eyes were fixed on Harry, who stared straight back. Maddie didn’t think either was ready to back down.
‘Right then, who wants tea?’ Rose said. She must have sensed the same. It seemed to do the trick; it breached the impasse at least.
‘I am assured two social workers are on their way from a local provision,’ Anna said. ‘I will utilise them. They will make contact with the boy under my supervision. You are requested not to attempt to speak with him any further. My presence here has been ratified by a superintendent who I have worked with a couple of times in the past, someone I know well enough to have been speaking with directly on the way down. Should you need me to request his opinion on who leads with this element of your investigation, I am more than happy to do so.’
Harry turned to Rose. ‘Thank you, Rose, but I don’t think we will stay for tea. And thanks for your help with our little friend up there. I know he appreciates it.’
Maddie caught a glance from Harry as he turned away. She followed him down the hall. He stopped at the end and nodded at the stairs.
‘You need to say goodbye.’
‘Sir?’ Maddie was aware that their conversation was being overheard.
‘You set an expectation with the lad. You said you would be the next one back up there, and even I know the importance of keeping a promise at this stage. You need to let him know that three complete strangers will be going up to see him instead. Tell him that is what experts have decided, so it must be right.’
Maddie suddenly fixed a glare on Harry, who stared right back. She knew better than to undermine him here, though, and she considered it was right that she said goodbye. She padded up the stairs.
‘Hey, Dane!’ she called out when she got to the threshold of the room. She could still see a shape under the duvet, but this time she reckoned he was lying down. ‘I’m really sorry, but I have to go. Some people are going to come and talk to you who are far better at this than me. And nicer too. They’re going to look after you, okay? I will come back and see you, too. I promise that. Okay?’
Again, there was only silence. She waited almost a minute before she called out again. ‘See you soon kid! I just want you to be happy.’
When she made it back down the stairs, Harry was standing in the exact same spot. Rose bustled down the hall to show them out. Maddie called out her goodbyes to Anna in the kitchen. There was nothing but silence as a response, something she was starting to get used to.
* * *
Maddie only waited for the doors to shut on the car before she launched her attack.
‘What the hell was that about?’
‘What?’
‘You know what.’
‘She was being an arse. I don’t like it when people look down their nose at me.’
‘So you put me on the spot to make a point?’
‘You set an expectation, it was right that you went and spoke with him.’
‘That wasn’t why you said it.’
‘She needs to know that we’re not idiots. That we know a bit about looking after trauma victims.’
‘Then tell her direct. That’s not something you normally struggle with.’
‘She wasn’t listening to me, Maddie.’
‘Because we didn’t listen to her.’
‘You think she was right? She spoke to us like idiots in there. On things like this, we need to work together. And a child psychologist trauma expert, or whatever the hell she was, should know that.’
‘The second she turned up and we were already upstairs she wasn’t thinking like a child psychologist trauma expert. She was angry. And then you were, too, and you weren’t thinking like a detective inspector. You basically just met your female counterpart in there, Harry. You would do well to remember how frustrating that was to try and work with.’
Harry had turned the key to start the car. He looked over at her now. Maddie could see his lips had formed a shape like he was about to speak. He seemed to change his mind. The rest of the journey was in silence. Maddie had no idea if that meant he was considering what she had said or if he was so furious he couldn’t speak to her.
Ultimately it didn’t matter. She still reckoned she was right.
Chapter 6
There was no rain on the second night, but swathes of water still lay at random places across the car park like slithers of shimmering glass. The café parking area didn’t seem as busy. The night before, Jack had felt surrounded by lorries; today there were only a few backed up against a low fence at the rear. One of them was ticking over, the heat from its exhaust stack making a low moon quiver.
Jack lit a cigarette. He wa
s a few minutes early and had time to try and settle his nerves a little. He had barely got to the end of his first drag when he heard the approach of a diesel engine. He turned and narrowed his eyes to a small lorry that had swung into the car park, raking its lights across him on full beam. With the lights gone, he made out that it had an open flatbed rear and an enclosed cab at the front with both front and back seats. The driver’s window was close to him, close enough that he could make out an arm along the windowsill and a face leaning out.
‘Get in!’ It was the man from the previous night. Even in the gloom his intensity was clear.
‘In there?’ Jack motioned towards the truck with his cigarette. He was trying to stall for time to consider his options. Right now, getting in that truck was not his favourite.
‘In the back,’ was the reply. Jack took another drag and lingered on it, watching the tip of his cigarette burn brighter, his head feeling flushed and a little dizzy. ‘Now!’ The voice carried anger. Jack still hesitated and looked back at his own car. He longed to be back in it and driving away, having explained that this was all a misunderstanding, that he had had a lot of fun but he wasn’t keen on this idea anymore. He didn’t sense that to be an option. He threw his cigarette to the floor and looked into the cab. The driver was the only occupant.
He pulled on the door behind the driver. It was locked.
The driver hung out of the window. ‘No, in the back!’
‘What?’
‘Step up on the wheel. Get in the back.’
The man stared at him until Jack shook his head. That was one step too far. ‘This is a fucking joke. You know what . . . this was a bad idea. I’m not so into this, yeah? You might be better off playing your games with someone else.’
The driver’s door opened and the man stepped out to face Jack, but he didn’t move any closer. His right arm was concealed behind the truck’s door pillar and his stance suggested that he was holding something in his hand. He wore dark trousers and a white T-shirt that was just visible under the same long, black coat that hung open. He looked bigger tonight somehow, wider certainly. The material of his T-shirt was stretched against the contours of his chest and the hood of his coat was pulled up over his head. His left hand hung by his side, it was still bandaged, the dressing looked fresh, as did the spotting of blood that seemed to thicken round the wrist.
‘Get in the back of the truck. Last chance.’ The menace was unmistakeable.
Jack swore again, but this time it was mumbled under his breath. He stepped up onto the outer tyre. It was slick with moisture. He gripped the cold metal side and clambered over. The truck moved off almost immediately and Jack was thrown to his knees. He rocked forward but he got his hands out in time to stop himself face planting. His hands pushed into a soaking piece of plastic that lay along the floor. The truck jerked again, the front wheels dipping suddenly into a trench, a pothole or some such. Jack managed a clumsy sit, the seat of his trousers soaked instantly on the metal rails that made up the base of the tipper’s flatbed. He grabbed the side with one hand and a fistful of the plastic with the other. The truck made it to the smoother tarmac. They turned right towards Ashford and immediately picked up speed.
The journey took ten minutes, maybe a little longer. From the café they drove along the main road for a short time before turning away from the streetlamps into country lanes leading deeper and deeper into woodland scenery. Finally the truck turned off the road completely. The high-riding suspension bucked and rolled on the uneven ground. They slowed to a stop and the engine turned off. The silence was like a blanket thrown over them but the air was cooler here. The surrounding trees were backlit by the moon and the whole scene had the appearance of landscape art created by stencils.
There was no movement from the front and Jack considered getting out. He could run. He wouldn’t look back. He got up to his knees then stretched to his feet. His chest muscles ached where they had been tensed the whole way and his hands and fingers were stiff with the cold. He plunged them in his pocket to try and get them functioning again. The driver’s door opened and a weak light shone down to the ground through a light mist that was picking at the sodden floor. Jack’s eyes had adjusted enough to see a familiar silhouette walking down the side of the truck.
‘What the hell are we doing here?’ Jack said.
‘Our first task is mine.’
‘What the hell am I doing here, then?’
‘It is also for you. Now, fall silent. We must be sure we are alone.’
‘This is all good fun, okay? And the way you talk? I see you’ve gone all in for this stuff. Good on you. But this isn’t me, okay? I think I’ll be walking away — it’s all got a bit weird. I get that you’re into it, but—’
The noise stopped him dead. Jack’s mind tried to place it: it was like a suppressed scream, then a moan. He considered it must be some sort of wildlife, but it was muffled — maybe an injured animal down a hole? It was close too. He heard a scuffling sound. The truck vibrated a little at the same time — he could feel it through his feet. He reached out to the side to steady himself. The man in front of him was still, and not close enough to be shaking the truck. Jack turned to see if someone had got out of the other side. Maybe they had been in the back seat of the cab and he hadn’t seen them. He couldn’t see much of anything. Movement dragged his eye. It was by his feet.
The plastic sheet was moving!
Jack sucked in a breath and took a step backwards. Something pushed out from under the sheet and moved towards him, there was another moan and he felt a grip on his ankle. He kicked out in surprise and stepped away. He felt the side of the truck bump his calves and it unsettled him. He fought to get his balance but his momentum was still backwards. His fall was silent, he tipped out and he couldn’t get his hands in a position to soften his fall to the ground. He fell heavily, taking the blow through his shoulders and the back of his head. His vision flared a bright white for a split second and his head shot with pain. He was winded instantly. In his confusion he rolled his face in sopping mud as he moved onto his side, trying to decipher which way was up and trying to get into a position where he could breathe.
‘What . . .?’ he managed, then a coarse moan as he tried to draw air back into his lungs. Then the voice breathed into his ear.
‘Your next phase has begun. You cannot walk away from something that runs after you.’ Jack moaned again, it was involuntary, his rushed breath was returning. He turned his head away from the bright torchlight that shone over him and onto the side of the truck. The man carrying the torch stepped up onto the wheel and climbed into the flatbed. The suspension squeaked then there was another moan, louder than before — more panicked now. He heard the man’s voice again, maddeningly calm and monotone.
‘Shush now. Your time is soon.’ Then he called out to Jack. ‘Get to your feet! There is work to be done.’
Jack was still on the ground, his breathing still laboured. It got worse as he sat up. The torchlight was flickering above him. He narrowed his eyes, which made his head hurt more. It took a few attempts for him to stand up and he was still unsteady as the plastic sheeting was dragged over the raised side of the truck towards him. It fell to the ground, splashing him in the face with freezing water that snapped him out of his groggy state. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Hold the light and you shall see.’ He threw the torch to the ground beside Jack and its white light illuminated Jack’s feet. His canvas trainers were darkened by thick, brown water. He hadn’t even noticed. His legs dripped with mud that fell off in clumps. There was a piece of flint at his feet stained with what looked like blood. He ran his fingers through his hair and checked under the light. Sure enough they were spotted red. He shone the torch towards the truck.
The man was bent forward, his arms interlinked with something heavy. It looked like a struggle. He stood up a little straighter and Jack could now see a brown tangle of something was leant against the man’s knees. The man timed a breath
with lifting the tangle higher, high enough to drag it to the rear of the truck. The rear panel fell open. Jack moved round for a better view. The man jumped down onto the ground. Jack could see what he had been dragging: the naked torso of a heavy-set man lay right at the edge. The eyes were open and they looked to be searching desperately; his arms hung limply over the back and didn’t move. He looked like a dead weight, as if only the eyes had function. He had a voice, too; his mouth lolled open wide as he groaned again, high-pitched and panicked at its start, but guttural and melancholy at its finish. The man dragged him a little more until his weight shifted and he fell to the ground. He made no attempt to protect himself with his hands. He landed on his head and neck, his body folding around him. When he was pulled straight the eyes that still searched in a panic had to blink as muddy water slid off his hair and into his eyes. His arm jerked outwards but it was as if he had no control. Jack was rooted to the spot. He watched on in horror as the heavy-set man was laid out so that his head was almost underneath the tow-bar that jutted out of the rear of the truck, his feet at the opposite end. Jack could see he had jeans on his lower half. They were filthy, caked in thick mud, some of it looked dry. He moaned again, it was quieter and finished with a choking sound.
‘What . . . what’s the matter with him?’
Jack lit up the man in the long, dark coat. His trousers were filthy, too, and his hood had fallen back to reveal his close-cropped, red-tinted hair. His chest was heaving from the exertion. His eyes had the same intensity, but there was something more there now . . . excitement. He took out his phone and pointed it downwards at the stricken man. It flashed a white light and made a shutter sound. A few seconds later and Jack heard a sound like blowing into the top of a bottle.
‘He has had some tablets and has lost much of his function,’ the man explained to Jack, almost sounding like a genial science teacher. ‘It was necessary to finish my work. And finish I must. But first I must pause.’ He walked the length of the truck and pulled the driver’s door open. Jack kept him lit with the torch; he couldn’t take it off him. Jack couldn’t move either. He wanted to. He wanted to run away from there — to be anywhere else — but his legs were frozen to the spot. The tall man leant into the truck. When he straightened back up he held something small and shiny — a locking-wheel nut maybe? It looked to be that size and shape. Jack watched on as the man picked at the dressing on his left hand. He used his teeth to assist, it came loose and he threw it onto the seat. He held the metal object in his right hand; his left, he laid out flat, palm up on the driver’s seat. Jack took a step closer. Now it looked like a large drill bit, he had seen one before. Only the edges were rough, jagged even, as if it had been snapped roughly from its housing. The man put it on his palm, the rough metal facing downwards. The middle of his palm looked to be a raw, bloody mess, the skin looked torn rather than cut, with white and black skin all mixed up with fresh blood. He grimaced, like the act of just laying the metal on top of it was painful. It had to be. The man took a deep breath then his position changed, his whole weight centred on his right hand as he twisted the metal object into his left palm. He snorted through his nose and seemed to be biting his lip tightly. He stopped only to twist it again, his head lifted to the sky, his eyes wide and his mouth formed into a grimace. Jack had to look away when he started twisting it for the third time. When he looked back he was pushing the metal object back into his pocket. Then he pressed the dressing firmly into his palm and tied it off as tightly as he could against the back of his hand. He looked over to Jack who was still frozen to the spot, aware that his mouth was hanging open.
HE WILL FIND YOU an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist Page 6
