DYING EMBERS an unputdownable psychological thriller full of breathtaking twists

by MARGARET MURPHY

  At the end of school, Geri sought them out. Nobody wanted to talk to her. As two boys hurried away, she saw Barry Mandel leaning against a wall of the playground, coolly watching her.

  She walked up to him, determined this time to keep her temper. ‘You’ve got them scared, Barry,’ she said. ‘But you don’t frighten me.’

  ‘Good thing too,’ Barry said. ‘A teacher who loses her nerve might as well give it up.’

  She returned, shivering, to her classroom to do some work before going home, and by the time she left, the school was in darkness. She flicked on the corridor lights as she left her classroom and waited while a couple of reluctant tubes flickered and buzzed, shedding no more than a grey glimmer. The distance between her room and the lights on the main passage seemed filled with dark threat.

  ‘Sod it,’ she muttered, clasping her briefcase more tightly and marching down the centre of the corridor, while the lights crackled and fizzed overhead. A chair scraped loudly in the room to her right and Geri jumped. The room was in darkness, but for a spectral blue light that seemed to flit across the walls. Abruptly, the light went out, and Geri hurried on, anxious to make it to the main corridor. The door opened and she heard a footstep behind her. She tensed, turning to face her assailant.

  ‘Are you all right?’ It was Coral. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  Geri let her breath out in a rush. ‘Jesus, Coral! What were you doing in the dark?’

  ‘Sorting through some slides for a PSE lesson.’

  Coral was wearing a rather extravagantly fringed purple cape, evidently ready to leave. She quickly caught up with Geri and they walked on together. ‘Interesting how lapsed Catholics are still moved to profanity in moments of stress,’ she said, sliding a sly look at Geri.

  ‘I’m an atheist, and it’s just a turn of phrase.’

  ‘Oh,’ Coral nodded solemnly. ‘Feeling a bit jumpy?’ The question was asked mischievously, but beneath it there was concern.

  Coral didn’t know about the incident with the blood-filled syringe the previous week, and Geri wasn’t about to fill her in on her adventures with Siân. Nor would Coral approve of her questioning children about Barry Mandel, so she simply shrugged. ‘Just tired. I’ve not slept well since . . .’

  Coral nodded. ‘Get an early night, eh? And stop obsessing about Barry Mandel. If he is mixed up in this, let the police sort it out.’

  Geri rubbed her eye tiredly. ‘I don’t know how they can, while they believe Ryan’s death was misadventure.’

  ‘And you don’t.’

  ‘Ryan’s dead. Frank’s gone. There are a lot of frightened children who won’t talk to me.’

  ‘Of course they’re frightened. For most of them, it’s the first time in their lives they’ve had to face death. You’re misreading the signs, Geri.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Geri said fervently. ‘I really do.’ They went through a fire exit out into the rear car park, and Coral rattled the door after it clicked shut, checking it had locked properly. Geri pressed the remote button on her keyring and her alarm chirruped. She opened the boot and dumped her briefcase.

  ‘An early night, and you’ll feel differently,’ Coral repeated, talking to her from over the top of her own car.

  ‘You’re probably r—’ Geri stopped and stared at the bonnet of her car. It seemed to be swathed in mist. She actually shook her head and looked again. It occurred to her that the engine had overheated, but that didn’t make sense since it had been sitting in a freezing car park all day.

  ‘Geri?’ She heard Coral’s voice as from a distance. Then, ‘What the hell . . . ?’

  Geri took a step closer and immediately began coughing. The ‘mist’ was acrid, it caught in her throat and sent her lungs into spasm. She turned away, coughing and choking, as Coral reached her. The older woman took her arm and looked at the car, keeping her distance, wary of the fumes.

  The paint had bubbled, and the liquid had run, but the image was just discernible: two bulbous lips with a huge tongue sticking out, apparently in the act of licking something.

  ‘Acid,’ Geri spluttered.

  ‘I can see that, but why?’

  ‘No,’ she coughed, trying to get her breath. ‘The symbol . . . for acid . . . blotter-art . . . LSD.’

  * * *

  She told the police everything. Her hunt for Ryan, the note tacked to her front door, the row between Baz and Frank after the memorial service, Jay being rushed to hospital, her argument with Baz; she even admitted to questioning the children that afternoon.

  DCI Thomas sat in on the interview, listening courteously. ‘You’re convinced this Barry Mandel is at the root of it,’ he said.

  ‘Who else?’ Geri asked, looking into the inspector’s sorrowful eyes. ‘Frank was terrified when I spoke to him on Monday night. I’ve had no trouble since last week, but as soon as I start talking to children again, this happens.’

  ‘Has he threatened you?’

  ‘Not actually threatened,’ she admitted. ‘Baz is more subtle than that. He could make an apology seem like a threat.’

  ‘We’ll bring him in for questioning,’ he said. ‘But from what you’ve said, it could be anyone who damaged your car.’

  ‘Who else would know that I’d been—’ She stopped. She had spoken to the boys at three thirty, just as school finished. She’d worked until about four thirty, which gave the lads she’d spoken to an hour to spread the word that Miss Simpson had been nosing around, asking questions about drugs. He was right. It could have been anybody, but it was Baz, who else?

  The police dusted for fingerprints. There were two sets. Hers were quickly eliminated, Siân’s could be checked out the next day. Geri dreaded Mrs Walsh getting a second visit from the police, and she persuaded them to wait so that she could warn Siân’s mother. They washed the remainder of the acid off the car — it was nitric — and sent her home, by which time it was late.

  The house was warm, and the smell of cooking greeted her. Nick, however, did not. Hardly surprising after their row over Barry Mandel. She dumped her coat and briefcase, left a stack of exercise books on the window ledge and went through to the kitchen.

  The table was laid. A posy of anemones sat in the centre, in a small glass vase. Two candles, now almost burned down, stood at either end of the table. Nick sat at one place setting.

  Shit! She had completely forgotten. ‘Nick, I’m sorry.’ She sat opposite him. ‘I was on my way home, when—’

  ‘Five o’clock, you said. It’s now nearly seven.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’

  Nick stared at her with such dislike that the words of explanation dried in her mouth.

  ‘You want to eat?’ He grabbed a tea towel, went to the oven and flung open the door. He slid the tray onto the table with such force that one of the potatoes, blackened and hard, rolled off and Geri had to stand up to avoid it landing in her lap. Two brown lumps that may have been chicken were stuck to the tray.

  ‘You didn’t have to leave it to ossify!’ she said angrily. ‘We could’ve warmed them through in the microwave.’

  ‘And you could’ve made the effort to get home on time.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess neither of us could be bothered.’

  * * *

  Lauren came into the kitchen as Geri was scraping the carbonised remains of the meal into the bin.

  ‘That looks yummy.’ Geri shot her a look. ‘Ouch,’ she said.

  ‘Did you see Nick on your way in?’ Geri asked.

  ‘Saw him, heard him — he was on his way out.’ Geri’s shoulders slumped. ‘Want to talk to Auntie Lauren about it?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know what’s the matter with him,’ Geri said, throwing the baking tray into the sink and tossing the tea towel onto the table. ‘One minute he’s thoughtful and supportive, the next he’s acting like a boorish slob, slamming about the place and sulking because things haven’t gone as planned.’

  ‘Hormones,’ Lauren said.

  ‘What?’

 
‘Think about it. We only have to deal with a burst of male hormones once a month, he’s got them zinging around his system all the time.’ Geri fixed her with a baleful stare, but Lauren wasn’t so easily intimidated. ‘Cheer up,’ she said. ‘Get something out of the freezer and we’ll crack open a bottle of wine.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Okay, skip the food and move straight to the wine . . .’ She stopped, distracted, and peered at something off to her right.

  Geri tensed. ‘If it’s a spider, don’t tell me, just stamp on the damn thing.’

  Lauren continued staring. ‘I wouldn’t stamp on something this size — it might take my foot off.’ She advanced cautiously and prodded the object with her toe, then smiled, relaxing and bent down.

  ‘What is it?’ Geri asked.

  Lauren picked it up and placed it carefully in front of Geri. ‘Sure you’re not hungry?’ It was the potato that had nearly ended up in her lap earlier.

  Geri looked into her friend’s face. Lauren’s puzzled amusement was enough to start her laughing, but once she started, she found she couldn’t stop. She was overtaken by waves of hysterical giggling, that soon turned to tears.

  Alarmed, Lauren sat next to her and put an arm around her. ‘God, Geri, it wasn’t that funny.’

  Geri elbowed her. ‘You never are,’ she said, then: ‘Shit, my nose is running.’

  Lauren fetched her a piece of kitchen roll and Geri began to explain.

  ‘It’s the same thing all over again, Lauren. First Ryan, now Frank. And someone . . .’ She shook her head, couldn’t bring herself to talk about the damage to her car, not just yet.

  Lauren stared at Geri. ‘What about Frank?’

  ‘He’s vanished.’

  Geri felt a pressure under her friend’s stare, which built became unbearable. As she was about to frame a question, Lauren broke eye contact.

  ‘Let’s open that wine,’ she said briskly, leaning on the kitchen table, ready to stand, but Geri put a restraining hand on her arm.

  ‘Did I say something?’ Geri asked.

  Lauren forced a smile. ‘Nothing.’ She stood and went to the fridge. ‘This calls for strong and sweet,’ she said, bringing out the bottle with the highest alcohol content.

  An hour later, Lauren said she was going to fetch one of her quilted cushion covers to work on. She took the phone from the hall into the sitting room and dialled Meredith, her day leader on the Sunday that she’d received Frank’s call and recounted her earlier conversation with Geri.

  ‘What are you saying?’ Meredith asked.

  ‘He’s missing!’ Lauren repeated. ‘He told me he was frightened of someone, and now he’s missing.’ She was avoiding saying what they both knew she was driving at, because she knew, in the end, that it was impossible.

  ‘Assuming your caller is the same person, he may have gone away for a while. He may need time to think.’

  ‘I’m living in the same house as her, Meredith! She’s worried sick.’

  ‘And if you told her, what would that achieve?’

  ‘I didn’t say I wanted to tell her.’

  ‘No . . .’ She let the silence hang for a few seconds. ‘But if the caller had wanted you to tell anyone else, he’d have said so.’

  ‘He hung up before I had a chance to ask him.’

  ‘His choice. We have to wait until he calls again.’

  ‘If he does.’

  ‘And whether he does or not, he has a right to expect complete confidentiality. He may have changed his mind. If he was distressed and confused by events, he may have been looking for someone to blame. None of us wants to believe that someone we love has killed themselves, whether deliberately or by a reckless act.’

  It made sense, but Lauren could not let go of this so easily. But she had to live with her knowledge, not Meredith, and she had to face Geri every day, knowing what she knew and saying nothing.

  ‘He may need time to come to terms with Ryan’s death,’ Meredith went on.

  ‘I feel terrible, listening to her talk about him, sympathizing with her and pretending I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘This isn’t about how you feel, Lauren. I’m sorry, I know that sounds harsh, and I know it’s difficult for you, but we have to respect Frank’s wishes. And this is about more than one individual. It’s about the integrity of the entire organisation.’

  How many times had Lauren delivered that lecture to fellow Samaritans? She knew she couldn’t tell Geri, and she had telephoned Meredith wanting to hear that she was doing the right thing. Well, now she had heard it. But it was cold comfort.

  19

  Word got around that Barry’s house had been raided by the police. Geri couldn’t believe it seemed to have raised his status even further with the younger children. She’d had to move on a crowd of Year Nines she had found clustered around Barry at lunch time.

  ‘Saints preserve us!’ Coral said. ‘He wasn’t passing anything to them, was he?’

  ‘Even Barry isn’t that brazen,’ Geri replied. They were closeted in Coral’s office for privacy, the staffroom being too open and too full of eavesdroppers.

  ‘I can’t understand it,’ Coral said. ‘The whole school knows he’s supplying drugs and yet the police found nothing, you say?’ She had been more sympathetic to Geri’s opinion of him since the acid attack, and Geri’s edited highlights of the events leading to it.

  Geri shook her head. Vince had rung her after the raid. DCI Thomas had questioned Barry, but he had remained imperturbable.

  ‘If he gets other kids to carry the stuff, maybe he’s got it stashed at a friend’s house.’

  Coral snorted. ‘That boy doesn’t have friends; he has business associates.’ She sucked her teeth. ‘Did Sergeant Beresford say what they’re doing to find Frank?’

  ‘He’s not officially supposed to be doing anything. But he said he’d have a quiet word with some of Frank’s friends if he got the chance today.’

  ‘Someone must know where he is!’ Coral burst out.

  ‘I tried last night, I tried to find out, but the kids won’t talk to me and—’ She shuddered, remembering the wisps of poisonous vapour curling, crawling over the bonnet of her car.

  ‘What do the police say — about the damage to your car, I mean?’

  ‘Same as last time: drug dealer, warning me to stay off his turf; a pupil with a grudge. But it wasn’t like that, Coral. All I did was I ask a few kids some questions—’ Suddenly she was shaking. What was there to stop him going for her instead of her car, next time? An HIV-infected needle in the neck, acid in the face?

  ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Coral enfolded her in her arms. She smelled of Opium perfume. Her bangles clacked as she smoothed Geri’s hair, comforting her. After a couple of minutes the shaking subsided and Geri drew on her reserves of strength and stood.

  ‘You stay away from trouble, y’hear? Keep your head down and stay well out of it, and everything will be just fine.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Geri said, wishing she could believe it. She had her hand on the door handle, ready to leave, when Coral added:

  ‘Before you go — what exactly do you mean by “Same as last time”?’

  * * *

  Geri decided to go into the city centre on her way home to talk to Adèle. It wasn’t as if there was anything to rush home for, since Nick still wasn’t speaking to her — she had heard him come in at two a.m., but he had slept downstairs, and he had stayed out of her way as she got ready for work. She was still too angry with him to tell him why she had been so late.

  Adèle’s usual pitch had been taken by a man. At first, Geri was wary of approaching him. She no longer knew who it was safe to talk to — who she was allowed to talk to. But he was friendly: he and Adèle had done a swap, he told her, and Adèle was outside Waterstones. Adèle smiled over at her, as she crossed the road. ‘’Lo, stranger,’ Adèle said, as she came closer. She looked tired and very pale. Geri stoo
d to one side so that she could carry on selling her magazines.

  ‘I heard about the lad,’ Adèle said.

  ‘You did?’ Geri felt a surge of optimism. If Adèle had heard, it meant that Frank had been seen about. ‘Can I buy you a meal?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to talk about him.’

  Adèle stopped her plaintive chant, ‘Buy a Big Issue, help the homeless!’, and gave Geri a curious look. She shrugged. ‘Okay. Half an hour. Pizza Hut.’

  Geri went into Waterstones determined only to browse and came out with a study guide to Romeo and Juliet and two paperbacks. Adèle was still selling, so she went to the Pizza Hut and waited. When Adèle arrived fifteen minutes later, Geri was absorbed in Behind the Scenes at the Museum.

  ‘Sold the lot,’ Adèle said, when she came in. ‘’S funny, right? Windy days you’ll hardly get a sideways glance — people are too busy rushing to get out of the cold. But a still day, like this . . .’ She grinned and jingled the coins in her pocket.

  ‘So, what’re you having?’ Geri asked.

  Adèle shot her a shy look. ‘You’re buying?’

  She had the Four Seasons with extra cheese and pepperoni.

  ‘Any news from the housing trust?’ Geri asked.

  Adèle grimaced. ‘Takes time,’ she said.

  ‘How did you manage in all that snow?’

  ‘Emergency shelter.’

  ‘Still, you’ll be back in your warehouse by now.’

  Adèle picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite. ‘Moved out,’ she mumbled through a mouthful.

  ‘I thought you liked it there.’

  Adèle shrugged.

  ‘Have you found somewhere else?’

  ‘I’m gonna move into a hostel, when a place comes up.’

  ‘I thought you hated hostels.’

  Another shrug. This is like pulling teeth, Geri thought.

  Adèle seemed to sense her exasperation and added, ‘Lost all my stuff.’

  ‘Lost? How?’

  She didn’t answer.