‘Steph seems pretty sure it was murder.’
Margaret’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh God. That … God, that makes even less sense. Why didn’t Leo tell me?’
‘He probably didn’t want to say anything until it was definite.’
‘God,’ Margaret said again. ‘Who would do something like that? There’s not a soul in the world who’d wish harm on Auryn.’
‘Apart from Henry?’ Daniela said it without thinking.
Margaret’s expression froze. ‘Is that why you’re here?’ she asked. There was no trace of drunken laughter in her voice now. ‘You think Henry did this?’
‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it?’
Margaret shook her head firmly. ‘No. No, he’d never do something like that.’
Are you sure? Daniela remembered bruises and broken fingers; the twinge in her ankle that’d never fully healed; the soul-deep fear she’d never lost whenever she thought of that day by the riverbank; Henry’s smile. ‘It’d be easy for someone to slip and fall here.’
‘He hates our family,’ Daniela said.
Margaret’s lips thinned. ‘Can’t dispute that, can I? You gave him more than enough reason. But if he wanted to take it out on you kids, don’t you think he would’ve done something before now? He’s never lifted one finger against Auryn or Stephanie, not in seven years. Why now?’
Daniela didn’t have an answer to that. ‘But he does hate us,’ she said.
‘Maybe once. But the day you got put away, he said, “That’s it, it’s over.” He’s never spoken of it since. And any bad feeling was towards you— Well, to you and Franklyn. And Steph, I suppose. But he liked Auryn.’
‘Even when Auryn was dating Leo?’
Margaret sat back and folded her arms. Her eyes shone. ‘All right, perhaps there was some bad feeling there as well. But that was years ago. Henry wouldn’t still hold a grudge. He certainly wouldn’t kill someone. God.’ Margaret pushed her hands through her tangled hair. ‘You know what I should do? I’ll call Stephanie.’ She reached for her phone, on the table beside her. ‘I can—’
‘No!’ Daniela was out of her chair in an instant. She swiped the phone from Margaret’s hand.
Margaret stared at her in shock. Then she drew herself up and gathered her dressing gown, closing the gap at the top of her pyjamas as neatly as she’d closed the curtains. ‘You’re no better than you used to be,’ she said. ‘And you’re lucky Henry isn’t here. What were you planning to do to him this time?’
Shame took away Daniela’s breath. I’m not that person anymore. But if that was true, why was she here? Why had she tracked across the village to confront Henry when the sensible thing to do was to just leave?
The urge was for her to turn on her heel and walk out. Take her anger. Let it fester forever inside. But for once in her life she made herself stop.
She held out the phone to Margaret. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘For coming here. For coming back. I never meant to dredge everything up again. I should’ve stayed away. I’ve hurt you all so much already.’
‘Well.’ Margaret sniffed. ‘That’s as may be. But you’re here now. I don’t want to know why you’re hiding from Stephanie, but I’d advise you to stop doing that. You need all the family you can get right now.’ She took the phone. ‘And you need to quit holding on to the past like this. It’s doing you no good at all.’
Margaret took Daniela’s glass and put it back on the cabinet. As Daniela watched her, she thought about the gold rings in her back pocket. One more thing from the past she was clinging on to. One more thing to which she had no claim.
Without Margaret seeing, Daniela slipped the rings down the side of the sofa. Next time Margaret lifted the cushions she’d find them. God knows what she’d think, but Daniela would be long gone by then, one way or another.
When Margaret turned back, she was all business. ‘You’ve got somewhere to stay tonight, I assume,’ Margaret said.
‘There’s some rooms at the Crossed Swords,’ Daniela said. ‘I’m sure Chris will let me stay if I need to.’ Not that she intended to stay, of course, but the answer seemed to satisfy Margaret.
Margaret sighed. She reached to straighten Daniela’s collar. ‘Honest to God, you and your folks drive me to distraction. You realise that in another life we could’ve been family, don’t you? If Leo and Auryn had stayed together, I mean. I might’ve liked some daughters.’
She ushered Daniela to the back door. As Daniela brushed past, Margaret caught her arm and pulled her close to plant a kiss on her cheek. The gesture caught Daniela so much by surprise that she didn’t know how to react.
‘I’m sorry for what I said,’ Margaret said. ‘I know you’re a different person now. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here – you would’ve stayed away forever.’
Daniela mumbled a reply.
‘Take care of yourself,’ Margaret said seriously. ‘The police will figure out what happened to Auryn, but until then, you stay safe, okay?’
‘I will.’
Margaret rubbed away the spot of lipstick she’d left on Daniela’s cheek. ‘You get yourself home,’ she said. ‘Back to – where is it you’re living now?’
‘Birmingham. We’ve got a flat in King’s Heath.’ Although not for much longer if I come home empty-handed.
‘Oh, “we”, is it?’
Daniela bit her tongue. ‘Yeah. Me and – and the person I’m living with.’
Margaret gave a knowing little smile. ‘Serious, is it?’
‘Yeah.’ About as serious as it gets. I hope.
‘I’m glad. You deserve a new start, Daniela.’
‘Thank you,’ Daniela said, and meant it.
Margaret flashed that smile again, then shut the door. Daniela heard the key in the lock.
32
A straight line from Margaret McKearney’s house to the Briarsfield tractor trail would take her back through the woods, along the path she’d used most frequently as a child. Daniela wondered if she should take a different route, in case Stephanie was out looking for her. But she didn’t want to go near the site of the old Kirk Cottage, or the Crossed Swords, or …
She was running out of safe places in this village.
Then, without consciously making a decision, she turned north instead of south. Towards Winterbridge Farm, where, according to his ex-wife, Henry McKearney rented a cabin when he was in town.
The back of her mind itched with the need to know what’d happened to Auryn. It was more urgent than retrieving her money; more urgent than getting out of Stonecrop. She had to know if Henry was involved.
As she walked, she clutched her mobile phone in her pocket. Should she call Stephanie and tell her Henry had been in town recently, talking to Auryn? Daniela would’ve liked to let the police take over. She had no particular dislike of the police beyond her own unpleasant interactions with them. But they were no more infallible than anyone else. They made mistakes and assumptions, they misinterpreted words or actions, they held opinions.
Stephanie, despite her myriad faults, was an honest person. A good officer. Unfortunately, she’d weighed up the evidence and found it pointing at Daniela. And, like the good and unbiased officer she was, Stephanie acted on what she believed was the truth. Even if it meant taking down her sister.
Daniela knew what would happen if she got arrested. She was still on licence from prison. Never mind if the truth eventually came out – she couldn’t afford to spend another night in police detention. There was too much at stake. Much more than just her liberty.
Winterbridge Farm wasn’t far outside Stonecrop, situated in a scenic but exposed position next to the River Bade. Daniela remembered it as a run-down homestead with a few cowsheds. From what Margaret had said, Eric Winters had done some renovations. Daniela struggled to remember Eric. A middle-aged farmer with a much younger wife and a notoriously short temper. Daniela recalled being chased off his land at least once.
She stuck to the roads. If any cars came along, she�
�d hear them and dive over the hedge long before they got close. It was a risk worth taking. She’d left the woods behind, and had no urge to go cross-country through the muddy fields.
Behind the thick clouds, the sun had long ago sunk below the horizon. The wind and rain came in little bursts and flurries, sometimes dropping off to nearly nothing. Daniela wondered how long it’d be until the police could get here.
The floodwater deadened all sound. Apart from the wind rustling the hedgerows, the evening was silent, the fields empty. Most of the farm animals had been moved elsewhere to escape the floods. It occurred to Daniela there would’ve been no such escape for the wild animals – rabbits and foxes and badgers, all drowned or driven out of their burrows. Daniela had never considered the cost to the land and the wildlife.
That’s because you never consider anyone but yourself.
She drew her stolen jacket tighter. The stress and the cold conspired to send her thoughts in random directions. The day felt like one endless bad dream.
She wondered if this was Hell; a deserted, flooded town, where she would wander forever without escape, always pursued, never allowed to rest.
She thought about her dad, at the banister on the landing, planning how to make a dive look like a fall.
She thought about Auryn, growing cold and stiff on the bed in the junk room of the old house.
She wished she had a home she could long for.
She kept walking.
Winterbridge Farm, when it finally came into view, looked deserted. The farmhouse was a large, blocky structure, visible only as a smudge in the darkness because it’d been repainted brilliant white. The three cowsheds were blobs of shadow. The air was tinged with the thick smell of manure. Most people would’ve been put off by the smell, but to Daniela it was a pungent reminder of home.
Closer to the road were a number of smaller structures, the size and shape of shipping containers – the holiday cottages Margaret had mentioned. On the road beside the gate, a blue estate car wallowed with floodwater up to its wheel arches, its nose pointed towards Stonecrop.
The lane sloped down to the farmhouse and the river beyond. The gradient was so slight it was only noticeable when the river flooded. The low-lying fields around Winterbridge suffered the brunt of the damage, with half the land fully waterlogged. It was a wonder the family hadn’t given up and moved long ago … except who would buy the place? The holiday cottages looked like an effort to mitigate the income lost to the river each year. A few tenants during the summer months would cost less in terms of space, food, and general hassle than a herd of cows.
Daniela paused. The place was so quiet. The river was too swollen and turgid to make any noise.
As she descended towards the farm the water became deeper by imperceptible increments, until it lapped the top of her wellies. She was glad when she reached the gate to the holiday cottages and pulled herself up onto a raised pathway that, although also flooded, was easier to traverse.
The holiday cottages, on closer inspection, were little more than wooden cabins with rough-hewn edges and a coat of paint to make them more enticing. They were set on concrete mounts out of the floodwater. Each had a small area of decking, a redbrick barbeque pit, and a pleasant view of the river and the fields. Behind them, partially sheltered by a hedgerow, was a square building that housed communal toilets and showers.
All five cabins looked empty, their doors locked and their windows shuttered. Daniela didn’t know which one Henry rented. She stopped in front of Cabin 4 because its shutters were open.
Daniela stood on the deck debating how difficult it would be to break in. The windows were single pane, easy to smash. On impulse she tried the handle of the door.
33
The door was unlocked, but Daniela paused with the door half an inch open. No one locked their doors in Stonecrop, but this was different. A holiday cottage, next to the road, away from the farmhouse … No matter how trusting or complacent Eric Winters had become, he wouldn’t leave this place unsecured.
‘Hello?’ Daniela called quietly. ‘Anyone here?’
No reply. The air that breathed out through the crack smelled of wood sealant. Daniela eased the door open.
As expected, the cabin was compact but well designed. A small kitchen was wedged into one corner. A fold-out table formed a barrier between the kitchen and a tiny seating area, with two chairs and a broom in the corner. The other half of the room had a double bed covered with a rumpled duvet. A small TV was mounted on the wall.
There was nowhere for anyone to hide, but Daniela checked under the bed and table, just in case. The place was empty. Dark, too. Daniela stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do next. There was a light switch next to the door, but even if the power was still working, turning on the overhead light would make the cabin visible from a mile away.
She switched on her phone as token illumination. As soon as she did so, an incoming text message beeped loud enough to make her jump. She swore under her breath.
Ignoring the unopened message, Daniela used the screen as a makeshift torch and searched the cabin. She pulled her sleeve down over her hand to avoid leaving fingerprints. She lifted the mattress but there was nothing beneath.
Under the table she found a bin bag containing some twists of used Sellotape and a ripped piece of blue plastic. It looked identical to the plastic that’d covered the bundle of notes Daniela had found at Auryn’s house. Her heart leapt. But there was no sign of the money.
She checked the floor under the table. The dim light from her phone wasn’t an effective torch. Every so often it went dark and she had to unlock the screen again to re-illuminate it. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for.
In the gap where the table folded into the wall, she spotted a scrap of paper, no bigger than a sweet wrapper, crumpled and ragged as if it had got damp. Really, it could’ve been wedged in the hinge for months. But Daniela flattened it out anyway.
A mobile phone number was scrawled in hurried, spidery writing. The ink had faded with age or exposure to water.
Daniela stood up. She didn’t know what else she might be looking for.
She moved the chair to check the floor underneath and nearly knocked over the broom leaning against the wall. Except it wasn’t a broom. It was a twelve-gauge shotgun.
Someone had left it propped with the barrel pointing at the ceiling. Daniela’s blood ran cold. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for its presence – Eric Winters probably owned shotguns for vermin, and it was entirely likely he might stash it away from the main house if, say, he didn’t have a licence. But, coupled with the blue wrapper in the bin bag, Daniela felt it was more than that.
Who would leave all this evidence lying around in an unlocked cabin?
It was too careless; the actions of someone who wanted to get caught. If Henry had been here, why would he leave these things behind? Why wouldn’t he lock the door?
Unless he hadn’t left. There were no obvious signs that the cabin was in use – no clothes or personal items or cooking utensils left on the counter – but that wasn’t necessarily proof.
On impulse, Daniela opened the slimline fridge. The light came on; she wished she’d thought to do that while she’d searched the cabin. Inside was a packet of bacon, two cans of beer, and an open pint of milk, all in date.
In the better light, she found a cupboard set into the wall beside the bed, containing a holdall of clothes.
Okay, so someone had used the cabin recently. They must’ve left in a hurry, Daniela reasoned, because otherwise they would’ve locked the door—
She turned, realising what was missing from the small space. When she’d walked past the other cabins, she’d seen but hadn’t fully registered the communal shower block outside.
If the occupant needed to piss during the night—
Daniela shoved her phone and the scrap of paper into her pocket and ran for the door. Before she could reach it, a torch beam swept across the deck
ing outside.
She retreated fast to the far side of the cabin. There was no back door, not even a window other than the two on either side of the front door. She was trapped.
Outside, she heard the steady sloshing of someone wading through ankle-deep water. The noise stopped as the person stepped up onto the decking, accompanied by a bobbing circle of light from the torch.
The cabin door opened and Henry McKearney stepped inside.
He reached out automatically and flipped the overhead light on before he clocked that someone was in the room with him.
There was a frozen moment when they both blinked in the harsh of wash of electric light. It’d been a long time since they’d seen each other. Henry hadn’t aged gracefully. His eyes were pouchy and the skin of his cheeks slack, as if gravity was twice as heavy for him. His red hair was thin and greying. The collar of his bulky black jacket was turned up against the cold, and he carried a roll of toilet paper tucked under his arm.
Instantly Daniela was taken back to that night seven years ago. The smell of water, and blood, and metal. She felt cold fear squat in her belly.
If Henry hadn’t been entirely blocking the door with his bulk, Daniela would’ve barged past him to freedom while he stood gawking at her. Instead, she spun around and snatched up the shotgun.
Henry didn’t move, even when she levelled the shotgun at him.
‘This,’ he said in his familiar, smoke-gravelled voice, ‘is a surprise.’
Daniela’s hands shook. The shotgun felt heavy and unnatural in her hands. It was unnerving how easily her finger slipped inside the trigger guard. The metal chilled her palms.
Without taking his eyes off her face, Henry slid away from the door to stand by the bed, allowing room for her to bolt for the exit. When she didn’t move, he said, ‘Why’re you here?’
Daniela kept the weapon trained on him while she grabbed the blue plastic wrapper and threw it onto the table. ‘That,’ she said. ‘Explain that.’
Henry lowered himself to the bed. Every move was slow, cautious. Daniela tried to steady the shotgun at waist height. Now Henry was sitting down, it put her aim on his head rather than his stomach.
The Flood Page 20
