Lucas (19 page)

Lenny smiled. ‘That's confidential, I'm afraid.'

‘Ah, come on, Lenny,' Dad interrupted. ‘This is
us
you're talking to. You're not in the witness box now. Spill the beans, man.'

‘I can't, John. It's not allowed.'

‘And drinking on duty
is
allowed, is it?'

‘That's different—'

Dad grinned. ‘I'll tell you what – you tell us about the boy and we won't grass you up for drinking on duty.
And
I'll get you another cold one. How's that for a deal?'

Lenny smiled. ‘You're an evil man, John McCann.'

‘'Tis an evil world, Lenny Craine,' Dad replied. ‘Now, what about this boy?'

Lenny had gone looking for Lucas on the Sunday after the regatta. He hadn't known exactly where to find him, so he'd just set off along the beach with one of the island's two police constables, a young man called Pete Curtis. They'd heard that Lucas had done some work for Joe Rampton, and they'd also heard rumours about someone camping out in the woods, so their plan was to check along the beach, call in at Joe's, and then head on out to the Point. But they'd barely started walking when Pete Curtis nudged Lenny and said, ‘Is that him?'

Lenny had looked up to see Lucas walking towards them along the beach.

‘He didn't seem too bothered about anything,' Lenny told us. ‘He just walked up with a smile on his face, held out his hand, and said, “My name's Lucas. I expect you're looking for me.”'

‘How did he know where to find you?' Dad asked.

‘I don't know,' Lenny said. ‘It was a bit strange, to be honest.' There was a brief silence as Lenny gazed thoughtfully out of the window, rubbing at the back of his neck, then he shook his head, breathed in, and went on with the
story. ‘We took him to the station, explained that a complaint had been made, and that we'd like to ask him some questions. He seemed happy enough with that. When we told him he wasn't under arrest and that he was free to consult a solicitor, he just smiled and said that wouldn't be necessary. So, we sat him down and started with the usual things – name, age, address … and that's when it all went a bit loopy.'

‘Loopy?' I said.

Lenny frowned. ‘He told us his name was Lucas. When I asked if that was his first or last name, he just looked at me and said, “Neither. It's just Lucas.” I said, “What do you mean? You can't have just
one
name.” And he said, “It's not a crime, is it?”'

Dad laughed. ‘Well, is it?'

Lenny shook his head. ‘I don't know. I've got someone looking into it.'

‘Didn't he have any ID?' Dad asked.

‘Nothing. No birth certificate, no driving licence, no medical card, not a thing. All he had in his pockets was a penknife and some tobacco.'

I said, ‘Can't you trace him on your computer records?'

‘Not with just the one name, no.'

Dad said, ‘Didn't you ask him to explain
why
he's only got one name?'

‘Of course I did. I spent the best part of an hour on it. All I got out of him was that he didn't know when or where he was born, that he was an orphan, and that he couldn't remember the names or whereabouts of any of the homes he'd been brought up in.'

I remembered the photograph on the wall in Lucas's den, the pretty young woman with the spiky blonde hair and dark eyes. And I remembered Lucas saying –
It's my
mother. That was taken about fifteen years ago … I think she's probably dead
…

‘What about his age?' I said. ‘Did he say how old he was?'

‘Sixteen,' Lenny replied. ‘Which, if it's true, means he's free to live how and where he likes. Which is exactly what he's doing.'

‘How do you mean?' asked Dad.

‘He just drifts around from place to place. He does a bit of work now and then if he needs the money, but most of the time he seems to make do by living off the land. Fishing, rabbits, wild fruits, berries …'

‘A regular Robinson Crusoe,' Dad said.

‘Looks like it.'

‘Well, good for him.'

Lenny shook his head. ‘I don't know, Mac. It doesn't seem right.'

‘Why?'

‘Well, firstly, I'm not sure if I believe him. All this mystery stuff about who he is and where he comes from … it's a fair bet he's wanted for something somewhere, and he knows that if he gives us his real name he's going to be locked up or sent back to wherever he came from.'

‘Is that what you really think?' I asked.

He looked at me. ‘It's what my experience tells me, Cait.'

‘But what do you
think
?'

He paused for a while, then said, ‘I honestly don't know. Even if it is true, even if he is some kind of harmless nomad, just wandering around all over the place, I'm not sure I like it.'

‘Why not?' Dad asked.

‘He's just a kid, Mac. He should have someone looking after him. It's not a nice world out there … I mean, look at
this mess he's got himself into now.'

‘What
mess
?' Dad said. ‘He saved a girl from drowning – where's the mess in that?'

Lenny looked uncomfortable. ‘There are conflicting reports as to what actually happened.'

Dad frowned. ‘I
told
you what happened. The girl was drowning, Lenny. Lucas dived in and pulled her out. It's as simple as that.'

‘Not according to other witnesses.'

‘Like who?'

‘Ellen Coombe, for one.'

‘But she didn't
see
anything. She only turned up after Lucas had pulled Kylie from the sea. She saw him with her daughter, she saw the state she was in, and she jumped to the wrong conclusion. All he was doing was trying to make the girl look decent.'

Lenny took a sip of beer and looked at me. ‘Is that how you saw it, too?'

‘That's how it
was
,' I told him.

Dad sighed. ‘I don't see what the problem is, Len.'

‘The problem is, I've got half a dozen witnesses who back up Ellen's version of events.'

‘Well, they're lying,' Dad said simply. ‘Either that, or they're blind. Who are they?'

Lenny didn't answer immediately. He took a deep breath and rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. I knew what was coming, but even so, when he finally breathed out and began to speak, I was still shocked to hear the names.

‘Jamie Tait,' he said. ‘Bill Gray, Robbie and Angel Dean, Sara Toms …'

‘Oh, for Christ's
sake,'
Dad said angrily.

‘They were there, Mac. I've confirmed it. They saw what happened.'

‘I
know
they were there,' Dad spat. ‘They were hanging around on the rocks pissing in the wind while Kylie Coombe was drowning—'

‘John—'

‘Tait's a natural born liar, Lenny. Same as his father. They all are. You
know
that.'

‘Just calm down, John. Take it easy.'

Dad glared at him. His face was tight and his eyes were on fire. I thought for a moment he was going to crack up, but after a while his face relaxed and I saw the anger fading from his eyes. He breathed out slowly and lit a cigarette.

‘All right,' he said calmly. ‘What's
their
story?'

Lenny looked embarrassed. ‘Well … the way they saw it, Kylie
dived
off the raft when it reached the buoy. She wasn't drowning, she was just swimming.' He coughed nervously. ‘They're saying the boy went in after her and dragged her onto the beach—'

‘That's crap,' said Dad.

‘Mr Hanson has confirmed she dived in. So have his two boys.'

‘Who the hell's Mr Hanson?'

‘Derek Hanson – a friend of Mrs Coombe. It was Derek's raft—'

‘What kind of friend?'

‘I don't know – Ellen's divorced. He's the boyfriend, I suppose.'

‘He's bound to lie, then, isn't he?' Dad snorted. ‘What about Kylie? What does she have to say?'

‘She says she can't remember.'

Dad was getting irate again. ‘It's
ridiculous
. Why the hell would anyone dive in and drag a girl from the sea and then
molest
her in front of fifty witnesses? It's a bloody ludicrous idea.'

‘I know.'

‘So why are you even
listening
to these idiots?'

Lenny didn't answer.

Dad said, ‘What about all the others? What did they have to say?'

‘Not much. One or two tell it the same as you. Others go along with Tait and the rest. Most of them aren't willing to commit themselves. Either they didn't see anything, or it all happened too fast, or they can't remember … you know how it is.'

‘Yeah … it's pathetic.'

I got up from the table and went over to the sink to wash my face. I was feeling hot all over. Hot and sweaty and fluttery. It was all turning to hell, just as Lucas said it would –
people don't like it when they don't know what you are. They don't like things that don't fit. It frightens them. They'd rather have a monster they know than a mystery they don't
…

At the table Dad was still arguing with Lenny.

‘You surely can't
believe
all this, can you? You met the boy. Did he act like a lunatic?'

‘No.'

‘Did he seem deranged?'

‘No.'

‘So why would he do something that only a madman would do?'

‘I don't know … why would half a dozen people lie about it? Tell me that, John. What have they got to gain by lying? What's in it for them?'

Pleasure, I thought to myself. They gain pleasure from the suffering of others. Particularly from others they perceive as a threat. Lucas is a threat to them because he's different, because he's unknown, because he does things that they don't understand. And that makes them feel bad.

And when something makes you feel bad, you either put up with it, learn to like it, or you get rid of it. If getting rid of it is the easiest option, or the most pleasurable, then that's the one you take.

Right or wrong, that's the way it is.

I filled a glass from the tap and took a long cool drink.

Dad and Lenny were still talking.

‘… I wanted to keep him in for a while, at least until we'd done some more checking, but Toms told me to let him go.'

‘I should think so,' said Dad.

Lenny lowered his voice. ‘For God's sake, John. I didn't want to keep him in for
questioning
. I wanted to protect him. You can't keep this sort of thing quiet. What do you think's going to happen when the rumours start to spread? You know what people are like.'

‘You think he's in danger?'

‘I don't know … but I think it's probably best if he doesn't hang around …'

‘Did you tell him that?'

Lenny nodded.

‘And?' Dad asked. ‘What did he say?'

A puzzled look creased Lenny's face. ‘He said that he was content with what he was.'

Dad didn't speak for a moment. He just stared at the table, rubbing thoughtfully at his brow. Eventually he looked up and took a puff on his cigarette. ‘Martial,' he said quietly.

‘What?'

Dad smiled. ‘It's a quote from a first-century Latin poet called Marcus Valerius Martialis. “Be content with what you are, and wish not change; nor dread your last day, nor long for it.”'

O
n Wednesday morning Dad went into Moulton with Bill's mum. He needed some stuff from the big stationery warehouse in town, and Rita needed someone to give her a hand with a pine cupboard she was buying.

‘She'll probably want to buy me a burger on the way back,' Dad told me. ‘But I shouldn't be too long.'

I gave his belly a squeeze. ‘Take as long as you like. You never know – you might even enjoy yourself.'

He gave me a doubtful smile. ‘Yeah.'

After he'd left, I had a bath and got dressed and then I went downstairs and made myself some breakfast. In all the turmoil of the last few days I'd forgotten how restful the house can be when it's empty, and it was a real pleasure to sit in the kitchen munching toast and drinking tea and gazing out of the window without having to talk to anyone. I wasn't completely alone, of course. Deefer was out in the garden, lying in the shade of a cherry tree, chewing lazily on a bit of old bone. I could hear the grinding chomp of his back teeth and the occasional sharp crack as the bone splintered in his mouth. He had the bone lodged between his two front paws, and as he chewed on it his eyes wandered casually around the garden, checking on this and that. Every now and then he'd pause in mid-chew to concentrate on the movements of a bird or an insect, and then, satisfied with what he'd seen, he'd start chomping again.

I sipped my tea and started thinking about the day ahead. It didn't take long. There was the washing up to do, a bit of hoovering … Simon was coming round at six … and that was about it.

It wasn't exactly Thrill City, but I didn't mind – I enjoy a bit of boredom now and then.

After I'd stacked the dishes in the sink, I started wandering around the house. As far as I was aware, there was no particular purpose to my wandering, I was just bumbling around, enjoying the solitude and the silence, getting to know the house again.

In the front room I tidied up a few magazines, straightened the cushions on the settee, clicked on the television, then clicked it off again. I browsed the bookshelves for a while, reminding myself of all the books I'd always meant to read but had never got round to –
To Kill a Mocking Bird, The Bell Jar, Mehalah, The Ballad of the Sad Café
– then I went over to the large bay window that looks out over the garden. In the distance the tide was going out and the receding sea looked flat and silver in the low light of the sun. Flickering rays fanned out across the water like the veins of a petal. I rubbed my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair. The house was quiet.