Dark Tides (20 page)

‘Oh, I get it.’ The rain pinged off Callum’s bike helmet. ‘You’re saying the muddy footprint was a message for Rachel. And the chalk footprint was meant for one of us.’

I barely nodded, unable to find the words to express how much I wished it weren’t so.

‘What kind of plan do you have in mind?’ David’s voice was a strange monotone.

‘We stick together this Hop-tu-naa. All three of us, all day. We spend the night somewhere no one will think to look for us. We watch each other’s backs. We don’t tell anyone where we’re going to be. We keep our phones turned off so the signals can’t be traced.’

And I get to keep a close eye on both of you.

Callum gazed away through the rain towards the agitated waters out at sea, as if he was searching for something far off shore.

‘Twenty-four hours,’ I shouted. ‘That’s all. And if we get through it unscathed, if it turns out I was wrong, we can move on with our lives. All three of us.’

‘But say you’re not wrong.’ David turned to glance in through a window of the cottage, cupping his hands against the dirtied glass. I thought maybe he was afraid somebody could be listening to us, though there seemed little chance of that. ‘Don’t you want to find out who’s doing this?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And?’

You’re the detective, Claire. You figure it out.

‘There are a couple of people I think we should talk to.’

Which is why almost two weeks later, staring out through the windscreen in David’s BMW, I finally cracked open my door and turned to go.

‘Stay here. And remember, no phones.’

‘I still think one of us should come with you,’ Callum said.

‘Yeah, and I still think it’s a bad idea. We’ve been through this already. It’s better if I go in alone.’

Better, maybe, but believe me, that didn’t make it any easier.

The Caine residence wouldn’t intimidate me today. I’d been preparing for this visit. I’d rehearsed it in my mind many times. My strategy was locked down. My emotions were in check. I was going to march into Edward’s room and look over him in his bed, gaze deep into his bulging eyes, and demand to know if he was behind the deaths of my friends.

I paced up to the door and rang the muffled bell and stood waiting with my hands clasped tight. An image came to me, unbidden, of Mum standing alongside me in her winter coat, holding the turnip lantern. I could almost feel her there. Could almost smell her perfume. Curse this place. My heart beat so rapidly and so weakly that it felt as if it was filled with air. The anger was building inside me. The resentment, the bile. I fixed my eyes dead ahead and tried to calm myself but the door opened before I was close.

‘Can I help you?’

The woman was slim and blonde and unnaturally tanned. She wore a white tabard over a blue T-shirt, blue trousers and white plimsolls. She was holding a jug of chilled water in one hand and a small brown pill bottle in the other.

For just an instant, I was reminded of the framed photograph of Marisha that Edward had kept on his desk, and I was so startled that I almost forgot to speak. But then I saw that she had a first-glance beauty. Look beyond the cosmetics and you glimpsed the hard edges – the raised cheekbones, the beaked nose, the eyes a fraction too close together.

‘Mrs Francis?’

‘No.’ She looked me over with disdain. ‘She left months ago. I’m April.’

‘I’d like to speak with Mr Caine.’

‘Can I ask what it concerns?’

‘It concerns my wishing to speak with Mr Caine.’ I showed her my warrant card and gave her my name and rank. I could see that she wanted me to say more but she could want all she liked. I had the impression it wasn’t the first time she’d been confronted by a police officer.

‘Wait here, then.’

She swung the door closed like she was throwing a slap.

Many minutes later, she returned. The water jug and the pills were gone. The attitude wasn’t.

‘Follow me.’

I followed, but she didn’t lead me past the Persian rug and up the grand staircase as I’d expected. She guided me across the dark entrance hall towards the study instead.

‘Wait.’

She turned with an exaggerated sigh.

‘I’m here to see
Edward
Caine.’

Her painted lip curled into a sneer, but before she could reply, Morgan stepped through the doorway behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Father’s not available today, Claire. I’m afraid I’ll have to do.’

My first impression was that he’d aged dramatically. My second was that he looked a lot more like his father. He was stooped forwards, shoulders rounded, and the hand not resting on April was gripping a wooden walking stick. He looked pale and washed out, with patches of discoloration on his face and neck. The polo shirt he had on hung loosely from bony shoulders. I recognised the metal bracelet on his wrist from my police training. It was a MedicAlert tag.

His hand still hadn’t left April’s shoulder. It looked like a familiar enough gesture. If she hadn’t been wearing a nursing outfit, I could have believed they were a couple. She was a little low-rent for Morgan, and that intrigued me.

I glanced away towards the stairs.

‘Father’s recuperating from a heart operation. He mustn’t be disturbed.’

I should have told Morgan I was sorry to hear it. I should have said that I hoped his father was recovering well. But I didn’t. I’d been so sure of confronting Edward today that I was having trouble adjusting to this new reality.

‘Not a good time to be a Caine male. I’m sure you can tell that my Addison’s is playing up. It’s all the worry about Father’s health. My doctors have been adjusting my medication. Trial and error at the moment. I’m due to see a specialist in Manchester this afternoon.’ He patted April’s shoulder. ‘Poor April’s looking after both of us right now.’

Poor April didn’t blush. And she didn’t move. She was busy folding her arms across her chest and practising her who-do-you-think-you-are glare.

‘Can we talk in private?’

His smile became strained, and I saw more of his father in him then, as if Edward’s wasted features – his perished lips, sunken temples and grossly swollen eyes – were somehow emerging from behind Morgan’s younger skin.

‘Of course,’ he said, in a voice as welcoming as April’s work with the front door. ‘But I don’t have long. There’s a car coming to take me to the airport.’ He gave April a squeeze. ‘Would you check on Father?’

The sweet smile she gave Morgan as she sauntered off towards the stairs was very different to the one she offered me. ‘I was just on my way when
she
arrived.’

Morgan watched her go, then entered his study before I could stop him. I lingered a moment, but found myself drifting in behind.

My attention was immediately drawn to the massive fireplace. The darkly veined marble seemed almost to suck all the light from the room. I lowered my eyes to the grate. It was empty of coal. The hearth was spotlessly clean.

‘Drink?’

I spun towards Morgan so fast that I could almost believe I’d glimpsed a spectral echo of Mark’s ashy shoe print from the corner of my eye.

‘No, thank you.’

Morgan was leaning back against the big teak desk, his walking stick slung across the highly polished surface. There was a leather briefcase next to the walking stick with a red passport on top of it. One large and one small suitcase were propped against the wall.

Morgan folded his reedy arms over his chest and I found myself looking at his MedicAlert bracelet once more.

‘You seem tense, Claire. Is everything all right?’

Everything was wrong. Here, in this room. The spot where Mark had attacked Edward lay just behind me. I deliberately hadn’t looked at it, though I didn’t know why exactly. I could already tell that the carpet had been replaced. There could be no sign of any gore or mess. But I was afraid I’d be capable of seeing it all the same.

‘What is it you wanted to talk to Father about?’

‘Hop-tu-naa.’

‘You’re a little old for trick-or-treating, Claire.’

I glanced up then and caught something like amusement in his eyes.

‘Forgive me.’ He raised his hand. ‘It’s these pills. They affect my mood. Shorten my temper. I know why you’re here. It’s the same reason you were here last year.’

There was a prickling sensation across my shoulders, a gathering heat from behind me as if someone was watching from the doorway. I turned, skittish now, but there was nobody there.

‘It’s your mother, isn’t it, Claire? Part of you truly believes that something ghastly happened to her here. I can assure you that’s not the case.’

I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

‘No? Then what is it?’

‘The attack on Edward.’ I dug my nails into my palms. ‘Your father told me last year that he always believed there was more than one person involved.’

‘And?’

‘And two people have died on the island in the past two years, both of them on Hop-tu-naa. Something connects their deaths that I can’t explain.’

‘Not a ghost, I hope.’

‘A footprint.’ I gazed back towards the fireplace. ‘Just like the one that was left here on the night your father was attacked.’

Morgan moved away from the desk and hobbled over to stand next to me. He looked down at the hearth, almost as if he, too, could see the outline of the ashy footprint that I remembered so well.

‘Tell me if I’m missing something here, Claire, but are you suggesting the two deaths you mentioned are somehow connected to the attack on my father?’

‘Possibly. I don’t know for certain.’

‘Were these people murdered?’

‘I don’t know that, either.’

‘Is this an official investigation?’

‘Not at the present time.’

‘Then you’ll have to help me here, Claire, because I’m having difficulty understanding you.’

I was still transfixed by the hearth and the fireplace, my mind transposing visions and hearing voices from so many years ago that I almost didn’t notice when the words came tumbling from my mouth.

‘Your father is a very bitter man, Morgan. He has a lot of time to lie in his bed and think about how badly he was wronged. He’s rich. He has the necessary funds to hire certain people, to investigate certain things, to right a perceived wrong.’

Silence. I turned my head and found Morgan looking a shade paler than before, a fraction more like Edward.

‘I’m sorry, but are you seriously suggesting my father is killing people? He’s paralysed, Claire.’

‘Oh, but if you have enough money you can pay someone to do whatever you wish, Morgan. I bet April could attest to that.’

His pupils shrank to two small points and his lips became colourless and thin. He paused to compose himself before he spoke.

‘I think you should leave now, Claire. And please, don’t ever come back.’

I should have taken his advice. I should have dampened down the fire inside me and gone without another word. But somehow, I couldn’t stop myself.

I walked over to the doorway and took a step into the entrance hall beyond. I made a show of looking up and contemplating the elaborate balcony.

‘Do you ever ask yourself if your mother really fainted, Morgan? I know that’s what you were told. I know your father told a lot of people the same thing. But sometimes, I wonder.’

‘Do you, Claire?’ His jaw was set but it trembled all the same. ‘What do you wonder, exactly?’

‘I wonder about that beautiful young woman living here, with a sickly child and a much older husband it would be hard to love no matter how wealthy he was. And I wonder about that balcony, how high it is, and I can’t help but ask myself if maybe she jumped.’

I hurried up the driveway, shutting my mind to the first waves of self-loathing and remorse for the horrible thing I’d just said. When I hit the street, I spread my hand and signalled to David and Callum that I needed five more minutes, then turned and hustled away to my left. I knew that if I paused to explain what I was about to do, they’d try to stop me, and right now I was just mad enough to press ahead.

I crossed the churchyard and burrowed among the shrubs and trees that bordered the fence. The hole we’d crawled through all those years ago was long gone and a new panel had been installed. I kicked off my shoes and grasped for the branches of a nearby oak. I scrambled up the trunk and straddled the fence.

All was still and silent on the opposite side. The lawn was neatly striped, the grass lush. The mutilated female statues had been removed, replaced by a vast and impressive collection of topiary.

I looked across to the low side wing that housed the swimming pool. The patio doors were shut but that was of no concern to me. I switched my attention to the flat roof above the pool and the trio of large sash windows that lay beyond. All of them were open, net curtains being sucked outside by the breeze.

I dropped from the fence and crouched low, then ran at a stoop towards the edge of the patio, the grass wet against the soles of my stockinged feet. The wall that surrounded the patio was waist high and capped by wide flagstones. I sprinted along them, launching myself at the wall ahead of me with a grunt. I vaulted off the stippled render and grasped for the tarred lip of the flat roof, hoisting myself up and twisting at the hip until I was able to hook my right ankle over the ledge. I rolled over on to the mossy, foul-smelling space, looking down at the line of damp footprints I’d left on the flagstones below.

Plucking grit from my palms, I hobbled over to the nearest window and looked into the room.

Right place, wrong time.

Edward’s hospital bed still occupied the centre of the space but he wasn’t in it. The sheets were tousled, the pillows dented. A diaphanous lead that was connected to a medical drip was tangled up with a discarded pyjama top. The nearest table was littered with newspapers and pill bottles and plastic cups.

The door to the corridor was half-closed.

Now, a sensible person in a more rational state of mind wouldn’t have contemplated what I did next. But then, a sensible person in a rational state of mind wouldn’t have climbed over a fence and scrambled up a wall to find themselves in my position in the first place.

I pushed the net curtains aside, stepped in through the window and approached the bed. I lowered my hand to the sheets. Warm. An odour of sweat came up from them. I looked round for Edward’s wheelchair but it was nowhere to be seen. April must have taken him somewhere, I thought. The bathroom, maybe. A set of clean bed sheets were stacked on the club chair and I guessed April would be back soon to change the bed.

But I wasn’t leaving. Something was keeping me here.

I turned towards the far wall and the open shelves jammed with all the toys and belongings from Morgan’s childhood. I circled the bed, moving stealthily on my toes, and my extreme caution reminded me, jarringly, of the way I’d sneaked into Dad’s place just a few hours before. It had been shortly after five, long before Dad would be up and showered. I’d tiptoed along the hallway with a bouquet of lilies, setting them down on the kitchen counter with a note.

A fresh surge of shame welled up in me. I knew how upset Dad would have been when he found the note. And yet, I also knew I wasn’t capable of facing him. We hadn’t spoken in more than two months. My fault. Dad’s choice.

I’d resisted for a long time but the cruel suggestion Edward had made in this very room had eventually got the better of me. The corrosive suspicion he’d made me feel about Dad had begun to swamp my thinking, overwhelming all logic, until finally I’d cracked and confronted him about Mum’s disappearance, only to discover that there were some things our relationship couldn’t withstand.

If I were braver, I would have tried to fix things between us today. I would have talked to him about how Edward had got inside my head and the reasons why I’d said what I did, taking the risk that he might look at me with something other than hurt and disgust in his eyes. But instead I’d been a coward and I hated myself for it – hated Edward, too – and maybe that was one more reason for intruding on Edward’s life right now.

I moved to within touching distance of the jumbled shelves. There were countless books, stacked in all directions:
The Famous Five
,
The Hardy Boys
,
The Red Hand Gang
, and above them, Stephen King, Dean Koontz and James Herbert. There were old board games, old card games, old jigsaw puzzles. There were video cassettes, a mask and snorkel, a football, a tube of tennis balls, toy cars and model planes.

And then I saw it.

I reached out, then drew back.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Bun-Bun.

The last time I’d seen my old childhood companion Mum had been cradling him as she wept, just a few short weeks before her disappearance. But what was Bun-Bun doing here? Could Mum have given him to Morgan? I didn’t think so. He’d had so many toys compared to me, and Bun-Bun was special. So had Morgan stolen him somehow? Possibly. He knew where we lived. But as far as I was aware he’d never been inside our home, let alone my bedroom.

I pulled Bun-Bun down from the shelf and felt the familiar sag as his limbs slackened off and the beans in his rump dropped low. I smushed his nose against my upper lip, just as I used to as a child, but his scent had altered. He smelled of boy now. Of Morgan. I held him away from me and saw that his tail had become detached and was hanging from a single thread. His fur was matted and dirty. He looked unloved and uncared for. It broke my heart to see him like this, abandoned among so many other forgotten playthings.

For a few long seconds, I didn’t move. I just stared into his blank, beady eyes, as if waiting for him to explain the mystery to me. Then a voice from outside called my name in an urgent hush and I crossed to the window.

‘Over here.’

I caught sight of David, halfway up the tree I’d used to scale the fence. He had one leg draped over a thick bough and his hands were gripping the branches above him.

‘What are you doing?’ he hissed. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

Just wait
, I mouthed at him.

No
, he mouthed back.
You’re done. Get out.
He slashed his hand across his throat.

‘In a minute.’

‘No, Claire. Now. Don’t make me have to come in there for you again. Please.’

If the circumstances had been different, if he hadn’t been quite so insistent, I guess I might have argued the point. I’m fairly sure I would have stayed a little longer to see what other secrets the room might give up. But right then I heard April approaching from somewhere along the corridor. She was talking in a cheery, sing-song voice, and the gruff response she received sounded very much like Edward.

Time up.

I ducked out the window on to the roof, then lowered myself from the tarred edge and dropped on to the patio wall with a thud. I sprinted away across the soaked grass, weaving between the topiary, and leapt up to clutch the hand David was extending to me. He hoisted me over the fence, letting me down on the other side. I bent at the waist and fought to catch my breath. The branches and leaves cracked and rustled and David landed with a squelch among the mulch and vegetation.

‘Are you crazy?’

‘I’m just looking for answers.’

He shook his head and exhaled in a fast gush. ‘And what the hell are you doing with that?’

I looked down to where he was pointing. I hadn’t noticed until then, but Bun-Bun was gripped tight in my hand.