Last Rites (27 page)

‘How’s Maggie?’ Preece asked finally. ‘Is she coping?’

‘No, not really. Sometimes I wonder if she’ll ever get over it.’

‘Losing a kid must be bad enough, Frank, but not the way Amy died.’

Coulson nodded.

‘And what about you?’ Preece added.

‘It wouldn’t do for both of us to give up, would it? What would Amy think?’ He tried to force a smile but couldn’t quite manage it. ‘I’d better go.’

Preece walked him to the front door where they shook hands and then the farmer watched as Coulson climbed into his waiting car.

‘Be careful with that shotgun,’ Preece called, waving his friend off.

Coulson didn’t reply. He swung the car around in the muddy yard and headed back towards the main road.

69

‘At least let me drop you off,’ Mason said as he watched Kate Wheeler pull on her clothes, her face still flushed.

She didn’t answer him, merely continued dressing as quickly as she could, finally stepping into her boots.

‘It might not be anything serious,’ Mason offered, aware that his words of encouragement were both strained and also wasted.

‘They wouldn’t ring if it wasn’t serious,’ Kate countered, snatching up her keys and heading for the front door of the flat with Mason in hot pursuit.

‘What did they say?’ he wanted to know.

‘Just that there’d been an incident, they wouldn’t say any more.’ She slammed the door of the flat and locked it. ‘You go back to the school. I’ll be fine. I can get to the nursing home on my own.’

‘Don’t be bloody stupid. Come on.You can direct me.’

They hurried across to Mason’s car and he started the engine, stepping on the accelerator and guiding the vehicle out onto the road. It was quiet on the thoroughfares of Walston and he drove as quickly as he dared, aware that Kate’s agitation was growing by the minute. Nevertheless, she gave him directions tersely enough and within less than ten minutes, he was pulling up outside a set of tall iron gates set into white-painted walls that protected a short driveway leading towards a three-storey brick building with a newly tiled roof. A plaque on the wall beside the right-hand gate announced, Durnford House, Care Home.

Mason guided the car into position and Kate scrambled out of it without waiting for him to open her door.

‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ he asked.

‘No, there’s nothing you can do anyway,’ she told him.

‘I’ll wait here and take you home.’

‘No, Peter, just go. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

She slammed the car door and before he could say anything else, she had disappeared through the black-painted main door into the building, the door closing behind her. Mason waited a moment then guided the car away from Durnford House back onto the main road.

As Kate Wheeler walked into the hall of the building she let out a deep breath, glancing around her at the lobby with its reception desk and prettily papered walls. There was soft music playing gently in the background, piped into the reception from somewhere in the rear of the building. An unattended computer was perched on the dark wood desk straight ahead of her, the screen displaying an electronic fish swimming slowly back and forth like the resident of an electric aquarium. As ever, Kate was reminded more of the lobby of a hotel than of a place of care and healing.

She walked across to the desk, wondering where everyone was. Surely, even with the clock on the wall behind the reception showing 11:05 pm someone should be on duty. There were closed wooden doors to her right and left and an open archway to the right of the reception that she knew led through to the residents’ rooms beyond.

It was from this archway that Richard Holmes emerged.

He was smiling.

70

Mason didn’t realise he was being followed until he was less than two minutes from the main gates of Langley Hill.

Ordinarily, the fact that another car was on the road behind him would have been of complete indifference to him, especially as he had other things on his mind. Nine out of ten times he wouldn’t have even been aware of another vehicle tracking him but, on roads as quiet as those around Walston, it wasn’t too difficult to spot. The fact that one of the pursuing car’s indicators was broken also made it more conspicuous.

Mason continued to drive at an even pace, wondering if he was mistaken about the other vehicle. Once he’d satisfied himself that he was indeed being pursued, he then wondered who it might be. And why? These considerations tumbled through his mind with the same irregularity as those about Kate Wheeler.Thoughts about her father. The look of fear on her face as they’d arrived at the nursing home and also, despite himself, the sight of her in her flat. Mason, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t push aside his feelings of lust for the woman. He felt a little twinge of guilt that he’d been so frustrated at her having to leave when she did.

It’s not her fault her father’s ill, is it? Perhaps you’d rather she’d have stayed behind and spent the night with you instead of checking on her only living relative.

He would ring her later he promised himself.

To see how her father is? Or to see if she wants you to drive back to her flat?

He shook his head, irritated with himself. There were more pressing matters to be considered at the moment.

The presence of the vehicle following him suddenly came to the forefront of his mind once again.

He checked his rear-view mirror and saw that the car was still behind him. It was keeping back a hundred or so yards, its driver obviously convinced that the night and the poorly lit roads around the town were aiding his anonymity.

On Mason’s right there was a lay-by and he slowed down and suddenly swung the car across the road and into it, leaving his engine running, waiting to see what the other car would do.

It swept past him, barely slowing down and Mason watched as its tail-lights disappeared behind a tall hedge that framed the road on one side.

Mason frowned, his eyes still fixed ahead, wondering if the other car was about to turn around and come back towards him but he saw nothing. He sat behind the wheel, drumming agitatedly on the plastic, wondering what his next move should be.

He could hear the wind blowing ever more urgently through the roadside trees, bending and shaking the branches every now and then. A piece of twig, broken loose by the strong gusts, came free and ricocheted off his windscreen. Mason sucked in a deep breath, startled by the impact. He turned off his own headlights and sat in the blackness, looking ahead for the other car. Surrounded by the night and the increasingly blustery wind he remained still, wanting to melt into the gloom. Not wanting to see the other car come back in his direction. He tried to swallow but his throat was dry.

He just wanted to be back at his cottage now with the doors and windows locked. Shut away from the night and from whoever might have been following him. He looked at the dashboard clock. It was 11:34 pm.

Mason waited more than five minutes before he restarted the engine, flicked on his headlights and then jammed the car into gear again. He swung it out onto the road, heading for Langley Hill.

If the car had been following him then it seemed the driver had tired of the game because there was no sign of the other vehicle anywhere. Mason squinted more closely into the rear-view mirror, wondering if the driver had decided to follow him with his lights off or adopted some other tactic to make his presence less conspicuous. But there was nothing on the road except himself. Maybe, he mused, it had been some kids trying to frighten him. Some local kids enjoying their idea of a game. Someone he’d inadvertently cut up in town wanting to teach him a lesson. By the look of it, whoever had been on his tail had finally tired of the game.

Mason shook his head.

On your tail? Where do you think you are? In a bloody detective film?

He saw the gates of Langley Hill up ahead of him and swung the car between the two pillars. The stone eagles that perched atop either one regarded him with blind eyes as his car swept beneath them. Mason guided his vehicle up the driveway, flicking his headlights on to full beam so they could cut through the night.

The car that had been following him was parked in some bushes about fifty yards further down, well hidden now and with the driver sitting in darkness watching intently.

71

Mason parked his car next to the cottage and glanced around him in the darkness for a moment before heading towards his front door.

The wind that had been building gradually that evening was now whipping frenziedly through the trees, the branches waving madly, some of the lower ones slashing at his face when he passed. He selected his front door key and was about to push it into the lock when he heard movement away to his left.

He spun round, certain that he saw a dark shape in the trees but unable to pick it out in the gloom. Mason stared into the impenetrable night for a moment longer, his heart beating faster, then he unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

The envelope was lying on his doormat.

Mason closed the front door behind him and stooped to pick it up, turning it slowly in his hand. There was no stamp and no address. All that it bore was his own name scrawled on the front in a hand that he didn’t recognise. It had obviously been pushed through his letterbox earlier that evening.

He walked through into the sitting room, flicking on lights in his wake, still holding the envelope. Finally, he flopped down onto the sofa and exhaled deeply. As curious as he was about the envelope, his first inclination was to reach for the phone and call Kate Wheeler and he flipped open his mobile and called her number.

No answer. Perhaps she was still at the care home. For one awful moment he wondered if her father might have died. Mason tried once more then finally left a message on her voice mail telling her to ring him back no matter what time she got home.

He put the phone down and returned his attention to the envelope.

The writing was large but untidy, letters scrawled the way a young child would produce them and Mason frowned as he opened the envelope. Was this a practical joke perpetrated by some of his new pupils?

He pulled the sheet of paper from the envelope and opened it out to inspect the contents.

SCHOOL LIBRARY

LOOK IN THE DESK

Please help me.

And that was it. That was all of it. Mason inspected the paper more closely, noticing that there were dark smudges on the sheet. He looked more closely, rubbing one index finger over the marks.The first of them resembled dried earth.The other was congealed blood. He was sure of it. But it was what was written at the bottom of the page that transfixed him.

SIMON USHER

Mason swallowed hard and shook his head. This had to be a trick. He thought immediately of Andrew Latham’s little group.Were they even now laughing at the thought of their prank? And yet, Mason mused, this seemed very basic for Latham’s cronies. There didn’t appear to be much cunning or much craft about it. He regarded the note once more and got to his feet, deciding that he wanted a drink.

‘What does it say?’

The voice startled him and he spun round.

‘The note, what does it say?’

Frank Coulson took a step out of the kitchen, the shotgun held firmly in his grip.

72

‘How the hell did you get in here?’ Mason snapped, the colour draining from his face.

‘The lock on your back door wasn’t hard to break,’ Coulson told him.

Mason took a step back, his gaze flickering from Coulson’s face to the yawning double barrels of the shotgun.

‘Just take what you want and get out,’ the teacher instructed.

‘Give me a break,’ Coulson said, dismissively. ‘If I’d come here to rob you I wouldn’t have hung around for a fucking chat, would I?’ He sat down in the nearest chair, the shotgun resting across his thighs.

‘What
do
you want?’ Mason asked, some of the fear leaving his voice to be replaced by curiosity.

‘Where’s the girl?’ he wanted to know. ‘The one you were with tonight?’

‘She’s not here.’

‘So what does the note say?’ Coulson persisted, nodding in the direction of the piece of paper that Mason still held.

The teacher took a faltering step towards him and handed him the note, watching as Coulson ran his gaze over it. Just for a second he wondered if it would be possible to jump at the man and wrestle the shotgun away from him but the thought passed as quickly as it had appeared.

‘What are you going to do?’ Coulson said, finally, dropping the note onto the sofa beside him.

‘About what?’

‘About the note.’

‘Why the hell should I tell you?’

Coulson lowered the shotgun so that it was aimed at the teacher.

‘Because I’m pointing a fucking gun at you,’ he breathed. ‘And I know that name. Simon Usher. He lived here before you, didn’t he?’

Mason nodded.

‘I know this is a small town but does everyone know everybody else’s business around here?’ he muttered.

‘That kid Andrew Latham that I mentioned earlier, is he up at the school now?’

‘He’s been expelled. I told you that.What do you want to do? Check his room?’

Coulson got to his feet.

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ he agreed. ‘Come on.’

‘Come on where?’

‘To the school.You’re going to find Simon Usher and I’m going to talk to Latham about my daughter.’

‘I told you, he’s been expelled,’ Mason snapped. ‘He’s not even there.’

‘There are kids up there who were his friends. I’ll talk to them. I want to know why he killed her.’

‘He didn’t kill her, she committed suicide.’

‘Because he forced her to,’ Coulson said through clenched teeth. ‘Just like he did the others.’

Mason frowned.

‘What others?’ he murmured. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Coulson let out an almost painful breath.

‘Switch your computer on,’ he sighed, nodding in the direction of Mason’s laptop. ‘I’ll show you.’