The Shadow Collector (14 page)

‘So your mate was in that Mini, was he? Nasty one. How is he?’

‘The hospital say he’s stable.’

‘That can mean anything,’ said the prophet of doom. ‘I believe you’ve come for the devil doll. I’ll be glad to get it out
of the place, I can tell you.’

He led Wesley over to the wrecked Mini. Wesley had noticed it when he’d first entered the cavernous garage but he’d been reluctant
to take a proper look. Now he could see that the bonnet was crushed, the driver’s door had caved in and the front wheel was
lying at a crazy angle. Neil had been lucky to get out alive.

‘I didn’t fancy touching the thing so it’s still in there,’ said the mechanic. ‘I’d get it out through the passenger door
if I were you.’

Clearly the man wasn’t going to do the job for him so Wesley walked round the vehicle and opened the passenger
door which had emerged from the collision virtually unscathed. He could see the doll lying by the handbrake, covered in broken
glass from the windscreen. To his surprise it seemed undamaged. Some superstitious souls might have said that some dark force
had protected it but Wesley tried to dismiss such thoughts as nonsense.

The wooden box lay behind it in the foot well in front of the back seat, having spilled out of the large cardboard box still
wedged on the seat spewing white polystyrene balls like snowflakes. Wesley picked the doll up carefully, repelled by the cold
waxy flesh which felt like a dead man’s, and placed it on the ground before retrieving the coffin. The top had sprung off
and he placed the doll inside on top of a bed of ancient yellowed paper, wincing as his hand brushed the rusty pins protruding
from the roughly shaped body. He looked down at his hand and saw a dot of blood.

‘What the hell is it?’ the mechanic asked, peering at the doll, his nose wrinkled with distaste. ‘Is it some kind of voodoo
doll?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Wesley softly, lifting the box and cradling it in his arms.

‘If I didn’t know better I’d have said that horrible thing’s cursed.’

‘How do you mean, if you didn’t know better?’

‘Well I can’t see a devil doll cutting someone’s brake pipes, can you?’

Wesley stared at the man, lost for words.

When Pam greeted Wesley at the front door she looked tired and her eyes were bloodshot as though she’d been crying. His first
thought was that she’d heard bad news about Neil but when he asked her she said she’d visited the
hospital on her way home from work and he’d seemed much better; on the mend.

He put his arms round her and kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled of something fruity, probably the new shampoo she’d
bought half price in their local Sainsbury’s. She squeezed his hand as though she was seeking comfort and his instincts told
him that something was wrong. And his news would make things worse. Someone had cut Neil’s brake pipes. Their friend had been
the victim of attempted murder. The thing the mechanic had referred to as ‘the devil doll’ still lay in the boot of his car,
safely packed in the cardboard box protected by snowy beads. Given Pam’s mood he’d probably been wise not to bring it into
the house.

Amelia was in her room getting ready for bed but Michael was still up, ostensibly finishing his homework but in reality listening
to music on his iPod. When Wesley marched into the dining room the boy looked up and took his earphones out, a half-smile
of greeting on his face. Then the sullen look returned, as though he’d suddenly remembered that displaying enthusiasm about
the arrival of a parent wasn’t the done thing.

‘How’s it going?’

Michael hung his head, avoiding his father’s eyes. ‘OK.’

‘Something the matter?’

‘No.’

‘Homework bothering you?’

‘No. It’s easy,’ was the indignant reply.

‘Your teacher says you’re very bright, you know. The best.’ It was always wise, he thought, to start with a bit of flattery.
‘That’s why your mum and I want you to do this exam.’

‘I don’t want to go to that grammar school. It’s rubbish.’

‘Who’s been telling you that?’

‘My mates.’ Michael began to write in his exercise book, a signal that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

Wesley put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and was gratified when he felt him relax. ‘You don’t have to take any notice of
them, you know. They’re probably jealous.’

Michael said nothing for a while. And when he spoke, the words came out in a whisper as though he didn’t want to be overheard.
‘Nathaniel’s doing the exam and they’ve started picking on him.’

Wesley knew Nathaniel, a quiet boy with glasses who resembled a young Harry Potter. Nathaniel and Michael had been inseparable
until Michael, desperate to belong, had begun to seek the approval of a cooler crowd. He leaned over and whispered in his
son’s ear. ‘And you don’t want them to do the same to you?’

The answer was a vigorous nod.

‘You don’t have to say anything about it at school. Nobody has to know.’

Michael shook his head vigorously. ‘Mrs Hughes keeps on about it. She takes a group of us out of the class for extra work.’

‘So it’s not just you and Nathaniel?’

‘There’s six of us. Me and Nathaniel and some girls.’

Wesley resisted the temptation to smile. In a few years’ time, Michael probably wouldn’t be taking such a dismissive attitude
towards the opposite sex. ‘Want me or your mum to have a word with Mrs Hughes? I’m sure she’ll understand.’

Michael jumped in his seat, alarmed. ‘No. Don’t say anything. Promise.’

‘OK. But whatever you do, don’t stop working. You can’t pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity just because a few lads in
your class don’t think it’s cool … or whatever the word is nowadays.’ He grinned. ‘I’m so old that I’ve lost touch.’ Wesley
ruffled Michael’s hair and the boy brushed his hand away. ‘It’s time you got some sleep.’

He saw Michael roll his eyes then slowly, reluctantly, he put his things away in his school rucksack and crept unwillingly
out of the room. Wesley sat for a while, hoping his words had got through. He remembered exactly what it had been like to
be young and different because of the colour of his skin, to be desperate to belong and to be tempted to follow the pack blindly.
It was a temptation which, after some difficult times and family help, he had managed to resist. And he’d hoped attending
the local grammar school would help his son to do the same.

As soon as he joined Pam in the living room she asked him if he’d eaten. When he told her he’d already had a takeaway curry
with Gerry she looked relieved.

She reached for the wine bottle on the coffee table and refilled her glass.

‘I’ve spoken to Michael and it seems these new so-called mates of his have been giving him and Nathaniel a hard time about
trying for the grammar school. I think Mrs Hughes has been drawing attention to the group doing the exam and that’s what’s
been causing the trouble. It might be worth having a word with her.’

Pam gave an absentminded nod and he could tell that something other than their son’s educational future was troubling her.
‘Something the matter?’

‘My mother rang just before you arrived. She’s on her way here. I told her it wasn’t convenient but … You know what she’s
like.’

He could see the strain on his wife’s face, the fine but deepening lines and the dark shadows beneath her eyes. In spite of
everything that had happened and all Pam’s efforts to distance herself, her mother still had the power to disturb the equilibrium
of their existence.

The doorbell rang and he saw Pam flinch. She picked up her glass and took a large sip. Dutch courage.

Wesley hurried into the hall, hoping the noise hadn’t disturbed Michael and his sister who were upstairs, probably looking
for any excuse to delay bedtime. But when they didn’t appear at the top of the stairs he took a deep breath and opened the
front door. Della was standing there with a bright shawl draped around her shoulders and standing slightly behind her, looking
nervous, was a man.

Wesley stood aside to let the visitors in and the man nodded to him gratefully, as though he’d expected to be turned away.
He wore jeans and an open-necked striped shirt underneath his leather jacket. His light brown hair was peppered with grey
and the flesh sagged a little around his jowls, but he was still a good-looking man, even though his eyes were bloodshot as
though he hadn’t slept – or he’d been crying.

‘This is Simon Frith,’ Della said breathlessly. ‘Simon, this is my son-in-law. He’s going to help us.’

Wesley’s heart sank. This was the man who’d been in custody at Neston, accused of molesting a child. He saw it all now and
felt like cursing Della for her thoughtlessness.

Wesley addressed Simon. ‘I’m sorry if Della’s misled you. I really can’t interfere in someone else’s case.’

‘But you can have a look at the files,’ Della interrupted, pleading. ‘The policemen who arrested him automatically assumed
the kid was telling the truth and Simon was lying. You can look at the evidence with fresh eyes and see if there are any loopholes.
Simon’s life is being ruined. He’s got young children … there’s even talk of him not being allowed to live with them. Please.’

Wesley looked at Simon and saw a film of tears welling in his eyes. If Della was right and the accusations against him really
were malicious, the man was in a truly dreadful situation. On the other hand, he knew molesters could be convincing and manipulative.
And if anybody could be manipulated, it was Della who’d always been a sucker for any waif and stray that crossed her path.
An inveterate believer in even the most far-fetched sob story, she always relished having a cause to fight for – some more
worthy than others.

‘What if someone made false allegations against you, Wesley?’ she continued, warming to her theme. ‘How would you feel if
you were in danger of losing everything? Your family, your job and your good name? Just think about it.’

He looked round and saw Pam standing in the doorway, arms folded, eyes focused on the floor. ‘Couldn’t you just talk to the
officer in charge of the case?’ she said quietly. ‘Sometimes people get on the wrong side of the wrong kid and … These accusations
against teachers are all too easy to make.’ She shrugged, resigned, as though she was talking about some minor occupational
hazard.

Wesley was aware that all eyes were on him now. ‘OK. If I get a chance I’ll have an informal word with the officer in charge
of the case, just to see the lie of the land. I’m afraid it’s the best I can offer.’

To his surprise Simon Frith grabbed his hand and began to shake it, like a parched man greeting a water carrier in a desert.
‘Thank you so much, Wesley. You don’t know what this means …’

Wesley was doing his best to keep his distance, to keep reminding himself that this man might be guilty as charged. But, along
with everyone else, he found himself being swept up in the wave of optimism. ‘No problem,’ he heard himself say. ‘But I can’t
promise anything.’

‘Why don’t you tell Wesley your side of the story, Simon,’ Della said like a pushy mother coaxing a child to speak in front
of the grown-ups.

Wesley raised his hand. ‘I’d rather you didn’t. I need to keep an open mind when I talk to the officer in charge of the case.’

‘It’s a DS Geoff Gaulter at Neston.’

‘I’ve heard the name. If I need to speak to you later I’ll be in touch.’

To his relief Della looked at her watch. ‘Let’s get you home, Simon.’

Simon suddenly looked apprehensive, as though he was unsure of the reception he’d receive from his family. But he followed
Della out, thanking Wesley profusely. Wesley stood at the door with Pam by his side, watching Della drive off.

‘Do you think I’ve done the right thing?’ he asked.

Pam put her hand around his waist and squeezed. ‘Like I said, it’s so easy for a kid to make a false allegation if they’ve
got a grudge against a member of staff and even if the story’s proved to be a complete fabrication, there’s very little come-back.
I know any form of child abuse is a dreadful thing but Simon deserves a chance like every other suspect.’

Wesley didn’t answer. Instead his mind had turned to Neil and the visit he’d made earlier.

‘I went to the police garage at Neston and saw Neil’s car.’ He paused, unsure how she’d take the news. ‘The mechanic there
said his brake pipes had been cut.’

Pam’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Are you saying someone tried to kill him?’

‘It looks that way.’

‘But Neil doesn’t have enemies. Who would …?’

‘God knows. But I intend to find out.’ He hesitated. ‘While I was there I picked up that thing he found at Mercy Hall. I’d
better get it from the car.’

‘Neil said it was some kind of doll.’

Wesley didn’t answer. He went outside. The rain had stopped and the cloud cover had vanished to reveal a full, bright moon
and a dark blue sky filled with stars. He stood there looking upwards for a few moments, awed by the vastness of the universe
which made the problems he dealt with seem almost insignificant. But those problems were anything but trivial to those involved.
He had seen the despair on Simon Frith’s face. He had seen Neil lying injured in a hospital bed. He had seen Boo Flecker’s
body lying in that field like a broken toy abandoned by a vicious child.

He opened the car boot and removed the box containing the wooden coffin carefully. The top had been replaced so that the doll
inside was hidden. But Wesley knew it was there. He could almost feel its presence.

And when he showed it to Pam a few minutes later, she insisted that he take it outside and put it in the garden shed. She
didn’t want the thing in her house. And Wesley couldn’t blame her.

*

It was ten o’clock when Lilith Benley looked out of the window. She could see the moon was full, casting a silver light over
the landscape. Full moon – once she’d believed it meant something. But prison had changed all that.

Earlier she’d heard the police at the door but she’d pressed her back against the damp wall by the window and stood, breath
held, until they gave up and drove away.