The Silent Pool (15 page)

The estate was a maze. There was one road in, but from that road there were dozens of roads that branched off and each of those roads had numerous roads off them, and then cul-de-sacs off those. Rachel was looking for an address on Laurel Grove. The estate's roads were all named after trees and so far she had walked the length of Ivy, Pine and Birch Road and she was getting more and more fed up. It began to rain. Her only consolation was that she had set off an hour earlier than necessary to get here because she was acutely aware that her sense of direction was not the best.

She considered sacking it off, calling the editor and telling him that no one was home, but she was a terrible liar and was sure her voice would crack and betray her deceit and, she told herself, if she failed when presented with such a tiny obstacle as finding an address in the rain then she didn't deserve to be a reporter.

She pulled the hood up on her anorak and carried on walking. She thought about ringing her boyfriend Graham, but given it was only late morning she knew that would be pointless. He would still be in their bed snoring off his hangover. Graham was signing on and still lived like an undergraduate. He hadn't wanted or needed to work as Rachel had, and this was a source of on going arguments. Graham seemed happy to live off his parental allowance and Rachel's miserly junior reporter salary. Something would have to give.

Rachel began to work herself up into a mild rage thinking about Graham and she mentally rehearsed a number of fantasy conversations with him that all ended up with him leaving or admitting he was wrong and leaving.
Maybe the time has come to end it
, she thought.

Lost in her reverie she was only half aware of the blue Transit van as it passed her. It was only the second car she had seen moving on the quiet estate roads that morning. There were plenty of vehicles parked in drives but given the employment prospects on this estate and the price of fuel, none seemed to be moving.

At the next junction Rachel turned left into Fir Avenue. She was completely engrossed in calculating how long it would be before she could buy a new pair of cheap shoes for her cousin's wedding and cursing the fifty pounds she had leant Graham so he could go out with the lads, when she became dimly aware that parked on a road to her right, about twenty yards down, was the blue Transit van that had passed her earlier.

Rachel looked at the street name: Laurel Grove. Two men were removing thick plastic sheeting from the back of the van. Rachel carried on walking but slowed her pace. The men, busy in their task, didn't notice her. There was something bird-like about the man at the rear, his angular frame and crooked gait. A rusty old claw hammer hung from his utility belt swinging as he walked. He wore a dark brown floppy hat with a wide brim that struck Rachel as out of place on the streets of Liverpool. They carried the plastic sheet between them and into the open door of the house opposite.

The door of the house slammed, echoing in the quiet streets.

Rachel stopped walking. There was nobody else around, but from inside some of the houses she could see a blue grey flicker from the living rooms. She felt a dread settle on her.

Pull yourself together, Rachel
, she told herself. She ultimately wanted to work on a national and be a foreign correspondent, and her she was, shitting herself on a housing estate, because of an odd looking man with a funny hat.

She walked slowly into Laurel Grove. ‘It's probably not even the house that you're looking for,’ she said aloud. As Rachel approached the van she could see the writing on its side: Charley Evans – Carpet Fitters. There was no telephone number or address.

Rachel stopped on the pavement opposite the house the carpet fitters had entered. She checked the number with the one she had been given. It was the house she was looking for. The street was dead silent.

The house looked perfectly normal: a 1930s semi-detached. The old woman lived there alone apparently. The curtains to the front windows were drawn as were the upstairs bedroom curtains.

Slowly Rachel began to walk across the street towards the house. The only sounds on the estate were the distant sounds of crows squawking. Rachel reached the driveway of the house and paused on the pavement.

Silence.

She listened for a minute and then slowly walked forward again, each quiet careful step taking her closer to the front door.

Rachel stopped a foot short of the door and cocked her head to one side. The silent house yielded no sounds: no radio, no chatter, no teacups being clattered and no hammer banging carpet nails into place.

Her hand moved towards the doorbell, her finger hovered over the white plastic.

CHAPTER 18

‘Right about what, Erasmus?’

There was a banging on the front door.

‘Are you expecting anyone?’

Jenna shook her head.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Probably nothing. I'm just a little jumpy.’

‘I better get it,’ she said. Jenna got up and walked out of the room towards the hallway.

Maybe it was just a little paranoia, maybe it was instinct, but as soon as she was gone he followed her, and as she made her way to the front door he slipped into the front room of the house.

He heard the door open and the low mumble of voices. Luckily the curtains were half drawn and Erasmus took up a position where he could look out on the front garden. From this angle he couldn't see the front door but what he did see sent adrenaline pumping through his body. A man was moving in a fast crouching run across the garden. Erasmus only saw him for a second before he disappeared around the side of the house but it was enough time for him to guess that the man was military trained: his movement and tactics were precise and methodical.

Suddenly, there was a scream from the hallway.

Erasmus was faced with a choice. He could run to Jenna's aid, but then he would be exposed to the flanking movement of the man he had just seen in the garden, who he was sure would be entering the house from the rear any second now, or he could seize tactical advantage by making use of the knowledge that they presumably didn't know he was in the house. He was pretty sure that he hadn't been followed and in any event, if they had, he would still be exposed to the flank. In the milliseconds it took Erasmus to consider the factors, he had made his decision and was moving.

The window was an old-fashioned sash window and he quickly unclipped the catch and pulled it up. He leapt out the window and hit the lawn running. He slipped around the side of the house. There was a wooden gate swinging loose. He pushed through and was in the large back garden. Without breaking stride he bent down and picked a piece of brick laying in the path's borders. He turned a corner at the back of the house and was greeted by the sight of an open door to the kitchen.

From inside the house there was another scream.

He ran through the kitchen: the door was closed. He would be vulnerable as he exited but he had no choice. He smashed through the door at pace and came right up on the man he had seen running across the front lawn. The man had his back turned to him and was beginning to turn to face the threat behind him.

Erasmus’ training had taught him many things, most importantly that there was never such a thing as a fair fight. If you started thinking that you quickly wound up dead.

Erasmus brought the brick crashing down on the man's head.

The man made a gurgling sound as his legs collapsed beneath him.

Erasmus didn't stop; he stepped over the prone body and rushed on into the hallway.

Jenna was about ten yards away. A young man, maybe early twenties, was holding her. She was fighting back furiously but the man was strong. His eyes went wide as he became aware of Erasmus’ presence.

‘Are you OK?’ Erasmus asked Jenna.

‘I'm fine,’ she said. And then to the man holding her, ‘Will you now please just fuck off!’

Erasmus looked at the man holding her again. He had gym-toned muscles, but he looked unsure of himself, frightened even. Erasmus guessed that's why he had been tasked with dealing with the supposedly easy target of a woman while his older, more experienced and currently unconscious colleague went around the back to surprise anybody else in the house.

‘Listen, son, you look fresh out of college. Maybe you go to the gym, work out, build those big muscles. That's all good. But I spent ten years being trained by the Army to kill people, to kill dangerous people. It's your call but if I were you were you I'd assess the odds and make the wise choice.’

The young kid's eyes looked beyond Erasmus.

‘If you are looking for your buddy he's laying on the floor back there unconscious. He's going to have a bad headache in the morning. So what's it to be?’

The men were both well dressed and healthy. This was not a robbery, Erasmus was sure of that.

‘Have you been paid enough to get seriously hurt?’

Erasmus started to advance slowly. The man's eyes darted wildly from side to side.

This could go either way, Erasmus decided. He clenched his fists and got ready to attack.

Just as Erasmus rocked forward preparing to charge Jenna turned and sank her teeth into the man's left arm just above the wrist. He screamed and pulled his arm away and with his other hand pushed her away. She fell awkwardly, banging her head on the table next to the door.

Erasmus charged. The boy didn't wait and shot out of the open door. Erasmus was about to give chase but one look at Jenna told him that she needed his help.

He sank to his knees and gently cradled her head.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

For a sick second he thought she wouldn't respond but then she opened her eyes and gave him a weak smile.

‘I showed him, huh,’ she said.

‘You sure did. Wait here.’

‘I ain't going anywhere just yet,’ she said.

Erasmus retraced his steps back to the kitchen. There was no sign of the older man other than a trail of blood spots that led out through the open back door. Erasmus closed the door and locked it. He ran the cold-water tap and soaked a dishcloth in the freezing stream.

When he returned to the hallway Jenna had moved and was now sitting on the steps. He sat next to her, their legs touching, and slowly ran his hands through her hair and against her scalp. It only took him a few seconds to locate the bump at the back of head. He parted her hair where he could feel the lump and gently applied the cold compress. He took her left hand and placed it on the cloth.

‘You need to hold that there. How are you feeling?’

‘Woozy, but I'll live.’

‘We need to get you to a doctor. There is a chance that you may have concussion.’

‘I'll be fine. I've had worse bumps falling off horses. Have they gone?’

Erasmus nodded. ‘Yeah, they've gone. Do you have any idea who they were or what they wanted? I don't think they were burglars.’

Jenna nodded slowly. ‘When I answered the door he just burst in. I didn't recognise him at all. He just asked me the same question over and over.’

She had begun to weep. Erasmus recognised the first signs of shock. He had seen it plenty of times before. He put his arm around her and she moved closer.

‘What question?’

‘“Where's Stephen?”’

Erasmus was about to respond but before he could say anything Jenna pulled him close and kissed him deeply. He responded instinctively kissing her back with a passion he had thought had become part of his past. They clung to each other and Erasmus moved his hands slowly up her back and stroked her neck.

Erasmus’ hand moved up her thigh where her skirt had rolled back. He felt smooth skin and then a silk edge. His fingers began to trace patterns on the delicate skin beneath the silk.

Jenna let out a low groan and then suddenly she pulled away.

‘I'm sorry, Erasmus. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. The shock, the stress of Stephen's disappearance…’ her words tailed off.

Erasmus wanted to take her in his arms again and tell her that everything would be OK but something had changed. Jenna was looking at her feet, her body now turned away from his.

‘What were you going to tell me? Before they came,’ she said.

He took a deep breath, and tried to compose himself.

‘That Stephen and Malcolm Ford's murder may be linked. Malcolm Ford was killed last week, Stephen has gone missing and Father Michael paid off Stephen's debts. This all happened recently and all of them are in that photograph. There's one other thing. A journalist I know spoke to Stephen before he went missing. He had arranged to meet her before he went missing. He told her that he wanted to talk about Bovind, that Bovind was the Devil. Bovind is in that photograph and I think there's a connection. ’

Jenna looked away and let out a small sob.

‘So he might be dead, like that lawyer?’

Erasmus took her hand. ‘We don't know that. Did Stephen ever mention Bovind to you?’

Jenna blinked and for a second Erasmus thought she was going to say something.

‘No. I knew they had been friends a long time ago but that was it.’

‘We should call the police,’ he said.

Jenna stood up, for a moment her legs looked like they wouldn't support her, but she tapped some inner strength and stayed upright.

‘No. You said you would help me and I need your help more than ever now. Those men were looking for Stephen. I want you to find him before they do. The police don't take me seriously. I need you to find Stephen. Will you do it?’

‘They may come back,’ he said.

Jenna managed a weak smile. She held his hand and looked into his eyes. ‘They aren't coming back, you saw to that, and anyway Theo will be home soon. I need you to go. I need you to find Stephen.’

She stood up and smiled weakly. ‘I'll be fine. I just want to go bed, I think.’

His mobile phone began to ring: Miranda. He considered not taking the call for a moment as Jeff was still at the forefront of his mind, but it was unusual for her to call him during the day unless it was about Abby. As was always the case when he received an unexpected call he braced himself for bad news.