Water Like a Stone (39 page)

“Where the hell are we?” he asked, panting, when he managed a few paces by her side. They’d turned right out of the farmhouse drive, rather than left, the way he’d become accustomed to going in the car.

“Shortcut to Barbridge. You’ll see. We’ll come out at the bridge over the canal.”

“Lally, you said you had to meet Leo, but I thought you hadn’t talked to him. I mean yesterday you seemed—I don’t know—pissed off. And you haven’t been allowed to use the phone—”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said shortly. “Remember yesterday he said for us to meet him? He will have waited last night. He’ll be there tonight.”

“But I don’t un—”

“I have some things of his. Or at least, I’m supposed to have some things of his. The problem is, I don’t.” She giggled, the sound brittle as glass. “And Leo never stops until he gets what he wants.”

“What do you mean, things of his. What sort of things?”

Lally slowed enough to look at him. “Oh, Kit, don’t be so dense. Pills. And other stuff. You sound just like Peter.”

“Peter?” Kit struggled to place the name. “Your friend who died?”

“Drowned. He drowned,” said Lally, with a vehemence Kit didn’t understand. “You even look a bit like him—that schoolboy-innocence thing.”

Kit felt the blood rise to his face, but before he could protest, she went on, “Leo called him a ponce, but he wasn’t. He was just…gentle. He was smart, and he was funny, and he could tell how I was feeling, you know? Without me saying.” Lally’s steps lagged until Kit had to slow his own. “And he knew how to touch me. It wasn’t that he’d been with other girls, it was just that he seemed to know what I was thinking, every minute, and he—”

“There’s the bridge,” Kit said, knowing it was idiotic but desperate to stop her saying more. He hadn’t realized Peter had been
that
kind of friend, and he didn’t want to think about what Lally had been doing with him—but then she’d said that
he
reminded her of Peter—

After that thought he no longer felt the cold, and was glad the darkness hid his blush. “About Leo,” he said, trying to focus on the other thing Lally had said. Somehow he found he wasn’t surprised that Lally had been holding drugs, or that Leo had given them to her. “You said you had Leo’s stuff, but you don’t anymore. Why not?”

“Because someone went through my fucking backpack and took
it.” The swearing didn’t quite hide the fear in her voice. They’d reached the stone arch of the bridge, and instead of crossing it, Lally leapt down onto the canal towpath like a mountain goat. “It must have been my mother, but then why hasn’t she said anything?” she went on. “She should have killed me, grounded me for life, and then some.”

Kit was forced to follow her again, single file, and her words came back to him in bursts, carried by the wind.

“Won’t Leo be worried about you getting in trouble?”

“No—can’t be traced to him, can it? He’ll want me to get it back, or make it up—”

“What do you mean, make it up?” asked Kit, not liking the sound of that at all.

But Lally only muttered, “You wouldn’t understand,” and kept walking, head down, as if suddenly afraid she’d said too much.

It was dark, so dark that Kit could only make out the water to his left as a deeper blackness. When something white flapped at them from the void, he jumped, grabbing Lally’s shoulder and pulling her to a halt. “What the—” Then, as his eyes adjusted, he realized where he was and what he was seeing. Beneath the wind he heard a creak of mooring ropes, saw the faint gleam of letters materializing against a dark hull. It was the
Lost Horizon,
and the streamer cracking in the wind was a loose end of the blue-and-white crime-scene tape wrapped round the boat. He was standing within inches of where Annie Lebow’s body had lain.

“Christ, Lally.” Kit thought he might be sick. “What do you mean, bringing me here?” he shouted at her. “Don’t you know—”

“Sorry, sorry.” Lally pulled at his jacket. “We’re not stopping here, but we have to go past. I didn’t think. Come on. We have to hurry.” She tugged at him until he stumbled after her, trying to shut out the images crowding into his mind: Annie, lying in the emerald grass of the towpath…his mother, lying against the white tile in their kitchen…

Then he was caught in the rushing corridor of his dream, running, running, trying to get help, while the room where his mother lay receded endlessly in front of him.

Lally’s shaking him brought him out of it.

“Kit, what’s the matter with you, for God’s sake? We have to climb the stile here. Come on.” Lally turned and vaulted halfway up, one leg over, and it looked to Kit as if she were disappearing into the hedge. He followed her, clumsily, the brambles scratching his hands. Jumping down on the far side, his feet sank into snow that had settled in the lee of the hedge.

Lally was moving up the hill, opening a gate and motioning him through. The surface under his feet grew firmer, and he realized they were on a bridge, crossing back over the canal. “Where are we?”

“My mum’s dairy. Don’t you want to see where they found the dead baby?”

“No!” Kit said, then amended, “It’s a crime scene.”

“So what’s a little tape?” Her teeth flashed as she glanced back at him. “Besides, it’s only a couple of minutes from Leo’s house, and this is where he said to come.”

Squinting at the outline of a peaked roof against the lighter sky, Kit caught a flicker of artificial light lower down, a match or lighter, or a quickly covered torch.

“He’s here,” said Lally, her voice gone suddenly flat. She stepped over the crime-scene tape that had drooped between its stakes.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” said a voice from the darkness. Leo stepped out of the barn’s entrance. He drew on a cigarette and the tip’s brief flare lit his face at odd angles, so that the planes stood out like shapes in a Cubist painting.

“Aren’t we going in?” asked Lally, with what Kit now recognized as manufactured disinterest.

“Nothing to see but some crumbling mortar. Disappointing.” Leo shrugged. “I should know. I waited last night.”

“My mum didn’t let me out of her sight last night. It’s only be
cause she went out that we could come tonight.”

“Did you bring it?” Leo asked, as if her excuses were meaningless static, and Kit felt Lally go suddenly still.

“No. It’s at our house. My mum won’t let Sam and me go back there. She doesn’t want us to see our dad.”

“So they haven’t kissed and made up, your parents?” There was something in Leo’s voice that made the hair on Kit’s neck stand up.

Lally took a little hiccupping breath. Dead giveaway, thought Kit. Instinctively, he reached for her, a protective hand on her shoulder.

She stepped away, but not before Leo had seen. There was a new tension in his posture, but he said lightly, “Is this your hostage, then?”

“What do you mean?” Lally asked.

“Coz, here. It’s a good night for a boys’ night out. What do you say, coz? I’ve a bottle of Absolut tucked away—no need to chill it in this weather. We can go to the clubhouse.”

“Leo—”

“Not you, Lally.” His voice was suddenly hard. “I said ‘boys’ night out.’ Go home. Go home and start thinking how you’re going to get your mother to let you back into your house.”

“Leo, I—”

“That’s the bad thing about letting people in on your secrets, Lal.” Leo spoke the words with a smile, but Kit knew it was a threat. “You can never be sure they’ll keep quiet.”

“Go on, Lally,” said Kit, knowing only that he wanted her to get away, and that he meant to find out what Leo was holding over her. If it was drugs, Leo would implicate himself if he told. But had he seen the scars on her arms?

“But—”

“You heard the man,” echoed Leo. “Run along now. There’s a good girl.”

“You’re a bastard, Leo,” said Lally, her voice shaking, but she turned away, without another look at Kit, and in an instant was lost
in the darkness.

Kit’s mouth went dry as he realized he wasn’t sure he could find his way back on his own. Follow the towpath, that was all. If he’d done it once, he could do it again.

“Not having second thoughts, are you, Kit?” Leo put the emphasis on his name, now that Lally was gone. “Come on, have some fun. I thought you city boys were sophisticated.”

“I don’t—”

But Leo threw an arm over his shoulders, propelling him away from the barn, and Kit realized that not only was the other boy a good six inches taller, but he was stronger than he looked. “It’s not far. Just across this field and into those trees up ahead. I’ve got a special place. I found it not long after we moved here. I could never see what my dad wanted with this old pile of a house, but the property had its unexpected bonuses,” he continued conversationally, but he didn’t let up his grip on Kit’s shoulder.

“Why’s Lally afraid of you?” said Kit, determined to take control of the situation, in spite of the hand at his back.

“Afraid of me?” Leo sounded hurt. “Lally’s not afraid of me. We look out for each other, that’s all. She has some habits that need to be kept in check. And I make sure she doesn’t get involved with people who might not be good for her. She’s a bit fragile. I wouldn’t want someone to take advantage of her.”

“I’m not going to take advantage of her,” Kit said angrily. He tried to shrug away, but Leo’s fingers gripped like steel.

“But you like her. Admit it.”

They entered the woods. The darkness closed in until there was nothing in Kit’s universe but Leo’s hand, and Leo’s voice.

When he didn’t answer, Leo said, “That’s a shame. Peter liked her, too.”

“I don’t like it,” Kincaid said as soon as they had stepped back onto the towpath. “What if we’re wrong and we haven’t told Babcock? We’re obligated, and even if the Wains are telling the truth, Ronnie will spend valuable time and resources trying to solve the case—”

“You’d sacrifice this family to save police resources?” Gemma stopped, turning to face him, and even though he couldn’t see her face clearly, he could hear the censure in her voice. “Gabriel Wain would lose his wife
and
his children—because wherever little Marie came from, she
is
his child,” Gemma went on.

“Babcock may get there by himself. He has access to the same records you saw. And if he does, and realizes we withheld information—”

“What? Your reputation would suffer a little damage?”

“And yours,” he retorted, stung. “We could both face disciplinary action.”

“If you think that matters more than people’s lives, then you’re not the man I thought.”

Kincaid heard echoes of his sister’s condemnation, and thought of the consequences of his insistence on doing what he thought right.

“Twenty-four hours,” he said. “We’ll sit on it for twenty-four hours, see what progress Ronnie Babcock makes on the Lebow case. We’ve got to make sure that Gabriel Wain is not connected to Annie Lebow’s death. You have to give me that.”

“Yes.” Gemma sighed and turned away, and as Kincaid followed, she added reluctantly, “I suppose I do, although I don’t believe he’s guilty.”

They crossed under the bridge, each occupied with his own thoughts, but as they emerged from the shelter of the arch, a figure came hurtling out of the darkness and cannoned into Gemma.

Gemma and her assailant went down in a tangle of arms and legs, both swearing, and Kincaid recognized the other voice.

“Lally? What in hell’s name are you doing here?” he said as he lifted his niece, allowing Gemma to get to her feet, if a little ungracefully. “You could both have gone in the canal.”

“Uncle Duncan?” the girl said tremulously. He could feel her shoulders shaking beneath his hands, and her teeth were chattering. “What are you doing here? How did you know? I didn’t know if I could find you in time—”

“What do you mean, in time?” Kincaid said, fear shooting through him. “What’s happened? Where are Kit and the little boys?”

“Toby and Sam are at the house, but Kit—” Lally mumbled something he couldn’t understand, then began to sob convulsively.

“Lally, where’s Kit?” He increased the pressure on her shoulders, shaking her, but she only sobbed harder.

“Lally, Lally.” Gemma gently disengaged the girl from Kincaid’s grasp. “It’s all right.” She wiped the tears from Lally’s cheeks with the palms of her hands. “You just have to tell us what’s happened, so
we can take care of it.” There was an undertone of panic in her voice, but still it seemed to calm Lally.

“We met Leo. I—He wanted Kit—He sent me home, but I’m afraid of what will happen to Kit. That night with Peter, he made me leave, and then—”

“And then what?” Gemma prompted when Lally stopped. “It’s okay. You can tell us. You won’t be in trouble.”

“Leo had some stuff. Vodka, that’s all. But he wanted me to help him get Peter drunk. And Peter went along with it. But then Leo told me to go. And Peter—” She held her hands to her face and her sob drew out to a little keening wail.

“Peter?” said Gemma, but the pieces were cascading in Kincaid’s mind.

“Peter? The boy who drowned?” He remembered Annie telling him, that day on the boat, about the boy she’d seen running along the towpath, his clothes wet, and how she’d assumed, when she’d heard later about the boy who drowned that night, that it was he she had seen.

“How did you know about Peter?” asked Lally, shocked enough to stop crying.

Kincaid made an effort to match Gemma’s patience. “Lally, on Boxing Day, do you remember when you and Kit met Annie Lebow? Was Leo with you?” When she nodded, he took a breath and said, “Did she speak to him?”

“No, not really.” Lally wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “But he seemed anxious to get away. I thought he was just bored—he doesn’t like grown-ups much.”

Kincaid’s thoughts raced. What if it had not been Peter Llewellyn Annie saw running that night, but Leo Dutton? Leo, dripping wet from holding the other boy under the water? And what if Annie had recognized him and realized her mistake? Gemma was staring at him, baffled, but he couldn’t take the time to explain.

“Lally, start from the beginning. If you thought Leo had something to do with Peter’s death, why didn’t you say?”

“Because I wasn’t sure at first. And then, when I started to suspect, Leo said—I didn’t want—”

Leo had made her think she’d be held responsible for Peter’s drowning if she tried to implicate him, Kincaid guessed. He couldn’t let himself wonder why Leo would have hurt Peter Llewellyn, or why he might want to hurt Kit. There wasn’t time. “You said you left Kit with Leo? Where did you meet him?”

“We met at the dairy barn. But that’s not where—Leo will have taken him to the clubhouse.”

“Tell me exactly where it is, this clubhouse.”

“It’s on Leo’s dad’s property, almost right on the canal, but you’d never see it if you didn’t know it was there. Leo says it’s an old tollhouse, but I don’t think they’d have put a tollhouse so far from the junction.”

For just an instant, Kincaid heard his father in the girl’s slightly pedantic explanation, and his heart softened towards her. “It’s all right, Lally,” he said, trying to reassure himself as much as her. “We’ll find them.”

Pulling out his mobile, he dialed Babcock.

The building was a windowless brick cubicle, about eight feet square, with a small door sagging half off its hinges. When Leo steered him firmly through the doorway, Kit’s head just missed the lintel. Once inside, he saw that half the roof was gone. The snow-heavy clouds showing in the gap cast a diffuse light that just allowed him to make out shapes.

Leo flicked on the torch, and the shapes resolved into upturned packing crates and some old blankets made into a nest. “Have a seat,” he said, in a tone that made it clear it was not a request. “It’s not elegant, but it’s mine,” he went on, as Kit sank reluctantly onto a
packing crate. “I don’t think my father even knows this is here; he’s never explored the property. The country-squire thing is just for show.

“No glasses, I’m afraid,” he added as he produced a bottle of vodka from behind one of the crates. “Bottoms up.”

He sat beside Kit and took a healthy swig, then passed the bottle on. Kit tipped the bottle up, compressing his lips so that only a little liquid trickled into his mouth. It was foul, like drinking petrol, and it was all he could do to not spit it out.

“No cheating,” Leo said. “That’s expensive vodka, not mouthwash. Drink it down.” When Kit forced down another sip, he took the bottle back and drank again. “I might have had something more to your liking if Lally hadn’t gone and lost my stash.”

“Lally couldn’t help it.” The liquor burned all the way to Kit’s stomach, and made him feel reckless. “Her mother hasn’t let her near their house.”

“Defending her again?” Leo’s voice was cold. Kit knew he’d made a mistake, but he stared back at the other boy, refusing to back down. “She does the damsel in distress well,” Leo went on, as if musing aloud. “Good old Peter certainly fell for it. But she wasn’t so innocent, was she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kit answered, although he was afraid he did.

“She’s a slut,” said Leo, suddenly harsh. “And worse than that, a careless slut. She should never have left condoms in her backpack where I would find them.”

“But weren’t they for—I thought you and Lally—”

“It wasn’t like that!” Leo shouted, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface of his offhand manner suddenly boiling over. He stood, pacing in the cramped space, and Kit began to feel really frightened.

“Oh, I could have done it, whenever I wanted,” Leo went on, his voice calmer, but Kit could hear him breathing hard. “But we were
different, special. And then she ruined it because she felt sorry for pretty-boy Peter, just like she does you.”

Kit knew that Lally hadn’t gone with Peter because she felt sorry for him, and he didn’t think she liked him because she was sorry for him, either.

Understanding came to him with a sickening jolt. Lally had refused Leo, telling him their relationship was too special for sex. Leo had believed her, accepted it, until he discovered she’d been sleeping with Peter Llewellyn.

And then Peter had died.

“I’m going.” Kit pushed himself to his feet, his heart thumping.

“Suit yourself,” said Leo, with a return of his mocking manner. “Think you can find the towpath in the dark?”

“How hard can it be?” asked Kit, trying to match him for nonchalance. In the faint light from Leo’s covered torch, he found the door. But as he stepped out, Leo switched the torch off, and the dark descended like a cloak.

Kit stood still, fighting panic. He thought back to the way they’d come, parallel to the canal as they’d crossed the field and entered the wood, then turning gradually to the right. They had come straight to the door side of the shed, which must mean that the way to the canal lay round the back of the cubicle.

He felt his way round the building, then carried straight on, brushing the tree trunks with his fingertips. After a few yards, the trees thinned, and he thought he smelled the mossy scent of water, even beneath the sharp tang of snow in the air. Yes, he could see it now, the water reflecting very faintly the overcast sky.

Relief quickened his steps, and it was only when he reached the water’s edge that he realized the towpath was on the far side, and there was no bridge.

He couldn’t be that far from the dairy barn, though, if he just followed the water. The ground was tussocky, but he could man—

The shove caught him in the middle of the back like a cannonball.
He had only an instant’s sensation of falling, and then the water closed over him, cold enough to freeze his heart.

Ronnie answered on the first ring. “I was just on my way to you. There’s been—”

“Ronnie, we’re going to need backup.” Kincaid paused, taking the phone from his ear while he spoke to his niece. “Lally, can you get to this tollhouse from the Dutton place?”

“There’s a track, from the gate at the back of the garden through the woods.”

“It’s Kit,” he said to Ronnie again. “It’s looks like Leo Dutton may have been involved in Annie Lebow’s murder, and now he has Kit—”

“
Leo
Dutton? But he’s just a kid. Why would—”

“Ronnie, there’s no time.” He gave Babcock the best directions he could, adding, “You’ll need a torch.”

“I’m just leaving Nantwich,” said Ronnie. “Can I pick you up?”

“No. We’re at Barbridge. We’ll take the car round and be there before you. And, Ronnie, call for uniforms.”

At the shock of the water, Kit had instinctively opened his mouth and inhaled. He thrashed wildly, struggling towards the surface, and when his head broke water he gagged and spewed up canal water mixed with the little vodka he’d drunk. Still coughing, he tried to catch his breath, then discovered he could stand. But the cold was quickly numbing his arms and legs—if he didn’t move he’d be paralyzed.

Through the water streaming from his hair, he could make out the near bank. His arms felt leaden, but he forced himself to reach out in a long swimmer’s stroke. When his fingers touched firm bank, he grasped with all his strength. Then a crushing weight came down on his hand.

Yelling, Kit wrenched his hand free and, with a lunge, wrapped both his arms round Leo’s ankles, pulling with all his might.

The force of it toppled the other boy, but he fell back, rather than into the canal, and by the time Kit had managed to clamber onto the bank on his hands and knees, Leo was already back on his feet.

With a grunt more vicious than any swear word, Leo pulled back a booted foot and kicked Kit hard in the chin.

Kit’s head snapped back. Then he was lying in the grass, coughing on the metallic taste of the blood flowing from his lower lip. His head buzzed from the impact, and he shook it like a punch-drunk boxer as he hauled himself back up to his knees and then stood, staggering unsteadily.

He tensed, balling his fists as he waited for the next blow, then realized that Leo was moving away from him, back towards the shed.

“You bastard!” he shouted, and started after him. The fact that he had a chance to run, to get a head start, was banished by his fury as quickly as it had crossed his mind. No one was going to try to drown him, then kick him in the face, and get away with it. He stumbled forward, hampered by the sodden, icy weight of his clothes and shoes, and by the ringing in his head. “Is that what you did to Peter?” he gasped. “Did you push him in and hold him under?”

Then Leo disappeared round the corner of the shed and Kit stopped, suddenly uncertain. But before he could decide whether to follow, Leo reappeared and walked towards him.

Even in the dim light, Kit could see what Leo held in his hands.

He stared down the barrel of the shotgun, then into Leo’s eyes, and he knew he was dead.

“Lally, stay in the car. Wait for the police.” Kincaid had driven down Piers Dutton’s drive until the Escort’s wheels spun and stuck.
The house was dark, so he knew there’d be no help from that quarter, and that they’d have to make it the rest of the way on foot.

His niece had gone quiet in the backseat, her silence more disturbing than her earlier tears. But now she said, “No,” in a voice as implacable as his own. “You won’t find it without me. I’m coming.” Then she was out of the car and running across the back garden that lay to the left of the drive, and all they could do was follow her.

Kincaid knew she was right, and that she had relieved him of making the choice of risking her safety at the expense of Kit’s.

“Don’t use a torch,” Lally called back to them. “It’ll confuse you. Just stay close to me.”

She slipped through a gate at the back of the garden and into what seemed at first glance to be impenetrable scrub. But as they followed her through the gate, he saw that a barely discernible path, no wider than a deer trail, led through the woods.