A Reason to Kill (19 page)

They made their way back into the town centre, trying to look purposeful, as if they were actually going somewhere. George quickly realized that no one was really paying them any attention anyway.

They kept warm by wandering in and out of the bigger shops. They talked very little. Paul seemed sunk in the deepest and most morose of thoughts and after a while George gave up all attempts at conversation.

By five o'clock George was really suffering from the lack of lunch and what threatened now to be the lack of dinner.

‘I'm starving,' he said. ‘Look, we'd better get something to eat.'

‘What with?'

‘I told you, I've got money in the bank. I just need to find a hole in the wall. Come on.'

Reluctantly, Paul plodded after his friend. He stood watching listlessly as George fed his card into the slot and slowly keyed in his PIN. He'd only used it a couple of times and he panicked momentarily, wondering if he'd got it right, then a moment longer as he wondered if the police knew about his card and if they'd blocked his bank account or something.

‘Look,' he said finally, retrieving his card and two crisp ten-pound notes. ‘I told you.'

Paul seemed to rally a little. ‘How much you got?' he asked.

‘About another forty. I've been saving. Look, let's get some grub, then we can have a think about what we're going to do next.'

Paul sank once more into despairing mode and George sighed impatiently. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘There's a chip shop back that way. Got seats inside. Let's sit down for a bit.'

‘What if someone sees?'

‘So, they see. We're going to be eating fish and chips just like a load of other people. What's the big deal?'

‘What about CCTV?'

‘God sakes, Paul, we've been captured on camera I don't know how many times since we got here. Everybody is. But no one's going to be looking that hard for us, at least not yet. We've only been gone since lunch.' He sighed. ‘Look, maybe you better call home, let them know you're OK. You got your phone?'

Paul shook his head. ‘Left it home, didn't I?'

‘Then we'll find a phone box somewhere.'

Paul shook his head.

‘Come on then, let's at least get something to eat. My belly's hurting.'

With a show of reluctance, Paul ambled after George and they found the chip shop George had noticed earlier.

‘Eat in, please,' George said. ‘Fish and chips twice, thanks.'

‘You want mushy peas?'

Manners cost nothing
, Karen always told him. He could hear her saying it now.

George shook his head and then nodded. ‘Yes thanks, and two Cokes.'

He paid and then led the way to a small table at the back from where they could watch the door. Paul slumped down and George arranged cutlery while they waited for the food to be brought. Karen was right about that too, he thought. It was always better, somehow, when you had something to do with your hands.

‘Enjoy your meals.' The woman smiled at them both.

‘Thanks,' George said, absurdly glad he'd remembered his manners. He sprinkled salt and then vinegar, tucked in, ignoring Paul completely, noting a few reluctant minutes later that his friend finally began to eat and that soon he was filling his face with as much enthusiasm as George.

George put his worries aside and focussed on his food. He was always hungry. Kaz said it was because he was growing, but George reckoned it was because he could remember going without food so often when their dad came home. Food became another weapon to be used and denied whenever it pleased him.

Kaz said once he was like a stray dog that had finally been taken in. He just couldn't believe that there would always be food and he felt he had to stock up every time it was offered, just in case.

Their dad, George reckoned, had a hell of a lot to answer for. It was probably just as well he was growing or he'd end up fat.

He wiped his plate clean with the last of his chips and was pleased to see that Paul had demolished most of his meal too and, though he'd slowed down a bit, was showing no sign of giving in. He didn't look as pinched and pale either, though the bruising still looked stark and painful.

‘You want another Coke?'

Paul nodded and George went to the counter, feeling in his pocket for some change.

‘What happened to your friend?' the woman behind the counter asked.

‘Oh, he was in an accident,' George told her. ‘He's a lot better now.'

The woman looked quizzically at him but made no further comment. George glanced out into the street. It was fully dark now and the streetlights had come on, the crowds thinned down almost to nothing.

He'd made no further mention of his father to Paul; tried not to make it obvious as he scanned every face as they passed, just to make sure. He wondered if he'd been waiting at the school gates again, and if anyone had noticed him.

Karen had been so sure, George thought as he took their drinks back to the table. But it seemed that in the complicated world of George Parker, nothing was ever certain.

There was only so long that they could string out their stay in the little café and when the woman came from the counter and started clearing their plates, George figured it was time to be off. They wandered aimlessly, back up the main street, unconsciously headed towards the school.

‘So, what do we do?'

‘I can't go home.'

‘And we can't wander round here all night. We'll freeze for one thing.'

Paul shrugged. ‘I dunno.'

‘Look,' George decided he had to take control. ‘The only place we know round here is school and we can't hide out there. I say we go back to Frantham, hide out in the tin huts.'

‘You nuts? He'll find us there.'

‘No, no he won't. He'll be like everyone else, expecting us to have run off, not going back home. You got a better idea?'

‘You've got some cash,' Paul said slowly. ‘We could go somewhere.'

‘And how long you reckon that's going to last? We've got to eat as well.' He sighed heavily, wishing himself back home. In the warm. With his TV and his computer games. More than that, he wished himself back before any of this had happened. ‘Look,' he said, ‘I'll get the rest of the money. We'll go to the bus station. We passed a sign for it a bit back. We let ourselves be seen on the cameras so everyone will think we must've caught a bus, and then we go back to Frantham.'

‘How? I mean, that's the one place we can't get a bus to.'

‘We walk,' George said. ‘It's a straight road. It ain't that far.'

Paul scowled but George could tell he couldn't fault the plan and he couldn't better it. ‘OK.' Paul shrugged. ‘OK, I suppose that's what we'll do.'

George felt a surge of anger rise from the pit of his stomach and wedge itself in his chest. ‘This isn't my problem,' he wanted to say. ‘It weren't my idea to skip out of school.' But he swallowed the words before they reached his tongue. Paul was his friend, and anyway, part of this
was
his problem. He couldn't just walk away.

He was generous enough to realize that he, George, had already experienced some really bad stuff and had come through it. He had some idea of what he could survive. For Paul this was the worst of the worst and he had nothing in his life with which to either compare or from which to gain courage.

‘Come on,' George said. ‘We'd better get off. We've got a long way to go.'

J
ust after eight, Mac made a call on the Robinsons' house. Nora Robinson sat with her husband at the kitchen table, a half-drunk mug of coffee in front of her. Her husband's appeared to be untouched. A third mug sat between them, a trace of lipstick on the rim.

‘Karen's been in and out all evening,' she said. ‘The poor girl's worried sick. She's only just been able to contact her mum.'

‘And how are you?' Mac asked quietly.

‘Oh, you know.'

‘Any more news?' Colin was staring hungrily at Mac. ‘I just can't understand it. It isn't like either of the lads to do this.'

‘We've got a possible sighting,' Mac said. ‘It came in just as I was driving back.'

‘Oh?' The eagerness with which they both turned to him caused Mac acute guilt that it wasn't more. ‘You know the school provided us with pictures?'

Nora nodded.

‘Well the local beat officers and community support have been doing the rounds with them. A woman in a chip shop in the middle of town is sure they came in for a meal about half past five. They had fish and chips and mushy peas and, she says, they just about ate the pattern off the plates.'

‘Little sods.' A burst of laughter came from Colin. ‘She's sure, is she?'

‘Ninety per cent. George is fairly distinctive with that red hair. She says she took special notice because he was so well mannered, but the clincher is she noticed the bruises on Paul's face. She says she asked George what happened to his friend and he said he'd been in an accident.'

Mac smiled his tight, awkward smile. ‘At least you know they've had something to eat.'

Nora Robinson nodded slowly. ‘But nothing since that?'

‘Not yet, no. But the pictures are out there now and there's CCTV close to the café where they ate. And, now we've got a rough time, it should be possible to pick them up again. It will just take a bit of time.'

‘Karen said George would have his bank card with him,' Colin Robinson said. ‘I knew Paul would only have a bit of change for the drinks machine.' He seemed relieved, as though Mac's news meant that his son would soon be walking through the door. Nora still seemed harassed and doubtful. No less anxious.

‘But why did they go off like that? I can't understand it.'

Mac had his ideas, but now was not the time to posit them. He needed to talk to Karen first. ‘The important thing is that they seem to be OK at the moment. We've got a lot of eyes looking for them, Nora. We'll bring them home.'

She nodded, unconvinced. ‘It's got to be something to do with what happened to Paul,' she said. ‘Doesn't it?'

Mac rose, ready to go. ‘I'm going to have a word with Karen,' he said. ‘I'll let you know the moment we have anything more.'

He let himself out; glancing back from the front door he could see them both, still sitting at the kitchen table, each buried in their own thoughts. It was odd, Mac thought; they were married, had a child together, lived together, but they both seemed so very much alone.

Karen opened the door as he stepped up to it. ‘I saw you go to the Robinsons',' she said. ‘I almost came round, but Mam's on her way and it would be just bad luck if she arrived when I wasn't here. Any news? You want some coffee? I think I've drunk a week's worth here and round at the Robinsons'.'

Mac smiled. ‘Thanks,' he said. ‘That would be welcome.' He told her about the sighting and she laughed as Colin had done. ‘Good old George,' she said softly. ‘Always bloody starving. This woman, she said they looked OK?'

‘She liked George's manners,' Mac said. ‘She said that he looked fine but that Paul seemed a bit out of it. She'd actually wondered if he was on something until he started to eat. Then she reckoned he looked more normal. But yes, they looked all right.'

‘Thank God for that,' she said with a fervour that surprised him.

‘You know why they ran?'

Karen poured boiling water on the instant coffee and added milk. ‘Sugar?'

He nodded. ‘Do you know why they ran, Karen?'

She hesitated. ‘It sort of depends,' she said. ‘Depends if it was George or Paul doing the running. I've been thinking about it and it could be either way.'

Mac frowned. This was a new angle. ‘I admit,' he said, ‘I've been working on the assumption that Paul was running scared of whoever beat him up. I'm assuming you know who that might be?'

She smiled. ‘And why would I know?'

‘Because even though he wouldn't tell his parents, he'd be likely to confess all to his best friend, and from what I've seen of his best friend and said friend's sister …'

Karen smiled, shook her head. ‘Mark Dowling,' she said. ‘Paul got on the wrong side of that little bastard.'

‘And George? What was George afraid of?'

Karen chewed her lower lip. It was the first sign of indecision Mac had observed in her. ‘He thought he saw our dad,' she said finally. ‘Outside the school gates last week. He was really freaked out. I'd told him we'd run far enough, that he'd never find us here, and I think he'd actually started to believe that.'

Mac frowned, another piece of the puzzle slipping into place. ‘Outside the school, close to where the buses wait?'

‘Yeah, I think so. Why?'

Mac dug into his pocket for the photograph they had printed for him at the school. He'd folded it to put in his pocket and a crease now ran, scar like, cutting the man's face in two.

He watched as the colour drained from the girl's face, then pulled out a chair from beneath the kitchen table and sat her down. ‘It's him, then?'

She nodded. ‘He's put on a bit of weight.' She took the picture from Mac, laid it out on the table and studied it intently. ‘That scar's new, on the side of his face, down on to his neck. But yes, that's him. Oh my God, poor George.'

‘Karen, did you make a phone call earlier today? To the police in Exeter?'

She looked puzzled. ‘What, about our dad?'

‘No, about Mark Dowling, accusing him of Mrs Freer's murder?'

The front door opened. ‘That'll be Mam.' She got up, headed towards the kitchen door.

Carol Parker had a sense of timing, Mac thought. ‘Karen, did you make that call?'

She turned to Mac. ‘Please,' she said. ‘Can we talk about that later on? I know it's important but …'