Cry for Help (31 page)

He began clicking through the images again. Anything was better than just waiting.

Two minutes later, Dan Bright walked back into the office and put a coffee on the desk beside him.

'Anything?'

'No.'

Currie pushed the mouse across the desk in disgust, then leaned back in his chair, folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

'Let me have a look,' Bright said.

'You've not even seen him recently, Dan.'

'No, but I'd still recognise him, believe me. And anyway - a fresh pair of eyes might help. I'll run the bare footage and see if anything jumps out.'

It couldn't hurt. Currie moved out of the way, took his coffee and stood in front of the whiteboard. Despite everything that had happened, it was no more comprehensible to him now than it had been yesterday morning. Maybe even less so.

What if it's not him?

Which remained entirely possible.

Currie still couldn't see why Carroll would have targeted Dave Lewis in particular - and whatever Bright said, he was sure there must be a reason. And then there was the question of how Carroll had bypassed his tagging. Most of all, though, he couldn't understand how Alex Cardall fitted into the scenario. If Carroll was the killer, it meant that Alison Wilcox's phone must have changed hands between the two of them at some point. So either Carroll had planted it there, or else Alex Cardall had got hold of it somehow and Carroll had wanted it back.

Neither option made any sense. Nothing did.

His phone started ringing.

Currie dodged back round the desk and picked it up.

'Currie.'

'Sam? James. I'm at Mary Carroll's house now.'

'Anything?'

'Nothing good. We've got a man seriously injured here. The ambulance arrived as we did; someone called from the house. Knife wound to the stomach.'

'Any ID on the casualty?'

'Rob Harvey. That's the guy who worked with Lewis, isn't it?'

'Yeah.' Currie paused. 'He was at the office this morning when I was there.'

'Well, he's here now, and not in a good way. He's unconscious and they're treating him on scene. The front door's been kicked open, but there's no sign of anyone else here now.'

'Mary's gone.'

'Yes. And whoever called from here was male.'

Currie sat down on the edge of the desk and rubbed his temples. What the hell was Rob Harvey doing there? Every time he thought they were making progress in this case, something else happened and he lost whatever grip he'd imagined he had.

'Why would Harvey be at Mary Carroll's house?' he said.

'I don't know, Sam. We're just missing something, that's all. But Dave Lewis, Frank Carroll and Charlie Drake - every cop in the city is keeping an eye out for them right now. We'll find them, and we'll get some answers.'

Currie hoped that was true. But would they get them in time to save Tori Edmonds's life? And Mary Carroll's now, too. In his head, I'm all that matters.

'Sam?' Dan Bright called over. 'Come here a second.'

'Stay on the line,' Currie told Swann, then moved round. 'Have you found him?'

'Not exactly.'

Bright tapped the screen. It was frozen at 11:57:46, which was about ten seconds after Lewis had entered the shopping centre. When Currie saw the couple in the centre of the frame, he felt his whole body go still. He'd seen a close-up of the man before, and passed him by quickly, but he hadn't looked at any of the women. If he had done, he would have recognised her immediately.

'That's Mary Carroll.'

'Yes.' Bright nodded slowly. 'It is.'

'Who's the guy beside her?'

Bright zoomed in on the picture. The man had been caught in profile. Average face. Long hair, tied back. He didn't recognise him.

'I think that's her brother.' Bright squinted at the screen. 'It certainly looks a lot like him.'

'But he's supposed to be living in Rawnsmouth.' Currie frowned. 'In fact, I spoke to him there just a few days before this. John something.'

Bright nodded. 'Yes. John Edward Carroll. He never changed his name the way Mary did. But then, he always just went by ''Eddie''.'

Chapter Thirty-four

Saturday 3rd September

Eddie sat in his car, watching his father's vehicle approach in the rear-view mirror. His body felt like a hollow shell around a heart crackling with electricity.

Outside, the rain was lashing down, and the windows were running with it, but he could see enough. Frank Carroll was driving steadily, his wipers streaking slowly back and forth. The car went past him, tyres slashing the water, then carried on up the street. Eddie had deliberately parked a short distance back from his home.

He didn't know what had happened at Mary's house. After seeing his father packing his things into the car and leaving, he'd done as Mary told him, phoned Dave Lewis and given him the ultimatum. The plan was that he would then drive immediately back to Rawnsmouth, leaving Tori Edmonds's body somewhere on route, and putting himself as far from the scene as possible. But he hadn't been able to do that. Instead, he'd come here. The fact that his father was here now as well meant that something had gone wrong.

Eddie forced himself to breathe slowly, calmly.

He watched his father pull in a hundred metres ahead. There were other cars between them, so he couldn't see the vehicle all that well, but he had a decent view of the pavement and his own front door. And a moment later, he saw Frank Carroll standing there, misty in the rain, peering this way and that.

He shivered.

His father was looking for him. So where was Mary? Eddie tightened his grip on the steering wheel and then winced in pain. He kept forgetting what had happened to his hands. He could close his fingers properly now, but he had to do it slowly and carefully.

His father moved back to the car, vanishing from sight, and then reappeared a moment later, dragging a girl across the pavement. She didn't resist him in any way.

Mary.

He was nine years old, and Mary was twelve, and their father was going away for the weekend and leaving them alone. Before he went, he told Eddie that he would be the man of the house for these two days, and he needed to follow his father's instructions if he didn't want to get in trouble.

Eddie had nodded. He knew what trouble meant.

There was food in the fridge, and he could stay up as late as he pleased and do whatever he wanted. There was only one rule he had to follow: he must not, under any circumstances, go into Mary's bedroom.

She was in trouble, and he was to have no contact with her.

Not even if the house is on fire? he asked.

Not even then, his father said. She has to learn a lesson.

And he'd done as he was told - to begin with, anyway. But a couple of hours after his father had left, Eddie heard a noise from upstairs - some kind of thump - and went to investigate.

He pushed open the door to Mary's bedroom, and then stood there as he saw what their father had done.

Mary was fully dressed, and tied to the bed. Bound and gagged, he remembered thinking, because he'd seen that phrase in one of the adventure stories he liked to read. Not soppy like that book Mary read every day, the one his father had taken off her. Maybe that was why she was in trouble, although he didn't understand why.

Her eyes were wide, full of panic.

Please help me.

Eddie's hand went helplessly to his face and he watched her struggle against the bonds - two belts, coiled around her wrists. He wanted to help her, but then he remembered what his father had told him. Not even if the house is on fire. And then he pictured a flash of trouble in his head, which was something so horrible he couldn't look at it straight.

Eddie started crying, hugging himself, because he didn't know what to do. He was practically jumping on the spot and wanting everything he could see and feel to go away. Sobbing. And then he started to get lost inside his own head, the way he did sometimes.

He didn't know how long it went on for, but it must have been a while, because when he stopped he saw that Mary was much calmer now. She was watching him, almost smiling, and trying to speak from behind the gag. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but it sounded very soothing, and he understood what she was trying to tell him.

Everything was okay and he didn't have to worry.

Close the door and go back downstairs.

After a few minutes he did, and he didn't go back into Mary's room that weekend. She didn't thump anymore, and he didn't hear her do anything else either.

He woke up very early on the Monday morning to find his father standing by the side of his bed in the darkness with a very serious look on his face. Eddie flinched away out of instinct, realising that his father knew he'd gone into his sister's room, and that he was going to be in trouble.

I didn't. I never did it. I didn't go in.

The fear was as big as a monster inside his mind, and he nearly wet the bed. But his father just looked down at him, an expression of disappointment on his face, and then shook his head.

What have you done, Eddie?

He started to protest, but his father put his finger to his lips - shhh - and then knelt down beside the bed, looking so sad . . .

The memory had returned to him every day since, and each time it brought with it the same emotions he'd felt as he crouched there that morning, the covers pulled up to his mouth, feeling the lie his father whispered reverberating in his heart.

You let her die.

Then, above the insistent hiss of the rain, he heard it.

Sirens.

The noise was drifting in from the distance, but it hadn't been there before. Were they coming here? What had happened? Eddie knew he was panicking, and he forced himself to keep very still, not wanting his father to notice him. The sirens were still some distance away, but the sound was growing louder.

His father could hear it too and was cocking his head, like an animal sniffing the air. He looked bedraggled in the rain, his shirt soaked through and wrapped tight against his thin, powerful frame. Beside him, Mary was utterly still. She had her hands clasped in front of her, and her eyes were fixed on something on the ground.

Eddie watched his father whisper something to her, and then pull her up the steps towards his front door. Her face remained completely blank. Perhaps she was in shock. He couldn't imagine what would be going through her mind right now, or if there would even be anything at all.

And then they were inside.

His father left the door open just a little.

Eddie started to cry. He wanted to hug himself and jump up and down. He wanted to lose himself and make all this go away.

He'd thought he'd moved on from that shameful little boy. He'd found ways to help him understand he was no worse than anyone else, and he didn't despise himself so much anymore, not after he made others realise they were just as bad. That they let people down as well, and that they were just as weak and selfish as he was.

But sitting there in the car, he realised that he'd never moved on. He was still that same boy, standing in that doorway, too terrified to act. Just as Mary was still the same girl, tied to that bed, sacrificing herself to protect him.

It has to be done, Eddie, she'd told him yesterday. It's the only way.

But what if he doesn't come?

She'd just smiled sadly at him, then reached out and touched his face. Even in the silence, he'd understood, and relief had flooded through him. Everything will be okay, and you don't have to worry.

Sitting there right now, he hated himself more than he'd ever thought possible. He looked out through the rain spattering his windscreen and saw the accusation in the slightly open door his father had left.

You let her die.

And yet he still drove away.

Chapter Thirty-five

Saturday 3rd September

I held the piece of paper in my hands as we drove, staring down at what Rob had written. I knew what had happened. He'd come through for me. Not only had he gone to Sarah's to protect her, he'd also rung his non-existent friend at the phone company. I'd told him about Thom Stanley receiving a call on the Thursday morning, and he'd found out where it had been made.

Please, I thought. Not praying exactly, but close.

Please let him be all right.

In the meantime, I didn't know what we were going to do when we reached our destination. The call had been placed from a phone box on Campdown Road. I didn't see how that was going to help us, but Choc had led me out of the house without saying a word, full of purpose.

Through the gap between the seats, I could see his leg was jittering up and down. The gun was resting on his knee, moving with it. He was psyching himself up to deal with whatever we found at this address. Anticipating it. He hadn't said anything since we'd set off.

'Almost there,' the driver said. 'Two streets away.'

'Hear that, though?' The guy to my right leaned forwards over the wheel and peered out to one side. 'Sirens, man.'

I listened.

He was right: police cars in the distance.

'Could be going anywhere,' the driver said.

'Charlie?'

But Choc said nothing.

We reached the road thirty seconds later. I saw the phone box up ahead.

'Here?'

'A little further.' Choc pointed. 'Up there on the left.'

I frowned. 'What's going on?'

But nobody answered. The driver took us up, then pulled in. We were outside an old, two-storey house that looked indistinguishable from the ones around it. They were all drab and run-down here, bedraggled in the rain. I wasn't sure why he'd picked--

Then I saw the front door was open. Just a little.

I got out of the car first, followed by Choc. The rain was coming down in misty sheets, and I was soaked by the time I reached the other side of the road. I glanced behind me, and Choc was still standing by the car. He'd started to cross, but something had stopped him. Now, he was staring off into the distance.

The sirens. That was it. I glanced back towards the house and saw a light flick on in an upstairs window.