Dark Tides (22 page)

You thought when you started out on this process that it would get easier as you went along. It stood to reason that Scott would be the most difficult kill. You had so much to learn. And there was a great deal of pressure, because without a solid, squared-away beginning, there could be no follow-up – no Rachel.

Killing her and getting away with it greatly increased your experience. As a result, you’re more confident than ever in your own abilities. You know exactly what you’re capable of achieving. You know how to avoid being caught.

So it should be simpler this year. And certainly, on an emotional level, it is.

But from a practical standpoint, your third kill is a whole lot harder because a pattern is emerging. Your scheme is becoming clear. Your targets have caught on to it already, which explains their behaviour this year. They’re expecting you to come for them. They understand the threat you pose. They’re prepared to defend themselves and therefore the challenge they present to you is much stiffer.

More than that, though, assuming you succeed again this year (and why wouldn’t you?) a new issue presents itself. Your targets won’t be the only ones to spot the pattern. The police will, too. Three deaths on three Hop-tu-naas? They’ll come looking for you. They’ll hunt for you. They’ll begin to close in.

It’s an unpleasant prospect. You’ve been vexed and frustrated by it for many months now. But there is one upside that you’ve come to appreciate. The need for subtlety is gone. Nobody is going to buy another accident, so why go to the effort of trying to fabricate one? This year, you can be as brazen as you like. You can kill in the meanest, nastiest way possible.

So yes, it’s harder, but it’s also a lot more exciting.

It was late afternoon by the time David pulled into the remote car park on the south-west coast. I got out and stretched my back. The air was chill, the light dimming. A low sea mist was rolling inland, clinging to the summit of Bradda Head, obscuring the humped mass of the Calf of Man. The sea was calm and flat. A lone fishing trawler glided by in the far distance, canted over to one side.

The three of us stood in silence and scanned the terrain all around. A dense pine plantation towered over us from behind, some ploughed fields sloped away to our right, and a thick layer of gorse and heather carpeted the swell of Cronk ny Arrey Laa to our left. Immediately in front of us lay a cattle fence, a gravel track and an isolated old farmhouse.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Callum clapped his hands. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘It’s sinister.’

‘Yeah? Well, maybe that’s a good thing. It might scare the killer away.’

I gave him my best suspect-resisting-arrest glare. He was dressed a bit like an army reservist – black beanie hat, an orange body warmer over a khaki shirt, green and brown camouflage-print trousers tucked into scuffed desert boots.

‘Oh, relax, Cooper. I got one of my sister’s friends to rent it in her name. There’s no possible link to any of us.’

‘Do you think I should park somewhere else?’

David was turning on his heel, hands on his hips. We’d driven half a mile along a snaking, pot holed track to reach the car park. The gate ahead of us was locked. There was nowhere else to go but back towards the main road.

‘Nah, your car’s hidden by the trees here,’ Callum told him. ‘If anybody else drives up, we’ll see them.’

‘They might hike in.’ I nodded towards the footpath beaten into the gorse running down from the peak of Cronk ny Arrey Laa.

‘Then where we park is irrelevant.’ Callum slapped a hand on the boot of the BMW. ‘Enough delaying. Grab your stuff. We have a lot to do before it gets dark.’

David opened the boot and we lifted out our bags. Callum and I fitted rucksacks to our backs. David had packed a tan leather holdall that looked like something a high-end men’s magazine would recommend for a European city break.

Callum shook his head in disgust and walked off towards the gate, the contents of his rucksack shuffling and rattling around.

‘What do you have in there?’ I called after him.

‘Beer cans. Some food. Plus some equipment to protect ourselves with.’

‘What kind of equipment?’

He waved a hand. ‘You’ll see.’

‘I’m a police officer, Callum. Remember that.’

‘Oh, sure. If the killer’s about to drag you away from us to beat you to death in the woods, I’ll make sure I don’t do anything illegal to save you.’

He clambered over the stile to the side of the fence, then hiked off down the path. I waited for David to lock his car and walk up alongside me. He toed the ground.

‘I always knew,’ he said. ‘About you and Mark. I thought you should know that.’

I spun round but David raised his chin and looked out to sea, avoiding my gaze.

‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes you are. But it’s OK. Really. It was a long time ago.’

I stayed silent, searching for the true emotion behind his words. His expression gave nothing away.

‘I didn’t care for the way Mark was dangling you on a line back there. He shouldn’t have done that.’

I joined him in looking away towards the horizon and the distant fishing boat, but if I was hoping to find inspiration for what to say next, I was out of luck.

‘Sort of my fault anyway.’ David shrugged. ‘I put the two of you together at the cinema that day. Guess I never really thought anything would happen. How stupid was I?’

I opened my mouth to protest but he shook his head.

‘I saw you come out of his place, Claire. Afterwards.’

Oh, boy.

‘You never said anything. Why didn’t you say?’

He rolled out his lower lip. ‘Were there other times?’

I shook my head and he took a deep breath.

‘I’m glad. I know I don’t have any right to be, but I am. What about the others? You told them, right? They all knew?’

I shook my head.

‘Not even Rachel?’

‘Nobody.’

‘I doubt Mark was so discreet.’

‘Who would he tell? Not Callum or Scott.’

He hummed. He wasn’t convinced.

‘I’m sorry, David. Truly.’

‘Guess I wasn’t exactly the world’s best boyfriend. I held you back, or tried to. And I
was
the one who got you into this entire mess in the first place. Going after Caine was my bad idea. Dumbest way ever to try and make you pick me.’

‘Can’t argue with that.’

He smiled and shook his head, looking down at me as if to say,
look at us, look at what we did to each other
.

I held his eyes for a beat, then inclined my head towards Callum. ‘So what do you reckon he has in that pack? I’m thinking bear traps, maybe.’

‘Right.’

‘Or land mines. Or assault weapons. Possibly grenades.’

‘You think I should lighten up?’

‘I think maybe we both should.’

‘Deal.’ He nodded and I saw a little of the tension ease out of his body, his shoulders falling, hands unclenching. ‘But you could cut Callum a little more slack. He’s the one who suggested this place. You have to credit him for that.’

David moved on towards the stile, his weekend bag slung over his shoulder. I dawdled a moment, then followed after him, my pack bouncing from my hips. He was right. This was a barren, seldom-visited spot, but Callum knew the terrain better than anyone. The old farmhouse had operated as the Eary Cushlin outdoor activity centre for as long as I could remember, and Callum had worked here as an instructor with countless groups of teenagers. I was pretty sure the trust exercise he’d made us take part in on our first Hop-tu-naa together was something he’d been taught in the gloomy plantation behind us.

David offered me his hand and helped me over the stile. He smiled briefly and I sensed the gesture take on more significance – an unspoken peace offering. I clambered down and coiled an arm around his neck, and we tramped on down the sloping path together.

There were no carved turnips out here, no kids in costume going door to door and singing nonsense songs, but it felt spooky all the same. The sea mist wafted closer, chilling the air. I could hear the plaintive cries of sheep in a neighbouring field and the soft murmur of the wind through the reeds and long grasses.

Ahead of us, Callum marched into a drift of gauzy fog, his silhouette vanishing momentarily. The farmhouse was just visible beyond him. It was an ugly, squat structure, built for function not aesthetics. The thick walls were unfinished grey render, the recessed sash windows small and crooked. A wire cage towards the rear of the house contained a pair of bright orange propane gas tanks.

Next to the farmhouse was a small stream and a tumbledown stone barn. As we approached, I could hear a low hum coming from inside the barn. Two yellow signs were fixed to the rickety timber doors. One read
GENERATOR
. The other warned of the risks of electric shock.

Callum was busy fitting a key in the lock on the front door to the house. ‘It’ll be cold to begin with but we’ll get a fire going in a minute.’

‘No fires,’ I told him.

He looked back at me.

‘We shouldn’t do anything to draw attention to ourselves.’

‘Right. Bad idea.’ He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. ‘Last one inside is the Hop-tu-naa killer’s next victim.’

I glanced behind me at the curtain of dense fog sweeping in from the ocean.

‘Idiot.’

But I still dug my elbow into his ribs and made sure I was the first one through.

‘We could do a jigsaw,’ David said.

I groaned.

‘Or play a game. Monopoly. Cluedo. Ooh, they’ve got Risk!’

‘Seriously?’

‘What?’ David raised his head. He was facing away from me, kneeling in front of a cupboard filled with board games and comics. ‘Everyone loves Risk.’

‘I’d rather watch a movie on my iPad.’

We were alone in the rec room. It was a purely functional space. There were two banks of green metal lockers on either side of the games cupboard and a collection of identical plastic chairs pushed up against the walls. I’d been reading a slate plaque fixed to the wall above the fireplace, which told me the activity centre had been established in the early 1960s. I didn’t think the interior had been updated since.

‘What time is it?’ David asked.

‘Five minutes since you last asked.’

‘A little testy, aren’t we?’

‘Sorry. It’s all this drilling. It’s driving me nuts.’

The drilling was coming from the kitchen at the far side of the cottage, beyond the tiny map room and a narrow staircase that climbed steeply from the cramped entrance vestibule to two dormitories on the floor above – one for girls and one for boys.

It turned out that Callum’s rucksack had been stuffed with DIY tools and security equipment. He’d already installed a burglar bar across the front door of the cottage and now he was in the process of fitting a matching device on the kitchen door at the rear. The burglar bars were big and mighty, the kind of thing you might expect to find in an inner-city apartment.

‘Won’t you get in trouble for fitting this stuff?’ I’d asked him earlier, sifting through a bag of window locks that he was in the process of fixing to each and every sash frame.

‘Are you kidding? I’m making this place burglar-proof. For free.’

‘Looks kind of messy, though.’

He’d frowned at me, then backed off from the catch he was installing to squint at his rushed handiwork.

‘Hey, it’s not as if this place was going to win any awards for decor. You should just be happy I’m making it secure.’

And I was, in a way. It was just that by going to all this trouble, by barricading us in, Callum was making me more aware than ever of the threat we might be facing.

David got to his feet. ‘Want me to tell him to stop for a while?’

I shook my head and moved over to a window looking out to sea. Darkness had fallen in the past hour. The fog had thickened and was pressing up against the glass.

‘Are you scared?’

I looked at my reflection floating outside in the greyscale murk. If somebody came for us, the fog would conceal them until they were very close. They could be out there now, watching me, and I wouldn’t even know it.

‘I’m anxious.’

‘Want a drink?’

‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’

David left me to make his way through to the kitchen. The drilling stopped for a few blissful seconds, then started up again just before he returned with a couple of beer bottles and a bag of crisps. He kicked the door half-closed behind him, blocking some of the racket. The beer was warm but tasted good all the same.

He raised his bottle to me in a silent toast. ‘Wish we had cigarettes.’

‘Thought you didn’t smoke?’

‘I don’t. Usually. But I’d take any kind of distraction right now.’

He collapsed on to one of the chairs, propping his crossed heels on a low coffee table that looked as if it had been rescued from a skip.

‘Sit.’ He slapped the chair next to him. ‘Callum reckons he’ll be done in a few minutes.’

I slumped alongside him and grabbed a handful of crisps from the bag he was holding. Barbecue beef. Not a flavour I’d have chosen, but I was hungry enough not to care. I inclined the neck of my bottle towards the door.

‘I don’t know why I told him not to light a fire. You can probably hear him drilling from Peel.’

‘He’s just trying to help.’

‘What about you? You could have given him a hand.’

‘And get my fingers dirty?’ He took a pull on his beer. ‘I’m busy looking after you.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Tough gig, but someone has to do it.’

David’s leg was pushed up against my thigh. He was leaning a little weight on it. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t noticed. Couldn’t say I objected either.

He’d changed so much. Matured a great deal. The old David would have obsessed about how I’d cheated on him – and maybe he had, back then – but today he’d shown me that he could accept my mistakes and move on from them. I was starting to think that maybe I could, too.

I pressed back with my own leg and smiled a little crookedly. His eyes lit up. The irises were a deep brown, flecked with gold. His pupils dilated. I glanced at the scar on his forehead.

‘What you thinking about?’

I bit my lip, shaking my head. ‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Try me.’

‘Really. You won’t like it.’

He nudged my leg and I couldn’t help noticing that we were behaving a lot like our younger teenage selves.

I raised my beer to my lips and swallowed, then picked at the label with my nails. The noise of the drilling had stopped, replaced by a couple of thwacks from a hammer and the whir of an electric screwdriver.

‘Sure you want to hear this?’

He rolled his head on his shoulders until his face was so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough for me to slip my hand inside, if I’d wanted to.

‘I’m sure.’

‘OK, then. I was thinking about something Callum said earlier.’

David leaned back. ‘Callum?’

‘Uh huh. When we were driving to the prison.’

‘Oh.’ David eased his leg away from me. He drank deep from his beer.

‘See? I said you wouldn’t like it.’ I shot a glance towards the door. The screwdriver was still whining away in the kitchen. ‘He said maybe the threat we were facing wasn’t coming from the outside. Remember? He said maybe it was one of us.’

‘He was joking.’

I paused for a beat. Peeled a little more of my beer label. ‘You’re probably right. But let me ask you something: has he shown you how to open any of these locks he’s been fitting? Has he given you a key?’

‘Claire.’

‘I’m serious.’ I turned to face him, my elbow braced on the backrest of my chair, my head propped on my closed fist. ‘He hasn’t just prevented someone from coming in. He’s also made it a lot more difficult for us to get out.’

David shook his head and looked down into his bottle.

‘It
could
add up.’ My voice was hushed now. ‘Think about it, OK? He was closer to Scott than any of us, so he could have easily talked his way into his car. And he was the one who took Rachel and me climbing. He was the one who anchored the ropes.’

‘He was also the one who fell and broke his pelvis and dislocated his arm. You can’t do this, Claire. Next you’ll be suspecting me.’

The drilling noise had started up again. It was getting louder. Drawing nearer.

‘But he didn’t fall as far as Rachel,’ I whispered, just as the door to the rec room flew open with a bang.

Callum stepped through, holding his cordless drill up by his head. The motor screeched at a fevered pitch, the jagged bit twirling in a fast blur next to his temple.

‘All done.’ He released his finger from the trigger, blowing on the heated bit as if it were a gun muzzle. ‘Let’s eat.’