Epitaph (11 page)

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gina. Just calm down.’

Frank Hacket held the mobile away from his ear as he heard another loud shout from the other end of the line. It sounded like his name being bellowed loudly by his wife and it was the same sound that had greeted him when he’d first answered.

‘Are you still there?’ Gina shouted from the other end of the line. Her voice was cracking and full of emotion. ‘Frank?’

‘I’m here,’ he told her. ‘Just take it easy. I’ve told you not to ring me when I’m not on my break or at lunch. They don’t like it.’

‘Do you want to hear what I’ve got to say or not?’ she snapped, the volume of her voice dropping a little even if the ferocity didn’t.

‘Just calm down.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You’ve got to try. What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Laura. She’s not home yet. She should have been home two hours ago and she’s still not here. I’m going out to look for her again. I’ve already walked the route from our house to her
school and back. I’m going to do that and then, if she’s still not home, I’m going to call the police.’

‘Gina, wait a minute. Slowly. Just tell me what’s going on.’

‘I just told you. Laura’s not home from school. She finished two hours ago and she’s not back yet. There’s something wrong. I know there is.’

‘Have you rung her friends? She could be there.’

‘I’ve done that. She isn’t with any of them. And, anyway, she wouldn’t go round friends without permission, Frank. You know that.’

‘Perhaps she’s playing out with some of them.’

‘No, she isn’t. Not until this time. Not for two hours.’

‘She could be. It’s a beautiful day.’

‘Don’t try and humour me, you bastard,’ Gina yelled angrily. ‘Why aren’t you worried? You’re normally worse than me if she’s late coming in.’

Frank suddenly felt very cold, as if someone had draped an icy blanket around him.

‘You can’t just call the police because she’s a bit late,’ he said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.

‘How late does she have to be, Frank?’ Gina countered. ‘How much longer do I have to wait until you think it’s serious enough? Where the hell is she, Frank? What’s happened?’

‘There’s probably a really good explanation for this, Gina.’

‘And what if there isn’t?’ she cut in.

‘What do you think’s happened then?’ he wanted to know, still trying to retain the air of calm he hoped was permeating his voice.

‘She could have been hit by a car crossing the road. Anything.’

‘Ring the friends’ houses then ring me back.’

‘I’ve rung once. How many times do I have to tell you?’

‘All of them?’

‘She only ever plays around Daisy’s house, you know that.’

‘Ring the others. As many as you know.’

‘There’s no point. She isn’t there. I know she isn’t.’

‘Just ring them.’

It was silent at the other end of the line for a moment.

‘And then what?’ Gina asked.

‘Just ring, Gina, and ring me back straight away,’ he insisted.

‘You said you weren’t supposed to take calls outside your lunch hour or your breaks.’

‘I’m not, but this is different.’

‘I broke that mug she painted for us.’

‘What?’ Hacket was suddenly puzzled.

‘The mug she painted with Mum and Dad on it. I was drying it up this afternoon and I dropped it.’

‘What’s that got to do with her being late?’

‘What if it was bad luck or something? An omen.’

‘Oh, Gina, for Christ’s sake. The mug’s got nothing to do with it. Just ring her friends’ houses and see if she’s there. She probably didn’t realise what the time was and she’s worried now in case you’re mad with her.’

‘Are you blaming me now?’

‘I’m not blaming anyone, I’m just trying to think logically about this.’

‘I’ll call now.’

‘And ring me as soon as you’ve spoken to anyone. And, Gina, just stay calm.’

‘I am fucking calm,’ she rasped and ended the call.

Frank Hacket looked at the phone for a second longer then closed it once again. He sat back on the wooden bench and waited, the phone gripped tightly in one hand.

Paul Crane raised his hands very slowly above him until they connected with the satin that lined the lid of the coffin.

He’d guessed that there was about four inches of space above his face. To each side of him perhaps another five or six.

That’s it. Use your brain for something other than this stream of pointless and harmful thoughts. Control yourself. Focus.

The first thing to do to escape the coffin was to raise the lid.

But if you’re buried then there’s six feet of earth on top of the lid, dummy. Even if you could lift the lid how the hell are you going to get through all that dirt?

‘Shut up,’ he snapped, banishing the voice as effectively as he could.

If he’d been buried recently (and every logical thought pointed to the fact that he had) then the earth would still be relatively loose. It wouldn’t be as hard-packed as if he’d been in there for days. It wouldn’t have settled. There was
a chance that, once free of the box, he could push his way upwards through the dirt. A chance. Just a slim chance but that was all he needed. One single ray of hope in this blackness. One tiny fragment of belief to cling to that he hadn’t had before.

That’s it. Think positive.

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment and forced the voice away momentarily.

Paul wished that he could see something. He hated the darkness and this time it was so total that he felt it was almost a living thing surrounding him. He’d always been frightened of the dark as a child and, even now, he slept with a small night light switched on outside his bedroom. He liked to see something when he woke up in the night. Waking in total darkness made him think he was blind.

Idiot.

He laughed to himself. It was a loud laugh, completely out of keeping with his situation and his state of mind.

Another sign of madness?

He bit down on his bottom lip to curtail the laughter. If it continued it would use up his air more quickly. The air inside the coffin already felt humid to him and he wondered if it was actually becoming more tainted with exhaled carbon dioxide now. The thought sent a stab of fear through him again and he shook his head, trying to concentrate his mind once again on the task of escaping his wooden prison.

Right, so you get out of the box then you crawl up through six feet of earth and burst out into the fresh air. Piece of cake. Go on then.

The first task, he reminded himself, was to remove the lid.

And how do you do that then, smart-arse?

He raised his hands again so that the palms were flush with the satin. Beneath the slippery material he could feel the hard and unyielding wood of the coffin lid.

Haven’t we already been here before? Haven’t we tried this?

‘Not like this,’ he told himself.

There had been the frantic pounding against the lid and sides but not a concentrated and concerted effort to dislodge the top of the box that held him captive. Paul braced his heels against the floor of the coffin and his arms against his sides, preparing to use all his strength to shift the partition above him. He sucked in a deep breath of his precious oxygen, gritted his teeth and pushed.

‘Come on, come on,’ he grunted as he felt his muscles tighten with the effort. The veins on his face and arms bulged as he focused all his strength against the lid, pushing as hard as he could.

‘Yes,’ he gasped.

He continued forcing his hands against the coffin lid, letting out a loud cry of angry frustration when it wouldn’t move.

‘Fucking open,’ he roared impotently.

The lid wouldn’t budge. Not one solitary inch.

Paul slumped back, gasping for breath, momentarily drained by his exertions. He relaxed back on to the satin, feeling a stabbing pain in his left calf.

Not cramp. Not now. Not here.

He laughed again and didn’t know why. A high-pitched, rattling laugh that rebounded off the coffin walls at him like a taunt.

Why are you laughing? The first part of your master plan just
failed, in case you didn’t notice. You can’t move the coffin lid. If you can’t get the lid off then you can’t crawl through the dirt, can you, dickhead? Why are you laughing?

Because the thought of cramp in his leg had momentarily overshadowed everything else. The fear of choking, having a heart attack, smothering, starving to death or dying of thirst had just been superseded by the possibility of a muscular pain.

Oh, ha, fucking ha.

It was ridiculously amusing, he had to admit that, but he had to stop these bouts of almost hysterical laughter, if only for the sake of his oxygen supply. He nodded as if to affirm his thoughts and, once more, bit down on his bottom lip to stop himself. Paul forced himself to concentrate again.

The lids of coffins, he told himself, were fastened shut with screws or nails, weren’t they? No amount of pushing and shoving was going to lift a lid held in place by screws or nails.

And six feet of earth. However many hundreds of pounds of earth must there be holding this box lid down? Even if the coffin isn’t sealed by screws or nails it’s still effectively closed by the sheer weight of the earth above it. You haven’t got a chance of getting it open.

No, that wasn’t the reason it wouldn’t budge, he told himself. It was because he couldn’t get sufficient leverage lying on his back the way he was. If he could just wriggle on to his side and use his shoulder against the coffin lid then he’d be able to employ the whole of his upper body strength against it. That would do it. That would be enough to shift it. Or, even if he couldn’t lift it, perhaps he could crack it.

Yes, that was it. Crack the lid. Split the wood somehow then pull it open.

Another jolt of enthusiasm ran through him as if he’d been injected with a shot of pure adrenaline.

Break the lid if it won’t lift. That was the answer. If the wood could be breached in some way from the pressure of him pressing against it then he could pull at the timber and open it.

But if you split it then the earth above will come pouring in like sand in an egg timer. The coffin will fill up with dirt. You’ll suffocate quicker than if you ran out of air.

But Paul wouldn’t believe that. He was determined now that he had a way out. He had a way to escape and he was unshakeable in his desire to achieve his goal. He pulled his shoulders in more tightly to his body and wriggled gently to the left, finding that he could turn his body almost halfway around so that the point of his right shoulder was wedged against the coffin lid.

That’s it. Now use the strength in your upper body. Come on. You spend enough time at the fucking gym. Put that time to good use. Save yourself.

He gritted his teeth and began to push.

‘No one’s seen her.’

Gina Hacket spewed out the words as if they tasted bad. She gripped the phone in one hand, her other holding back the net curtains as she continued to gaze down the street, the sky now a worryingly dark shade of blue.

A cool breeze had sprung up about an hour ago, bringing with it thick banks of cloud that had obscured the sun. That, combined with the approach of early evening, had turned the heavens the colour of new denim.

‘I rang all of her friends’ houses and none of them have seen her, Frank,’ Gina went on. ‘None of them.’

‘Who did you speak to?’ he wanted to know.

‘To the mothers. Who do you think?’ she snapped.

‘You spoke to all of them?’

‘I just told you that.’

‘Could she be with a friend we don’t know about? We don’t know all her friends, do we?’

‘All her close friends. All the friends whose houses she goes
round sometimes. Jesus, Frank, she doesn’t even spend that much time at her friends’ houses, does she? We know all her close friends. All the places she might have gone. I spoke to all of the mothers and none of them have seen Laura since school finished and that’s now three hours ago. I’m calling the police.’

‘And what are you going to say?’

‘I’m going to tell them that our daughter is missing.’

‘And what else?’

‘What do you mean, what else? What more do I need to fucking say? Laura is missing, Frank. It’s going to be dark in a couple of hours and she’s not home. She’s also not with any of her friends. What’s wrong with you?’

‘And the mothers were sure she hadn’t been at any of the houses?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ she snarled. ‘Haven’t you been listening? If you were any sort of a father you’d come home now and help me look for her.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Frank snapped. ‘How the fuck is this my fault?’

‘I didn’t say it was your fault. I just said you should come and help me look for her.’

‘If I could, I’d have come home the first time you rang me. I’m as worried as you are but I can’t just leave work like that. They’d sack me.’

‘You don’t sound worried, Frank.’

‘One of us has got to try and stay calm. If we both go to pieces that won’t be any help to Laura, will it?’

Gina sucked in a deep breath.

‘So I have to go out on my own to look for her?’ she asked.

‘Drive around the shops and past the school and anywhere else on the estate where she might be. She might be out playing with her friends.’

‘I’ve just told you, none of her friends have seen her since she left them this afternoon.’

‘It’s worth a try.’

‘She’s eight, Frank, she’s not a teenager. She doesn’t stand around by the shops drinking cider. Not yet. She’s a little girl and she’s missing and I’m going to call the police because they need to know.’

There was a long silence at the other end of the phone.

‘Are you still there?’ Gina hissed.

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘All right, if you think that’s the thing to do, then do it.’

‘Thanks for the advice, Frank,’ she said acidly. ‘I should have done it an hour ago.’

‘We had to check the other options first,’ he intoned.

‘We had to check? You mean
I
had to check.’

‘If I could have helped I would have done, I’ve already told you that. How could I do anything? I’m here, aren’t I? Ring me back when you’ve spoken to the police. I want to know what they say.’

Gina hung up.

She pushed the phone into the pocket of her jeans and remained at the window wondering what exactly she was going to say to the police when she rang. How would she bring herself to speak the words? Gina shuddered involuntarily and glanced up at the sky.

Was this, she wondered, some kind of punishment for her? Payback for her affair? For her infidelity and betrayal?

She shook her head. If God was punishing her why do something to Laura, she reasoned. Then, just as quickly as she’d begun to think about the possibility of this situation being in some way her fault, she dismissed the notion.

She pulled the phone from her pocket once again and prepared to dial the number she sought. Her hand was shaking.

Outside, the breeze was getting stronger. The leaves on the bushes in the small front garden were rustling softly. To Gina, it sounded like mocking laughter.