Hide and Seek (3 page)

CHAPTER 5

12:48pm

Peter arrived at 69 South Road. It was a detached building on a decent stretch of land. Three cars were parked on the driveway leading up to a double garage. He knew that two of them belonged to Colin and Michelle and the other was a black and silver Vauxhall Tigra with the personalised number plate of L4 URA. Peter had mentioned this to Laura last night and she had smiled coyly saying she didn’t like it because she thought it was pretentious but it had been a birthday gift from her husband. He remembered thinking that it revealed a lot about her husband if he would buy something like that for her which she obviously hadn’t asked for.

He wondered why Laura was still here. Last night she
’d said she was leaving early as she had to be home by noon. A part of him hoped it was to see him before she left. Then again, he couldn’t remember anything of last night so had no idea what plans might have been changed. Maybe she’d found out about the prank and was waiting to make sure he got back safely from the woods. He hoped she’d had no involvement in this prank. Even if she did, he was glad she was still here. He wanted to see her just once more before they parted company for what could be another twenty years.

He suddenly felt conscious of his appearance. He knew he looked like shit but he couldn’t really do anything about it until he got in th
e house and cleaned himself up.

Peter walked up the path and knocked on the door. He looked searchingly through the glass for signs of movement in the hallway or on the stairway straig
ht ahead but there was nothing.

He tried the door handle and found the door was open. He slowly peered in, and shouted out ‘Hello?’ but there was no answer.

On a table next to the door he found a handwritten note which read ‘Peter wait here.’ The note was signed by Colin and had a mobile number underneath the signature.

A
stale smell of smoke and alcohol filled the air. He crossed over the laminated hallway into the living room, which had a through lounge stretching all the way to the back of the house. This was the last place he remembered being last night. The room was littered with beer bottles, cans and half full glasses of wine. The living room led through into the kitchen out of his sight. A slight mist of smoke crept out of the kitchen, twisting and whirling, illuminated by the light streaming through the French patio doors.

Peter walked back across the hallway to the study and crossed the room to go through
a door leading into the kitchen. Again, there were more signs of the party which had taken place last night. He felt concerned. He wasn’t sure how house-proud Colin and Michelle were but he thought that some tidying up would have commenced this morning, even if it was just putting the cans in the bin and gathering the bottles so they could be put into the recycling bin later. The house looked like it had been abandoned.

He decided to venture up the stairs shouting out
again, ‘Hello?’ with no answer.

The first floor landing had three bedrooms leading off it on one side and two bathrooms on the other side. Peter explored each of the rooms. The bed in the master bedroom was undisturbed and all the curtains were open.
Either the bed had been made up this morning or no one had slept in it last night. He checked the second bedroom which he and Cas were supposed to share.

As there were two Peter’s in the
group, Peter Perkins was nicknamed Cas in reference to Casper the Friendly Ghost, because of his pale ghostly complexion.

It had been agreed last night that Cas would get the bed and Peter would take the sleeping bag on the floor
. Cas was a big man with a rugby player’s build so he got the bed by default with no argument from Peter. Again, the bed was undisturbed although he was relieved to see his travel bag in the corner of the room where he’d dumped it yesterday morning. Cas’ bags were still there too. He checked the third bedroom which had been allocated to Laura. Again, the bed was undisturbed and her travel bags were sat on top of the bed. He quickly checked the bathrooms but they were empty too, as he’d suspected they might be.

Peter
went downstairs into the living room. He stood still for a moment wondering what to do. He spotted a landline phone perched on the windowsill. He retrieved the note from the hallway and rang the hand-written number. A mobile phone started ringing in the kitchen. He left the phone off the hook and went into the kitchen, followed the noise and opened the drawer from which the noise was coming.

‘That’s just great. Well done
Colin,’ he said sarcastically.

He returned to the living room with the mobile and placed the landline phone back on
its receiver to halt the annoying William Tell ringtone of Colin’s mobile phone. How stupid did you have to be to put your mobile number on a note for someone and actually forget to take your phone with you? He put the mobile phone on the mantelpiece and picked up the landline phone again and rang his own mobile. As it dialled he hoped he would hear it ring somewhere in the house but he heard nothing and it went straight to voicemail. He hung up, frustrated.

‘How very irksome.’

CHAPTER 6

13:03pm

Peter climbed the stairs and went into the second room and sat on the undisturbed bed, exhaling loudly in relief as he kicked off his muddied shoes. He stripped out of his clothes, retrieved a towel and his toiletry bag and crossed the landing to the bathroom. He looked at the dishevelled man staring back at him. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, his skin looked blotchy and his mousy brown hair was ruffled and was
sticking up on the right side.

‘Yep, you look like shit.’

He patted his stomach, pleased at how it was still well defined. He liked to keep fit and kept the flab at bay with a twice weekly routine of squash. However, unpredictable work patterns had wrecked his routine over the last year so he was surprised that it still looked like he was taking care of himself even though he knew he wasn’t. He had a relief-filled piss and then brushed his teeth. He debated whether to have a shave but decided he couldn’t be bothered. He stepped into the shower, the hot water was invigorating and for ten minutes he just stood there with his head bowed under the nozzle letting the water massage and revitalise his body.

He left the bathroom and stood in the hallway, listening in case anyone had come into the house whilst he was in the shower. The house was still
deathly quiet. He returned to the second bedroom and dried off. The feeling of fresh clothes was, again, refreshing and he bagged up the dirty clothes and packed his travel bag up. He was starting to feel a little agitated. He was booked on the 3:12pm train and it was twenty minutes from here by taxi to the station. His plan was to wait for the others to come back, get a quick debrief on what the hell happened last night, then he’d get a taxi to the station and have a full English breakfast at the greasy spoon cafe he spotted on his way here, before boarding the train for home. His stomach gurgled as if agreeing with his plan.

Peter relaxed in the chair in the front room, thinking about last night’s events
, trying again to recap as much as he could for some clue as to what was going on. He rubbed his eyes and brow, still feeling hazy, the dull headache
still
there. Had he been drugged or taken drugs? He couldn’t imagine any scenario, no matter how drunk he was, in which he would be convinced to take drugs. He was still feeling tired and his eyes stung a little at the stark white light of the early afternoon sun streaming in through the open blinds. He thought he’d rest his eyes for a while.

A knock at the door startled him awake. It had only felt like a few seconds but a quick check of the clock on the mantelpiece revealed he must have dozed off for at least ten minutes. He groggily rose from the chair
and looked out of the window - a police car was parked on the driveway. An immediate feeling of panic swept over him and he rushed to answer the door.

Peter recognised the officer immediately. It was the town’s Chief
Superintendent, who also happened to be Michelle’s father. He wasn’t wearing his police uniform but he still had an authoritarian presence. He always reminded Peter of the actor Sam Elliot because of his flowing grey hair and the white moustache which sat permanently on his upper lip. It was the moustache, and his tendency to wear a cowboy hat when out of uniform, which had led to him being dubbed ‘The Sheriff’ - he seemed like a throwback from an old western. As children they joked that he would probably have put spurs on his boots and wore a holster if he had been allowed to.

‘Hello Mr Heron,’ Peter said timidly.

He felt himself returning to childhood and being shyly polite around his friends’ parents. The Sheriff’s face softened as he inspected him and a flash of recognition passed over his face.

‘Peter Stevenson? Well well, how are you?’

Peter smiled and without checking himself replied, ‘I’m okay Sheriff.’

Peter stopped himself, realising what he
’d said. The Sheriff simply smiled. He was obviously aware of the nickname and Peter could tell that he wasn’t displeased with the moniker.

Peter moved to one side and The Sheriff walked into the house and through to the living room as Peter followed. He surveyed the carnage of the party and
turned back to Peter.

‘Where is everyone?’

Peter responded, ‘I’m not sure.’

The Sheriff looked at him quizzically, clearly not impressed with his a
nswer.

The Sheriff probed furthe
r, ‘Are you the only one here?’

It was clear that he was aware that Colin and Michelle were putting the three outsiders up and was confused as to why he was the only one in the house. Peter felt uncomfortable and a sense of guilt came over him
; it always seemed to happen when he talked to police officers even though he’d done nothing wrong. Although a thought flashed through his mind - because he had no idea what he got up to last night - that might not necessarily be true on this occasion. Peter really felt like he didn’t want to talk about waking up in a cabin in the middle of Durden Woods because even in his own head it sounded strange and was bound to lead The Sheriff to probe for more information. Information he didn’t have.

‘Yes. I didn’t end up sleeping here last night and I just go
t back about half an hour ago.’

The Sheriff raised his eyebrows and Peter realised that his lack of description sounded even more suspicious, and perhaps suggested that he had slept at a woman’s house. Peter ignored the obvious look from The Sheriff for more
details.

‘I lost my phone last night so I haven’t been able to ring
anyone. I think they all went for lunch or something. Colin left a note.’

He retrieved the note from the mantelpiece and handed it to The Sheriff
. A perplexed look came over his face. The Sheriff took his mobile phone out of his pocket and his finger scrolled over the Smartphone, his eyes moved back and forth from the note to his phone.

‘This isn’t Colin’s mobile number.’

CHAPTER 7

13:44pm

‘What?’ Peter replied as The Sheriff started to dial the number on the note.

The Sheriff continued, ‘It doesn’t even look like his handwriting,’ he added.

Peter knew that the mobile phone on the mantelpiece would start ringing and he retrieved it and handed it to The Sheriff.

‘No need to ring it, the phone is right here, I found it in the kitchen.’

‘Is this your phone?’

Peter looked at The Sheriff as if he had just asked the stupidest question in the world.

‘No, it’s not mine. Maybe it belongs to one of the others. Maybe Colin lost his phone and borrowed one of the others.’

‘There seems to be a lot of phones that got lost last night,’ The Sheriff said in a matter-of-fact manner.

Peter could only nod and agree, offering up
a vague, ‘we all got pretty drunk last night.’

‘And you don’t know who could have written this?’

‘No, I don’t know what Colin’s writing is like. Are you sure it isn’t his?’

‘I’ve signed off enough of his reports to recognise his writing.’

They both stood silent for a few moments each pondering on their own thoughts. Peter, now more than ever, was feverishly trying to recap last night’s events. The Sheriff broke the silence with an obvious statement.

‘This seems a little odd.’

Peter nodded.

The Sheriff continued. ‘Colin didn’t show up for work this morning. Not that I was surprised but I’ve been ringing him all morning and he hasn’t replied. That’s why I came over. I just assumed he
’d be laid in bed nursing a hangover again.’

Colin worked on the police force under his father-in-law. When Peter had spoken to Colin about this last night it was apparent that the two of them didn’t get along particularly well. Apparently, The Sheriff had told Colin on more than one occasion that he was a ‘stupid lazy bastard’.

The Sheriff returned to the role of a concerned father for his next question.

‘Michelle isn’t answering her phone either. Was she drinking last night?’

Peter felt uneasy with the interrogative nature of the question, as if he was trying to catch him out.

‘No, I think she might have had one glass of wine but that was it.’

‘I take it from the mess that you all came back here. What time did you leave them last night?’

Peter avoided the question.

‘We were all at the Oaktree straight after the funeral, and then we came back here.’

The Sheriff was distracted by the mention of the funeral. He nodded humbly.

‘It was very tragic what happened to Gavin. Everyone was very shocked. It’s a shame, he was a good man.’

The Sheriff didn’t seem noticeably emotional when he spoke and Peter wondered if he even knew Gavin or whether he was merely
being polite. He immediately changed the subject.

‘Who came back here after the pub?’

‘Everyone. Colin, Michelle, me, Cas,’ he paused. ‘I mean Peter Perkins.’

The Sheriff nodded in recognition of the name.

Peter continued, ‘Laura O’Connor, Cheryl Stimson and Steve Jenkins.’

The Sheriff took a second to recall Laura from the past but then nodded
again.

‘Steven? Steven came back here?’

‘Yes,’ Peter responded slightly curious as to the reason why he would single Steve out, as if he was surprised that Steve came back to the house.

The Sheriff scrolled his finger over his phone again and started ringing someone. He held the phone to his ear, waited for a few seconds and then sighed and hung up.

‘Voicemail as well.’

Peter assumed it was Steve
he’d called. The Sheriff stood for a few seconds, obviously having an internal debate.

‘Right,’ he said determined, ‘I’m going to try Steven’s house first, the Oaktree pub is on the way so I’ll pop in and see if they’re there. Are you going to join me?’

Peter felt like it would probably be the best thing to do, as The Sheriff was more likely to find the others and he could then get his wallet, phone and keys and head to the train station. However, the uncomfortable feeling of being around someone who was both a police officer and a parent persisted within him. If he was honest he wanted to be away from The Sheriff’s company as soon as possible, to avoid any further awkward questioning.

‘No thank
s. I need to catch a train in about an hour so I better wait here in case they turn up whilst you’re out looking for them.’

‘Alright then, well hopefully one of us can find them in time for you to get that train back home.’

‘Hopefully.’

‘If they do come back here tell my daughter to call me straight away.’

‘Sure. I will do.’

The Sheriff walked out of the house and gave Peter some final words.

‘You bloody kids, never grow up, always playing games.’

He continued muttering to himself as he strolled up the path towards his car. Peter stood alone in the living room for a few minutes going over the conversation he’d just had. Numerous questions flashed through his mind, coupled with a dark sense of foreboding as he recounted the day so far.

He had woken up in a strange cabin in the middle of Durden Woods. He had a gnawing headache and felt like he
’d been drugged. He had returned to Colin and Michelle’s house. Laura’s car was still here so she hadn’t left early like she had planned to. No one was in the house and it looked like it had been abandoned mid-party. No one seemed to be contactable by phone. The only clue that had been left was a note signed by Colin, but according to The Sheriff wasn’t written by Colin. And the note had a mobile number for a phone that had been left in the house and apparently didn’t belong to Colin either. Who did the phone belong to? It was a relatively old Nokia.

Peter jumped as the phone rumbled in his hand, the display lit up and the William Tell tone started playing. The caller ID flashed up with the message ‘Peter Stevenson calling.’