Mesmeris (18 page)

The wind had blown the clouds away by home time and, although it was still blustery, the air was clear and sharp. It cleared my head and even my stomach seemed to have settled back to something resembling normality. The watery sun looked beautiful in a sad, romantic sort of way. Had I been going somewhere else, had I been with Jack, I’d have enjoyed the walk. As it was, I felt like a convict on the way to my execution.

Dad stood next to the reception desk, his face drawn and wan, a little vertical worry line between his brows. ‘Sorry’, he mouthed.

‘Pearl!’ Jim said, as if surprised to see me. No doubt, he intended the smile to be pleasant. Instead, it was the opposite. ‘I wonder if you have a few minutes to help us with something.’

I looked back at the open door, longed to turn around and run away.

‘Or are you going somewhere?’ Jim’s mouth still smiled, in isolation, disconnected from the rest of his face.

‘No. I’m tired.’

‘You do look pale.’

‘Hangover,’ Dad helpfully supplied.

Jim raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s a first for you, isn’t it, Pearl?’

I ignored him.

‘Drinking Champagne with that lad and his brothers, apparently,’ Dad said. I thanked God I hadn’t told him anything else.

Jim looked smug. ‘Brothers?’ His flinty little eyes fixed on mine. ‘And money. Champagne, eh? In our day I think it was cheap cider, wasn’t it, Luke?’

Dad laughed and agreed - so trusting, convinced I had nothing to hide.

Jim led us through to a small room furnished with a desk, four chairs and a voice recorder. He shut the door.

Immediately, I felt trapped, claustrophobic. ‘Uncle Jim,’ I said. ‘What am I supposed to’ve done?’

Jim laughed. My Dad laughed. I didn’t.

‘Nothing, Pearl.’ Jim ruffled my hair. I gritted my teeth. ‘I’m hoping you might have seen something, that’s all.’ He sat down and signalled to my Dad and me to sit opposite.

‘I’m not very observant,’ I said.

‘That’s true,’ Dad said.

The room felt stuffy and airless, and far too hot. I fidgeted, chewed my lip, nervous and impatient to get outside. For the first time I noticed a policewoman sitting on a chair by the door.

Jim frowned. ‘Relax, Pearl. Are you sure we’re not stopping you from meeting someone?’

‘No.’ I tried to relax my muscles, clasped my hands together in my lap. It took a huge effort to keep still.

‘You’ve had an interesting week, haven’t you?’

I raised my eyebrows, didn’t answer.

‘I mean, you’re on a school trip when two people are seriously hurt.’

‘I didn’t see that,’ I said.

‘Strange how no one saw anything.’ Jim frowned. ‘Not even the victims. Odd, that, don’t you think?’

‘Don’t know,’ I said. ‘Can I go now?’

‘Just one other thing.’

I perched on the edge of my seat.

He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. ‘I’ve had a rather interesting week, too. The murder on Monday, the school trip assaults on Thursday, and now I’ve been asked to help Brighton CID with a little problem.’

Brighton. The word slammed into my chest.

‘And, strangely,’ he said, ‘you happen to have been in the vicinity - again.’

‘A lot of people were in Brighton.’ My voice shook. I could hear it.

‘Indeed, indeed. It’s just a coincidence.’ His eyes told me he didn’t believe in coincidences. ‘Your boyfriend, too, was in the vicinity of both.’

‘He wasn’t on the trip.’

Jim raised his eyebrows, consulted his notes. ‘But didn’t he – how did you put it - rescue you?’ He smiled. ‘In London, I mean of course – not Brighton.’

I stared at him while my mind searched for a clever response.

‘What did he rescue you
from
, exactly?’ Jim said. ‘It wouldn’t be Matthew Tipper, would it? I mean,’ Jim consulted his notebook, looked up, smiled, ‘he’s no angel, according to your schoolmates.’

‘I told you.’ Blood punched again and again at my temples. ‘It was just some girls – bitchy bullying. Jack took me away, that’s all.’

Jim smiled. ‘He’s a regular knight in shining armour, isn’t he?’

I tried to smile back. My mouth wouldn’t do it.

‘And you were both in Brighton on Friday?’

I noticed a red light on the voice recorder. ‘Are you taping this?’

‘Oh, sorry,’ he said. ‘Yes. Do you mind?’ The detached smile.

I shook my head. Jim raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the tape.

‘No,’ I said, defeated.

‘So, you were in Brighton?’

‘You know I was. You were there when I got home, remember? For God’s
sake
.’ Heat radiated from my face.

Dad and Jim both looked surprised. Jim’s mouth, he didn’t really have any lips, twitched in satisfaction. ‘Yes, so you returned home at,’ he glanced at his notebook again, ‘ten forty-seven. Does that sound right to you?’

I shrugged.

Jim raised his eyebrows.

I sighed, irritated. ‘Suppose so,’ I said. ‘I don’t really know what time it was.’

‘While you were there, did you see any of these young people?’ He passed some photographs over the desk.

God, no. Don’t let it be them. Please, don’t let it be them
.

‘They’d have been together, in a group,’ Jim said. ‘They were a group of friends.’

Were –
were
a group of friends - past tense.

I didn’t look at the photos, looked slightly to the left of each so I didn’t have to see the faces, see the eyes.
Don’t think about it
. ‘Never seen them before, sorry.’
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

‘Take a closer look, Pearl.’ Jim pushed the photos under my nose. ‘There were five of them - five young people, like yourself, just starting out in life, just wanting to have a good time.’

I pretended to examine the photos, looked instead at the backgrounds, the shadows, trying to block the pictures in my head.
Later – think about it later - not now
. I knew Jim was watching me. I tried to focus my mind on the Reformation, the dissolution of the monasteries, the stuff we’d been doing in history. Instead, I saw that room, the red curtain, the altar, the . . . ‘No,’ I said, too loudly. ‘I didn’t see them.’

Jim smiled. ‘You haven’t asked what happened to them.’

I could not think of a single thing to say. I didn’t want to
know
what happened to them. Sweat oozed from my skin, ran down my back, under my arms, down the back of my neck.

‘They were murdered,’ Jim said.

I tried to swallow but couldn’t. While the rest of my body was slippery with sweat, my mouth had dried up completely.

‘Thrown off the cliffs – after they were killed.’

My hands shook. I put them under my thighs to keep them still. All dead. All of them. Matt looked up at me from the table, red-hair, cheeky smile, mischievous eyes – Dyl, dark hair, serious – looking cool.

‘Are you okay?’ Dad put his arm over my shoulder. ‘I think you’d better leave it, Jim. She’s upset.’

‘Okay,’ Jim said. ‘Just once more, then.’ He watched me, sharp eyes boring into my brain. ‘Did you see them, Pearl?’

‘No!’ I shook my head. My hair dripped with sweat. I rubbed my wet hands on my jeans. ‘I told you. I’ve never seen them before. Now, can I go?’ I stood up.

Jim’s eyes narrowed.

‘I feel ill, Uncle Jim. I don’t know these people, okay? I didn’t see them, and I don’t know what happened.’

Dad, bless him, said, ‘Jim, Pearl doesn’t tell lies. If she’d seen them, she’d tell you.’

Jim’s eyes told me he knew, knew I was lying. ‘Okay, we’ll leave it for now but ask your boyfriend to pop in. We’d like a DNA sample.’ He smiled his hideous non-smile.

‘Why?’

‘I’m sure he won’t mind,’ Jim said, ‘if he has nothing to hide.’

Now he was threatening Jack. ‘Of course he has nothing to hide. He was with me, for God’s sake.’

‘Pearl,’ Dad said.

Jim inclined his head to one side. ‘You’re very defensive.’

And I’d kill you to protect him, I thought. ‘I’m not defensive - I’m pissed off.’

‘Pearl!’

‘Sorry, Dad, but it’s ridiculous. Jack was with me.’ I hated Jim, hated his flinty eyes. ‘Can – I - go?’

‘Of course,’ Jim said, apparently satisfied. ‘You’re not under arrest.’

I gave Dad a hug.

‘I’m sorry, Pearly,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t know what’s wrong with Jim.’

‘It’s fine.’ I walked straight past Jim without looking at him and marched out of the cramped, airless room. I made it through the foyer, out of the station, and into the fresh air before Jim stopped me. ‘A quick word, Pearl, please.’

He was on his own.

‘You just
had
a quick word.’ I stared at the pavement. ‘Where’s Dad?’

‘I asked him to get me something from the office.’

Sneaky, snidey Jim.

‘I think you should know,’ he said, ‘they were ritualistic – these murders.’

Don’t think, don’t think about it. They’re just words. They mean nothing
.

‘Most of the bodies were washed out to sea,’ Jim said, ‘so a lot of evidence was lost. Thankfully not all of it. We still have some DNA. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

I met his eyes.
Don’t think about it or your voice will shake and he’ll know, he’ll know
. ‘Yes, thank you,’ I said.

My hatred for Jim bounced back at me, reflected in his eyes, in the furious rictus of his mouth.

‘I went to your school this afternoon,’ he said. ‘They’ve never heard of your boyfriend. In fact, there’s no record of him anywhere.’

‘He’s not
in
school, Uncle Jim. I don’t know what gave you that idea.’

A laugh of disbelief. ‘Do you know where he is now?’ He shook his head even as he asked, knowing I’d tell him nothing.

‘No.’

Jim leaned towards me, pinned me with his sharp eyes. ‘Niece or not, Pearl – if you’re withholding evidence, I
will
prosecute you.’

‘Okay, Uncle Jim.’ I gave him my brightest smile.

He looked as if he wanted to hit me. His body trembled, fists clenched at his sides. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’ he said.

I turned away.

‘Look,’ he said, his tone almost pleading, ‘if you don’t care about yourself, then at least think of your parents.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said.

‘If anything happens to you,’ Jim said, ‘it’ll destroy them.’

I walked away and didn’t look back. My insides trembled. Tears poured down my face, blurred my vision. I felt Jim’s eyes on me, knew he was watching me, so didn’t wipe them away until I’d turned the corner. There, I stood for a moment and leaned my head back against the wall, closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I’d fall apart if I even began to think about what happened at that sabbat and falling apart was not an option, not yet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I texted Jack and asked him to meet me by the canal, a plan forming as I walked. I followed a convoluted route just in case Jim had anyone watching me, but by the time I reached the waterside, I was certain I was alone.

An early evening mist had begun to form, giving the whole scene a spooky feel that, in other circumstances, I’d have loved. I leaned on the railings and watched the mysterious smudges of water vapour move across the water. It was hypnotic, watching them drift lazily, as if they were ghosts on their way to a party, but in no particular hurry to get there.

I began to have second thoughts about my plan to show Jack his childhood home. It had seemed a good idea at first, to make him face up to Papa’s vile wickedness, but as I waited, I grew more uncertain. Perhaps he would remember nothing about the abduction. On the other hand, if he
did
remember - if he relived that horror of that night, there was no telling what it would do to him.

His smile wavered when he saw my face. ‘You okay?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ I walked along the towpath.

He followed me. ‘Have you been crying?’

‘I had to see my uncle.’

‘The copper?’ Jack stopped walking. ‘What for?’

‘He asked about Brighton.’

The colour drained from his face. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘Nothing. I just said . . .’ something tugged at the corners of my mouth, ‘. . . said I didn’t see them.’ Something hard stuck in my throat. My eyes stung. ‘But I
did
– I
did
see them – and now they’re dead.’ Tears spilled from my eyes and ran down my cheeks.

Jack went to hug me. I shook him off. ‘What happened to them?’

He shook his head, looked away, over the water. ‘I don’t know.’

‘He said it was ritualistic murder. They have DNA. What DNA?’

‘Forget it, Pearl,’ he said. ‘It’s done. Just forget it.’

‘Oh, you’re good at that, aren’t you?’ I said, bitterly. ‘Forgetting.’

He stared ahead, tight mouth, hard eyes.

I brushed away my tears and grabbed his arm. ‘Come on, we’re going for a walk.’ I pulled him away from the water, marched him across the road.

‘Where we going?’

‘You’ll see.’

As we went on, he began to drag on my arm. One street before Coldershaw Road, he stopped dead.

‘Come on.’ I tugged on his arm.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not unless you tell me where we’re going?’

Perhaps he sensed something. His eyes scanned the surroundings, obviously uneasy. Doubts began to grow about my plan, about its possible consequences – for him, for me.

‘A coffee shop,’ I said, ‘by the Cathedral. I thought it would be nice – romantic.’

‘Romantic?’ He looked around. Dirty, grey buildings.

‘Well, more romantic than those bloody garages.’ I tried to laugh. ‘It’s meant to be amazing.’

‘Amazing?’

‘Fine, don’t bother,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

He rubbed his forehead. ‘Sorry - You just seem weird, as if you’re up to something.’

I hugged his arm, hid my face in his shoulder and prayed I wasn’t making a huge mistake.

As we neared his childhood home, the muscles in his arm tensed. As we turned into the street of red brick, terraced houses, his steps faltered then stopped altogether. He looked up at number 62. His mouth opened. He looked at me, his eyes shockingly blue. ‘You knew,’ he said. ‘You knew and you still brought me here.’ His eyes filled up.