Nemesis (22 page)

“Can you see anything?” asked Lexi, yanking
Will
back by the collar of his jacket, as he attempted to look down the well.

Alicia shuffled forward until she reached the edge. It was difficult to see very much, as thick green foliage had sprung up between the brickwork, partially blocking the view of the bottom and making it appear even darker than it was. She could see an iron rung set into a stone near the top, and vaguely remembered her father telling her there were others, leading to what had once been the water level - another reason he had installed the gate.

She took her phone from her coat pocket and switched it onto light mode, shining it down into the hole. “I can see the bottom,” she said. “It’s not far - less than thirty feet. There’s no water, just a lot of rubbish and some rocks where the sides have caved in.” She stuck the phone into her jeans pocket and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge.

Lexi dropped Will to catch hold of her. “Tell me you aren’t serious?”

“It’s perfectly safe,” said Alicia. “I can climb down on these rungs.”

“Which are like,
medieval!
”

“You could tie a rope around your middle,” Will
suggested
. “The gardeners have some in their shed.”

Now was not the time to ask how he knew what the castle gardeners kept in their shed. “By all means, fetch me some rope.”

Lexi waited until he was out of earshot. “Are you
crazy
? You’ll never be able to climb down. You’re not the sporty type. Let one of the gardeners
do
it.”

“Do you see any gardeners?”
sighed
Alicia. “I’ve not seen a single one since Granny allegedly hired them. Besides, it is unlikely she pays them enough to risk life and limb, climbing down a well, after something anyone else would consider a silly piece of plastic.”

It
is
a silly piece of plastic!” Lexi produced her own phone and brandished it about. “I’ll phone Dad,” she said. “He won’t let you do it.”

Will
chose
that moment to return, with a length of rope draped over one shoulder and unravelling rapidly behind him.

Alicia tied one end of the rope around her waist and got Lexi to do likewise around the nearest tree. “Now listen,” she said. “As the rope is not very long, I’ll climb down the well as far as I can, and then untie it. If I fall from that point it won’t be any distance at all so I’ll be fine. If I do have any trouble, or if it looks the slightest bit dangerous, I’m coming right up. Do you understand?”

Will, thoroughly over-excited, hopped from foot to foot. Lexi merely glowered.

Alicia sighed and returned to the edge of the well, lowering one foot and pressing on the uppermost rung to ensure it would take her weight. The rung proved to be surprisingly solid, although black with age. She slid onto her stomach and lowered herself over the side until both feet were firmly positioned on the top rung, then felt though the weeds for the next one. Thankfully the rungs appeared to be set at regular intervals, although each one had a slight slant, presumably from the weight of previous users.

Alicia tried not to think about that.

As she progressed further into the dark, there was the occasional rung which had worked loose but they were set so close together she was able to avoid them.

The further she went, the colder the air. The rungs felt wet, the surrounding walls were moist. She could see each breath forming a little cloud - until she was too far down to see anything at all. She paused to look back up at the circle of light, to reassure herself it was still there.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this!” Lexi’s boiling resentment echoed down the well.

I can’t believe I’m doing it either, thought Alicia, concentrating on each rung, until the circle of light grew smaller and the rope grew tighter, until a painful jerk to her ribcage told her it had reached its limit. Was she there?

She hooked one arm over a rung to steady
herself
and took out her phone. Instantly she was surrounded by a comforting, if dim, light.

The stone walls were stained darker with each subsequent water mark, as its level had reduced over each decade. No plants grew here; the fallen masonry left large expanses of bare earth and holes where some of the loose soil had cascaded into the well. Alicia began to get the impression that perhaps this hadn’t been such a clever idea after all. The remaining walls could cave in at any moment and the only thing linking her to the surface was a rope she was about to untie and a mobile phone which would never work below ground.

Although she had managed to get this far.

Alicia shone the light towards the bottom of the well. It was about eight feet beneath her - practically jumping distance. There was no water and the ground was uneven, piled with fallen rocks, earth and a multitude of rubbish - mainly drinks cans and faded food packaging. There was even a football.

“I’m almost there!” she called. “Only a few feet further. I’m going to undo the rope.”

Lexi yelled back a response, but it was unintelligible.

Assuming everything at the surface was still all right, Alicia stuck her phone in her mouth and untied the rope, leaving it swinging against the side of the well. It soon transpired there were only two more rungs. She took the phone from her mouth, checked for a likely landing place - and jumped.

She fell awkwardly, landing on a pile of broken rocks and painfully bashing her knee. At least she hadn’t broken her phone. She could only imagine how awful it would be to be left alone down here in the dark. She shone the light around - and
there
was her memory stick, its bright pink colour making it easy to see on top of the rubbish.

She scooped it up delightedly, making sure that this time it was secure in the depths of her pocket.
All this effort for a tiny square of plastic?
No wonder Lexi thought she was mad!

Her light caught on the football. Someone had drawn a rudimentary face on it and she couldn’t help smiling, wondering how on earth it had got through the bars of the gate above?

Perhaps Will might like a souvenir? She reached out and the light she held shone directly upon it, shifting the shadows, redefining the outline until she realised it wasn’t a football at all.

35

The police had rolled John Grove onto his back to check for signs of life, and then left him where he lay when it was obvious there were none. The balaclava had been pushed up above his face, revealing tufts of white hair now stained dark-red with the blood pooling around him. The top of his head was a complete mess, shattered by the bullet which had killed him, but Natalie was only aware of those pale grey eyes, which seemed to be staring right through her.

About fifteen minutes after her father had been shot, a police transit van had rolled into the car park and cordoned it off, followed by a multitude of other emergency vehicles, which parked along the road above. Soon the car park was full of people in forensic overalls.

To be out of their way, Natalie and Bryn were sitting up in the stairwell. It was open to the elements and, as the sky darkened, the rain began to fall, thudding rhythmically against the stone steps behind them.

“We should get back under cover,” Bryn said, although he didn’t actually move.

Distracted by flashes of light on the other side of the car park, Natalie watched a police officer taking photographs; first of the surrounding area, then gradually moving closer towards her father’s body. Overview, mid-range and close-up, she thought, oddly detached from the scene playing out before her.

Beside her, Bryn shifted uncomfortably. “Why the hell doesn’t someone cover him up?”

“You don’t have to stay,” she told him. “I can tell the police everything they need to know.”

“I don’t think they are going to let us leave.” He indicated the uniformed officer standing on the stairwell behind them. “We’re witnesses.”

“Shall we try?” she suggested. “Just to see what they do?”

“I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

The rain was now dripping off her hair and down the back of her neck, the icy rivulets finding their way beneath her clothes. Bryn was right, they should move - but she really didn’t want to be any closer to those cold staring eyes than she had to.

She watched a man walk towards them. He wore a dark suit with an unbuttoned trench coat, and delicately picked his way around the patches of oil until he came to the edge of the steps where they sat.

It was Detective Chief Inspector Bloom.

“Miss Grove,” he said, looking up at her.
“My condolences.”

She inclined her head, but didn’t trust her voice to speak.

“Someone should take her up to her apartment,” Bryn said. “It’s unfair to keep her hanging around like this, after everything she’s been through.”

“You’re quite right,” said DCI Bloom.
“If you’d like to come with me, Miss Grove?”

It was not the answer Bryn wanted to hear. “I’ll take her. It’s no trouble.”

“I’m sure,” said the DCI, “but I need you to make a statement. So if you would honour us with your company for a moment or two longer, I’ll arrange for one of my officers to talk to you.”

Bryn muttered a word, which could have been ‘knob’. It certainly wasn’t Welsh.

“Miss Grove?” said the DCI.
“If you’d like to come with me?”

Natalie reluctantly got up from where she was sitting, but before she could make her way down the few steps to the car park, Bryn jumped up and gave her a quick hug.

“I’ll call you later,” he said, “to make sure you’re OK.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, but when she followed the DCI into the elevator she saw him hit the ‘G’ button instead of the one labelled ‘penthouse’.

“OK,” she sighed, “where are we really going?”

He turned his head and regarded her thoughtfully. “I could drive you to the police station and take your statement,” he said. “I could do everything properly, record every word you said - whether you meant to say it or not. Alternatively, I could take you to one of the cafés and we could chat informally. What do you say?”

She would have said, ‘Why bother to walk along the quayside to one of the cafés, when I’ve a perfectly good apartment upstairs?’ But the devious sod was up to something, so she decided to let it play out.

The elevator doors slid open. He waited, regarding her enquiringly.

“Oh, whatever,” she said, and walked out into the reception.

There were more police officers here. Some were interviewing the residents, others were checking the CCTV; one of them seemed to be taking a statement from Phil.

When Phil saw the elevator door slide open, he raised his hand. “Are you OK, Miss Grove? He didn’t hurt you did he?”

She shook her head in reply, as everyone turned to look at her. Phil must have been the one to call the police. He would have seen everything unfold on those CCTV monitors. How could her father have taken such a risk, even wearing the balaclava to hide his face? Had he really thought Sarah’s diary was that important?
Worth dying for?

As they stepped through the door and onto the street, the DCI produced a sturdy black umbrella and held it over her head. It was not raining so hard now, but the sky was still overcast and the marina lights were popping on, one by one. She thought they would stop at Tom’s Coffee Shop, which was the most popular café in the village, but the DCI didn’t break his stride until they came to the opposite end of the quayside and a familiar Victorian boathouse. High above the arched entrance was the word ‘Remedy’ picked out in blue neon.

Natalie was surprised the club was even open this early in the evening but supposed the DCI must have phoned ahead to let them know his intent. This was confirmed when they went inside and the barman was waiting for them.

The DCI glanced at her.
“Two coffees?”

“Fine,” she said. She didn’t even know Remedy sold coffee.

Another member of staff, in the regulation black t-shirt and jeans, was slowly taking the chairs from the tables and putting them back onto the floor, ready for the official opening time. The club had a completely different atmosphere during the day. Silent as a tomb, the overhead lights were on, the fairy lights off - any atmosphere was gone.

“Where did you sit last night?” the DCI asked her.

Natalie pointed four tables down on the left hand side. The DCI picked up their coffees and made his way carefully between the tables to the one she indicated.

He should try doing that in a crowded bar in the dark, she thought, and wondered if that was when the drugs had been slipped into her drink.

“Did you get the toxicology report back?” she asked, before he’d even sat down.

“The what?
Oh, you mean the specimen we took last night? Sorry to disappoint you, but our lab doesn’t work that quickly. It’s not like the movies.” He pushed one of the cups towards her as he sat down, reached into his jacket pocket and took out a handful of sugar sachets. He dropped them onto the table.
“Sugar?”

She shook her head, and watched him rip open three packets of sugar and tip the contents into his coffee. “Do you think I was drugged?”

“Do you?” he countered.

“I kept blacking out.”

“We think someone slipped Rohypnol into your drink, or something very similar. The effects can be worse if it’s mixed with alcohol - you can pass out for eight hours.”

“I hardly drank any alcohol, I didn’t get the chance.”

“You were extremely lucky. It takes effect in about fifteen minutes and causes dizziness, confusion and memory loss.”

“But who put it in my drink?”

He gave her a pitying look.
“Your father.
He could have easily stolen the drug from Rose Court. I suspect he did not realise the effects would be so immediate. He assumed you would go home, fall asleep and leave him to break into your apartment undisturbed.”

“Instead, I didn’t drink enough to be affected, didn’t go home right away, and when I did, I walked in and caught him.” She thought for a moment. “You know, he could have killed me right there if he’d wanted. He certainly had the opportunity.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he wanted you dead. He only wanted Sarah’s diary. His mistake was to start waving a gun around in front of armed police. Those guys don’t mess about.”

“Where the hell did he even get a gun from?”

“It was an old World War 2 pistol, registered to Dr Charles Fitzpatrick. Your father stole his car too.”

Natalie picked her bag up off the floor and unzipped it. The DCI watched, at first interested, and then slightly less so when the only thing she took out was a scrap of screwed up paper. She smoothed it out on the table and turned it around so he could read it.

“I found this beside my computer,” she said. “It was beneath the bag of liquorice. You remember the liquorice? He meant it as a sign. He wanted me to know it was from him. The liquorice was … a private joke.”

“Destroy it? Destroy what?”

“Sarah’s diary,” she said simply. “Now it makes sense. Now it’s too late of course. He knew someone else would be after it. All those times I visited him and he never said a word! The bastard! He wanted me to think he was dead. He was going to walk out of my life and I’d never have been the wiser.”

“
Which brings me to my next question.
Did you know your father could walk?”

“I suspected his injuries were not as severe as he made out. He was supposed to have a brain injury, yet when I talked to him I could tell he understood me, and not only on a basic level. The last time I saw him - last night in fact, before the fire - he looked and sounded completely normal.”

“Could his injuries have been psychosomatic?”

“Charles said there was always the chance he could improve, but that the more time passed, the less chance there was of it. Dad must have been getting better all the time, and hiding it. Why he would do that?”

“You haven’t worked it out yet?”

“You’re going to tell me he was overwhelmed with guilt over Sarah’s death? That he tried to kill himself by driving over the cliff and faked his injuries to spend the rest of his life in a care home, as some kind of self-punishment? Don’t bother, I’ve heard it before and I still don’t believe it. What kind of a person would do that?”

“A frightened person,” said the DCI. “I have a theory that your father was hiding.”

“From whom?” she demanded.

He smiled. “Now
that
is an excellent question.”

In other words, you don’t know,” Natalie said.

“Find your father’s Nemesis, find the murderer.” As she glanced up sharply he smiled. “A line of thought you’ve had yourself?” He raised his cup to his mouth and took a long drink. “This coffee is great, by the way. Would you like another?”

“No, I
don’t
want another cup of coffee. I’m up to here with cups of coffee, and talk talk talk, and nothing gets done, nothing gets solved. Why are we sitting here? You should be out there, finding my sister’s murderer.”

The DCI leant back in his chair. “You would be surprised at how much talking can achieve,” he said.
“Far more than a shoot-out where the star witness ends up dead.”

“The witness?
You mean my father?” She struggled to get her head around this. “So he didn’t kill my sister?”

“‘
Brutal father kills daughter
’. It would have made a great headline. Fortunately it’s not true.”

“It doesn’t make sense. He made all that fuss about wanting Sarah’s diary. Why would he do that, unless it implicated him? I was so sure he knew something - all those hours I spent visiting him, talking to him, trying to provoke him into telling me the truth about what happened that night. You’re telling me it was for
nothing
?”

“Perhaps you asked the wrong questions?” he said blithely.

“Why do
you
think my father wanted the diary?”

“To protect you from whoever did kill Sarah?”

She almost laughed. “You think he would go to all that trouble?
For
me
?”

There was an awkward silence.

“You know, it occurs to me that every time I get into some kind of trouble the police appear at exactly the right moment. Why is that? Are you following me?”

This amused him. “Why would you think we were following you?”

“My father brandishes a gun and two policemen instantly turn up to rescue me? Please don’t tell me it was a coincidence.”

“Ah, but why would you think we were following
you
?”

For a moment she didn’t understand, then, “You were following
Bryn
?”

Before the DCI could form a response, his phone rang.

Riled that he had not answered her question, she took up her bag and pretended to check her own phone for messages, even though it wasn’t switched on. In reality, she listened intently to everything he said. It was not difficult. While the DCI took no trouble to lower his voice, unfortunately he did not give anything away.

“Really?” he said, after listening to the person on the other end say their piece. “As my old Mum would say, it never rains but it pours. Do what you have to do. I’ll be there shortly.” He clicked the phone shut and laid it carefully on the table before him.