Scare Me (13 page)

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 
 

The scream tapered and the silence that followed quickly mopped up every other sound and left him in its vacuum. The next scream broke him out of it. He used his body weight on the lounge door and swung it inward.

Inside the darkened room the first thing he saw was the image on the TV. Some slasher film – leather-masked maniac torturing a naked girl tied to a bed. But his relief at finding the source of the sound was short-lived when he turned to find its viewers.

At first he thought their hair was hanging over their faces. The two bodies were sitting in armchairs, their clawed fingers poking through the blood-soaked rope looped around their stomachs.

But although Will could see the cleavage of the woman and the open shirtfront of the man he was looking at the backs of both their heads. They'd been twisted 180 degrees. Tendons had been snapped, muscles wrung and torn, skulls swivelled on their spines to leave them facing the back wall.

His eyes quickly recoiled and darted about the rest of the room; his mind misdirecting itself with one question. Where was their child, the owner of the tiny anorak he'd seen hanging up in the image on the website? The curtains were drawn, but the illumination of the screen allowed him to peer at the carpet around him and the darkly slicked rug the adults' feet rested on.

He moved around them, to the area behind their chairs. It was the only portion of the room not visible to him. No sign. Had the child been out when it had happened? Was today a school day? Now he could see the faces of the adults, the purple deformed expressions and the tubular stares of their empty eye sockets.

The woman's tongue looked like it had tried to escape her mouth, extending obscenely over her chin. Both their foreheads bore the deep indentations of whichever clamp had been used to rotate them.

Then he saw the dull glint, the clasp of a gold chain. It had been deposited inside the left cylinder carved into the man's head, the rest of it coiled in the dark recess. Will heard a low, hopeless moan, but wasn't sure if it was his or if it came from the TV. He remembered the knife in his hand.

He placed the tip inside the edge of the opening and pushed the point carefully against the tiny loop of the clasp. He felt the scrape of metal against metal and dragged it back, but the loop didn't budge. It clung to the shiny tissue of the socket.

He exerted more pressure on the blade and drew it back again. Two inches of fine links dropped from the jagged hole, shimmering like a gold teardrop.

Then he felt the breath on his cheek. He flinched, a bubble of revulsion escaping him. He turned to look at the woman's scooped out face. She couldn't be alive. He examined her rigid expression and the dead tongue, watched it for signs of movement.

Air escaping, her body expelling. He tugged the chain clean from its hiding place with his fingers – pear shaped amethyst pendant glazed with blood.

He couldn't leave the room until he knew she was dead. He looked into her, waiting on his knees. Her distended lips remained motionless.

When he closed the door behind him he breathed in the normality of the hallway. He could still hear the kids playing outside and touched his cheek. It felt damp. But it was like he wasn't really standing there. He was locked away, steering his body from the place he'd retreated into.

He checked the other rooms and then looked up at the mezzanine level above the hallway as if he were looking through two holes; watched his feet climb the stairs like it was a movie. He had to know if the child was there.

He inspected all the bedrooms, but they were empty. He went up to the converted attic space. Nobody. When he was positive there was no one else, he descended the stairs. He headed back out onto the rear porch, round the side of the house and to the car.

The pensioner had finished cutting his lawn and was gone. Will seated himself with the cab door open, one foot still on the road. He twirled the fragile pendant around his finger and uncoiled it the other way, the amethyst almost weightless, blood dripping from it onto his tan shirt. Somewhere beyond him the kids played softball in the street.

 

Poppy listened to the breath whistling in her nostrils for a few moments longer and then let the daylight into her hiding place. Sliding the fitted wardrobe door open on its runner she stepped back into the attic guest room. She crossed to the circular window and looked down at Will seated in the car. She examined his profile as he stared at the dash.

The sound of police sirens displaced the suburban silence. Poppy stayed at the window to watch.

 

Will only registered the police car when it had crawled to a stop on the other side of the street. He turned to look at its occupants. Two hat badges flashed as they swivelled in his direction and the engine and sirens shut off. His instinct was to slam the door and reverse away, but Will kept panic confined behind rigid muscles as he looked squarely at the dash.

The red and blue lights played across it and he heard the doors open and close. He managed to hinge his spine forward to ditch the gloves and pendant in the compartment. As he did so, he noticed the blood on the lower part of his shirt. He wiped at it, staining the fingers of his right hand. He balled it into a fist, held it in his lap and waited for the footsteps to reach the car.

“Pardon me, sir.” The officer's voice was swollen, like he needed to cough.

Will tried not to consider what was waiting to be discovered less than twenty yards from them both and looked up at the blue-shirted officer's ginger grey nasal hairs.

“We've just received a call about a disturbance in this area. Are you a resident here?”

“No.” The sun was peeking round the officer's head and he was relieved he had to squint at his face.

“Could I ask you what business you have here today, sir?”

He remembered the car he was in had the cab number on the side door. “Just dropping off.” Will only focussed on the hairs.

“Which house?”

He broke contact with the officer's face and pointed further down the street. “Couple of doors down.” The softball kids were coming closer to take a look.

“Where are you from?” The end of his question tailed off.

Will realised the officer had turned back in the direction of the police car. Beyond his ample waist he could see a diminutive young, female officer. She was trotting down the driveway of the residence exactly opposite the one he'd just left.

“Nobody there.” She slowed and ambled over to them, pink lipstick and loose trousers flapping.

“Or nobody answering.” The first officer turned back and this time Will took in the white cracks around his eyes where the sun couldn't reach. “Report said there's a woman walking round here with a knife. Went into that house over there.” He nodded at the opposite property. “You haven't seen anything?”

“I've only been sat here for a couple of minutes, but I certainly haven't seen or heard anything unusual.”

“OK. Do you mind waiting here?”

“Sure.”

Will watched the two officers stroll back across the street and up the driveway of the house, have a confab in front of the front door and then the female officer make her way round the side.

Will's phone rang. It was lying where he'd left it beside the laptop on the seat. Carla had already left two messages.

She didn't wait for him to speak. “You're at the house?”

“They know Libby's expecting.” He glanced back across the street just as the older officer followed her round the side. “Give me a moment...” He started the engine. “I have to drive.”

He dumped the phone on the seat. He had to get the blood off his hand. Will looked around the cab for something to use. Nothing. He didn't want to wipe it off on his clothes. He scanned the street. The gaggle of kids had reached the police car, but no one else was in evidence. He reversed all the way back around the bend, keeping his bloodied right hand in a fist and turning the wheel with his left.

“Will?” Carla said from the seat.

Will watched the house slip around the bend, his cheeks burning.

 

Poppy watched Will's car recede. She'd called 911 as soon as he'd pulled up in front of the house. She'd wanted them waiting in the street for him as soon as he'd retrieved the pendant, but their response had been slow. She'd given them the number of the home opposite and had enjoyed watching his dilemma. But Poppy already knew his compliance was assured.

She couldn't afford to linger long in the house. She had her own schedule to maintain. Poppy would slip out through the back fence when she was done. Her rental car was parked on the other side of the wood behind the estate. A rustle from the wall behind her returned her attention to the task the police had interrupted. Molly, the seven-year-old daughter, had run up the stairs as Poppy had pursued her into the hallway with the Taser.

She'd made it to the guest quarters and had crawled through a miniature door in the wall. Now she was scuttling round the storage space that surrounded the room like a rabbit in a warren. Poppy wondered whether she'd heard the sirens and thought she'd been saved. She felt the handle of the sushi knife sticky in her palm and unbolted the small door again. Beyond was a box full of photograph albums. For the family that lived here, they were now a complete set.

Poppy crouched low and put her face into darkness that smelt of asbestos, looking left and right. “Molly,” she whispered. “It's safe now.” She tipped her head on one side to listen and heard the child's breath escaping erratically through her nostrils. She probably had her hand clamped over her mouth. The air in the restricted space was tepid with fear. “Molly. It's time to come out now.” Sterner now, like her mother would have been.

Poppy pulled her shoulders through the opening so she could pinpoint the sound's location. The crawlspace was wide enough for her to fit. It circled the room. Whichever direction she followed, the child could slither out the other way.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

 

By the time he'd returned home, Tam was ravenous. His father had risen and shaved and was seated at the table in the kitchen watching a game show on TV. Tam's grandmother had been picked up and ran her dry palm over his shaved head as he came in. She was helping with the preparations even though he knew his mother had tried to do most of them before she arrived so she wouldn't interfere.

He seated himself at the table with his father and looked at the food under the coloured plastic covers. He knew better than to try and sneak a morsel before everyone else sat down.

There was only room for four around the table. Grandmother didn't use to come very often on a Sunday, but he'd been told she'd become very lonely since grandfather had passed away. But grandfather had died over two summers ago and Tam wondered if she'd been invited so the empty chair wouldn't remind them of Songsuda.

From what his father said it was obvious his sister had chosen to become friends with the tourists. They had money so it made sense to Tam that Songsuda had done so because they might share some of it with her. He didn't know why his father had been so angry about it. He used to sell food to them, he was happy to take their notes and coins when they had their hot plate at the market.

His father often spoke about the tourists when he thought Tam was out of earshot. Tam picked up on things. How could he blame the tourists for what happened to Songsuda when it was him that had shut her out of the house?

He wondered what his father would do if he had one of the tourists locked up in a cage. Would he sit and watch while he sipped his beer like Skinny Man in the chicken factory? He couldn't imagine him being so cruel.

He looked at his father's profile while he watched the TV. His skin looked shiny and smooth after his shave and his hair was wet and combed back. It was the only day of the week he looked so clean. He considered telling him about her then. It wasn't very often his father spoke to him aside from the orders he barked when they were making their deliveries on the bike. This was something important he knew would get his attention.

But Tam liked the idea of knowing something important his father didn't. The girl was his secret. And after that afternoon he wasn't frightened of her, more intrigued. Also Songsuda was gone because she'd made friends with the tourists. Tam was scared his father would banish him if he told him where he'd been going. And he didn't ever want to be locked outside when the sun went down.

Tam wanted to go back, to see more of the girl and find out why she was in the cage. Most of all, he wanted to see under the hood. But he wouldn't ever take anything from her. That had been Songsuda's mistake.

 

“We're the first team to the scene.” Weaver jumped down from the four-wheel's driving seat and opened the passenger door to retrieve the camera.

Pope didn't move. Through the smoked windscreen he studied the two cop cars parked across the house's triple garage. “What's the hurry?”

Weaver looked stunned. “What are you talking about? We've got the jump on everyone else.”

“So what? The police will secure the scene and we'll have to wait in line with the rest of the procession. This is worthless.” He brandished Weaver's iPad.

“We got delayed. Frost can only have been here minutes ago. Call the channel, see what they want us to do.”

“OK, OK.” Pope pulled out his phone. “You go get set up.”

Weaver hoisted the camera from the back seat and slammed the door.

Pope held the phone to his ear in case he turned back. It wasn't working. Even with foreknowledge they hadn't succeeded in catching up with Frost let alone arriving at the location to capture events as they unfolded. Maybe the occupants of every house were already murdered and it was just Frost's task to retrieve his daughter's items from the bodies. None of the police information about the Amberson family or the corpses in Ellicott City intimated at how long the victims had been dead.

Whatever the case, he needed to get ahead of the story or, at the very least, as inside it as Frost was. But he hadn't established a common thread between any of the victims and Weaver was becoming a liability. He would call the channel if he suspected Pope was acting on his own. It was Weaver's weekend off, but, after today the desk would be in touch with the cameraman's new assignment and then his story would fall apart.

His phone vibrated at his ear. The display told him he'd received a text.

 

?
 

 
 

At first he thought it was Lenora, but when he checked the number he realised it was Patrice. Shit. Sean's twenty-first. He'd promised to head over there today. He swiftly dialled.

“So you're still going to drop everything for us?”

Pope could hear the washing machine whirring in the background. “Patrice, I had to leave town.” He waited for a reaction, but there was none. “Not my choice.” Another lie, and he couldn't deny that yesterday's conversation had gone clean from his mind.

“Maybe his thirtieth then.” She hung up.

Pope leaned his head against the hand holding the phone. Yesterday she hadn't given him the impression that he was remotely welcome there. Now it was clear she'd been waiting for him to be more insistent. Had waited, given up and called. He should have been round there already, should have just turned up on her doorstep whatever she'd said. Lenora would have understood. Lenora wouldn't even have known he'd gone. Another chance blown. He wished Patrice just got angry with him instead of having to endure her weary stoicism.

He watched an officer moving Weaver away from the perimeter of the house – too late to the scene again.

 

“Richard Strick.” Carla waited with the hot telephone pressed hard to her ear while Will searched his memory for the name. She could hear his lips move as he repeated it. But, after a few moments, she knew it was as familiar to him as it was to her.

“And he's what?”

“Lieutenant Governor of Maryland, he was visiting his ex-wife and their children in Ellicott City.” Carla quoted the information from her screen and waited for a further reaction. After the identities of the second family had been reported on CNN, she'd done an online search. “Democrat, lawyer, Roman Catholic, Georgetown University – I've cross-referenced the names, but Strick has no immediate association with Holt Amberson.” But Carla was glad she had the new development to distract Will.

Other than Libby's scan photo, he hadn't told her what he'd left behind in Pepperwood Springs. He probably thought the fact their unborn grandchild was being used would be distressing enough. It dragged at her heart. They were truly evil people. Libby had shared the photo online with her Facebook friends. The kidnappers would only have had to glance at her wall and seen all the messages there to know she was pregnant.

“There must be a local connection…” Will's response was a monotone. Was he really hearing what she said?

There was nothing she could do to mitigate Will's ordeal. She had to keep his mind occupied with the details that had just been made public “Lieutenant Governor of Maryland, Will, the media are all over it. I'll keep searching. Where are you now?”

“Bowling alley car park,” he said listlessly. “There's no new information on the site yet.”

She could hear him lean away from the phone to check it again, hear the swish of his body against the car seat. Carla maximised the site window and looked at the next house in the row – a stucco-fronted, luxurious apartment block. There were six floors and a crenulated parapet, but it looked like a relatively new structure. The cut out image had been shrunk to fit the others in the scrapbook street. She wondered how Will felt knowing what he would find there. She had to motivate him. Make him think only of Libby. “That's three of the items you have now…”

“It's a woman.”

“What?” she said eventually. But she hadn't misheard.

“I tried to call ahead to the house and a woman answered. She was the one who killed them. And the police were looking for a woman with a knife.”

Carla's couldn't speak.

“I think she called them. Sent them to a house nearby just to toy with me. I'm going to be arrested soon anyway. There was one definite witness, a pensioner next door. And some kids in the street. I was watched from a window when I left the house in Ellicott City as well.”

Carla tried to process how Will could be hunted for the crimes of a woman. “We can explain everything when it's over.”
Over.
What did that mean?

The silence from the other end said he was sharing the same thought.

She kept talking, trying to galvanise him. “At this rate you'll be able to stay ahead of the investigation. The site is our edge. We're the only ones who have the window between the murders and the police discovering the bodies.” And then it struck her, the reality of what Will was being subjected to. The image on the site of the Ambersons was horrific enough, but seeing death at such close quarters was something she couldn't possibly have faced alone.

“They're all in denial.”

Carla said nothing. She knew what he was referring to.

“You saw the Ambersons. The others have been posed like they're refusing to see something. The Strick family's heads were buried in the ground.”

Carla clenched her eyes. A detail she'd been spared. She knew Will was thinking out loud. “Let the police work it out. We just have to do what they say.”

“The bracelet, the scarf, now the pendant – I've found them all on the bodies of the fathers. I'm taking those things away from the crime scene. They're more or less mocking the police investigation by hanging the pictures. I'm expected to work something out.”

“There was no picture you missed at the first house?”

“I don't think so. But then it was a holiday apartment. No family photos to disguise it amongst. Anything alien left there would have stuck out.”

At that moment Simon Haste entered Will's office.

“Carla?”

Carla held her hand up to him. “Simon's just barged in,” she said loudly enough for her intruder to hear. “I'll call you straight back.” She put down the handset.

“Your secretary said you were indisposed…” He his untidy white eyebrows were raised.

Carla was suddenly aware of how much sunlight there was in the office because of the amber halo around Haste's unnaturally dark hairpiece. Haste was in his early seventies, but looked a lot older. Semi-retired and a fifth wheel board member he retained a 23.9 per cent share in Ingram.

“I am indisposed.” She said it categorically.

“Another gala dinner in the offing? Hope the venue for this one is better than the last.”

The last time she'd spoken to Haste it had been to placate him about the lack of wheelchair access for his wife. She tried to dismiss him. “Can't talk, but give my regards to Mo.”

Haste lingered. “She's having another one of her bone scans on Monday. I thought Will was on holiday,” he said petulantly.

“He is.”

“They've called me in on this emergency strategics committee so if Will
is
around.” The words whistled over the acrylic of his dentures.

“He's not,” she said with equal economy. Haste was obviously after Will so he could absent himself from the meeting.

“OK,” he said with resignation. “Better Sunday here than wrestling with the grandkids, I suppose.”

Carla didn't respond to his conspiratorial wink.

“Any idea where the Waterloo Room is?”

“Up one floor, ask Nissa to take you up.” She signalled to her.

“Right.” Haste looked around the office as if expecting to find Will hiding somewhere.

“He's not here, I promise,” she said bluntly.

“Yes. I'm not blind. Hope he's not neglecting you. I wouldn't if I were him.” He showed her his false teeth in a smile and left the office.

As he became more fragile it was easy to forget Haste's aggressive corporate past. She watched him leave unsteadily. After Nissa led him away, Carla slammed and locked the door to the office. Nissa turned back with censure in her expression. Was it because Carla had lumbered her with wet nursing Haste or was her suspicion deepening about what was going on?