The Wave at Hanging Rock: A Psychological Mystery and Suspense Thriller (20 page)

We built fires. Small ones at first because we were still worried about being discovered, but bigger later on when we realised the smoke dispersed into the air by the time it got higher than the cliffs so no-one could see. We built big fires then, big roaring piles of sticks we collected on the walk in, and driftwood from the shoreline. And that quickly led to ideas about camping out there, since it wasn’t easy to make our way all the way home once it was dark.
 

Sometimes we made reconnaissance missions to the big house. In the beginning the old man scared us, we never knew if he might turn up, so we’d hide in the scrub at the top of the cliff and watch the house through John’s binoculars. Sometimes a van would turn up and leave boxes of food on the front step, and it usually sat there for hours before you’d see him open the door and take it in. He was so old he could hardly bend over to pick it up. And John had been right about the shotgun, he only used it for rabbits, and even then he usually missed. We’d watch him limping around on the lawn outside the front of the house, blasting away, and then taking ages to reload, struggling to break the gun down, while the rabbits hopped away. I don’t know who was laughing at him more, us or the rabbits. The old man never got near Hanging Rock, the ground was too uneven. He probably hadn’t been there for years.

 
Darren found a lobster pot in pretty good order washed up on the little beach and the three of us built a raft of driftwood to get out into the bay and lay it. We’d bait it with a couple of mackerel, or our old friends those slowly dying shore crabs and more often than not we would pull up a lobster or two. We kept them in an old bucket until the fire had died down so it was just glowing embers, then we’d tip the lobsters on and hold them down with sticks until they stopped crackling. Sometimes we ate them with fresh bread that John stole from the old man’s supplies.

But most of all we surfed. The wave at Hanging Rock wasn’t magic, it didn’t defy physics or create waves, it was just a slab of rock sticking out into the sea. It just happened that it stuck out at just the right angle, and just the right depth to form these hollow, peeling, perfect waves a lot of the time. There were days when it didn’t, the swell was coming from the wrong angle, or the tide was a bit too low. There were days when it was frightening, the storm producing the waves too close, the swells too big. There were days when it was disappointing, the waves too weak. But they were the unusual days. The outliers. Most of the time, the wave at Hanging Rock was fucking amazing. And it was all ours.
 

 
And so for a few years we’d surf our own private paradise then feast on buttered lobster and grilled fish. And I tell you. If only that had lasted we might all have grown up and been good people. If only that had happened instead of what actually happened. If only. Eh John? If only you hadn’t
fucked
it all up.

twenty-six

THEY MET IN a café nearer to the airport than the university. She didn’t want the risk of running into any of her colleagues.

“So what couldn’t wait?” Dave asked when he finally tracked her down. She was sitting upstairs, on a table right at the back, half hidden by a pillar.

She looked blank.

“The party. Elaine’s summer party? Next weekend. You’re still coming aren’t you?”

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot. Of course, I’ll be there. Listen, thanks for coming here today. I got you a coffee.” She pushed it across to him.
 

“No problem. It’s nice to get away from the office.”

A smile from Natalie. She hadn’t wanted to meet him there.

“So what’s up? How can I help?” He said, sitting down opposite her.
 

 
Natalie didn’t answer. Instead she reached into her bag and pulled out Jim’s wallet. She pressed the soft leather with her hands for a moment, and then tossed it onto the table between them.

“I got a phone call a few days ago. This was found in Llanwindus, stashed in a bush. It’s in Wales.”

Dave didn’t say anything but reached forward and picked it up, then turned it over in his hands. Then he opened it and slid out a business credit card. He ran his eyes over Jim’s name embossed in the plastic, then looked up at her in surprise.

“This is Jim’s?

She nodded.

“Where did you say this was this found?”

“Near a little town called Llanwindus.”

“Did you say a few
days
ago?”

Natalie nodded again.

“Stashed in a bush? Just this?” He held the wallet up.

“No. His clothes as well. All wrapped up in his flight bag.”

“What clothes exactly - like clothes that he’d packed or..?”

“No. Like he’d undressed from what he was wearing, you know, to put a wetsuit on.”

“But I don’t understand, the police found his clothes in the car didn’t they? The ones he’d been wearing that day.”

“Yes.”

Dave screwed up his face in confusion.

“And you think this was Jim’s flight bag?”

“Yes. I recognised it.”

Dave was silent, staring down at the table. He blinked several times and then spoke again. “And who did you say found it?”

“I didn’t. I think it was some workmen. They said they were building a footpath. A coastal path.”

“Did they say where exactly?”

“Just this town, Llanwindus. I checked, it’s a five hour drive from Porthtowan.”
 

“Did you get their name? Their number?”

Natalie gave a little shake of her head.
 

“No. I was surprised. And then he hung up. I think he’d been hoping for a reward. Maybe when I told him Jim was dead, he didn’t want to get involved.”

Dave put the wallet down and began to drum his fingers on the table top. Then suddenly he got up and walked away, over to the wall where the sugar sachets were stored. He took two and returned, when he sat back down Natalie could see his hands were shaking. He didn’t open the sugar.

 
“OK. So maybe he went for a surf in this other place, lost his bag, then drove down to Porthtowan and went for another surf but didn’t come back.” He shook his head. “No, that doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m not sure anything makes sense,” said Natalie.
 

“It’s a strange sequence of events. I mean if you stashed a bag why wouldn’t you recover it?”

“Might you forget it?”

“You said there were clothes in it?”
 

“Yeah. Jeans and a jumper.”

“Did you ever know Jim forget to get dressed?”

Natalie didn’t answer.

Dave scratched at his head. “I’m confused Natalie. What are you telling me here? How does this all fit together?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

 
“Have you told anybody about this? Have you told the police?”

Natalie shook her head again. “I thought about it, but I don’t know what to tell them.”

“Have you told anybody else? Have you told your sister?

“You’re the only person who knows.”

Something in his expression showed this concerned him, but he nodded as if he understood.

They sat for a long time without speaking. Natalie drank from her coffee but he left his alone. Eventually he broke the silence.
 

“OK. Maybe we should recap. Maybe we can figure this out.”

She shrugged but nodded.

“His business bank card is in the wallet. There’s never been any money missing from the account. The bank’s never contacted me about any attempt to use this card. Is that the same for his private account? Can you check?”

“I don’t need to. I closed the account years ago. After I got the death certificate they let me transfer everything.”

“So if someone stole the bag from the car, they haven’t tried to use the cards.”

“No. There’s money in there too, cash.” Natalie pointed at the back section on the wallet and Dave opened it up.

“Thirty pounds.”
 

“If the wallet was stolen why wouldn’t the thieves take that at least?”

Dave didn’t answer.

“Do you think maybe someone stole the bag from the car and hid it, meaning to come and get it later.”

“But couldn’t for some reason?” Dave leaned forward. “It’s possible. At least it makes some sense. But why five hours? Why would they hide it so far away?”

“Perhaps that’s where they came from? Perhaps they weren’t used to stealing and felt guilty, or scared they’d get caught?”

“Yeah OK, that could it explain it.” Dave sat back and thought for a moment.

“So. They happened to come across Jim’s car in Porthtowan, broke in and stole the bag, then got cold feet and hid it in a bush miles away in Wales and never went back to it.” The enthusiasm had gone from his voice. “And that happened by coincidence on the very same day that Jim had his accident and drowned.”

“Or on the same day he decided to take an overdose because he found out about us.” She kept her voice even and non-judgemental.

“Natalie, I don’t believe that’s what happened.”

“I’m not sure I do either. But you’ve got to admit it’s a pretty weak theory.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Can you think of a better one?”

Dave looked like he might say something, but then turned away.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What? What have you thought of?”

“I don’t know. It’s nothing.”

“
Dave.
”

He turned back to face her.

“Well, there’s one possibility, but I don’t know how to say it.”

“Just tell me.”

He sighed but saw he had to say it.
 

“Look I don’t know if this is crazy, but if Jim’s body was never found, and now eight years later his bag turns up. Maybe he didn’t die that day in Porthtowan after all. Have you thought of that?”

At first she didn’t reply, but then she nodded.

“Yes. I’ve thought of that.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“But it doesn’t make sense either. If he wanted to disappear, how would he do it? What would he live off? Where’s he been living?”

Dave blew out his cheeks. “Amnesia?” He tried. Maybe he forgot who he was?”

“With his name and address inside his wallet?”

“OK, not amnesia. Could he…” He paused and softened his voice. “This sounds pretty crazy I know, but could he be one of those guys that has a second wife, a second family. He wanted to disappear?”

“Well,” Natalie said after some time. “That’s a cheery thought. My husband maybe didn’t drown when I thought he did, he just went to live with his other wife.” She picked up the wallet and with her elbow on the table, held it aloft.

“So what do I do with this?” She threw it back down on the table between them. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

He breathed in and then puffed the air out.
 

“Well you’ve got two choices.”

She waited for him to go on.

“There’s a bin over there. You could take the thirty quid from that wallet, throw everything else in that bin and accept you’re never going to know what happened to Jim.”

Natalie wasn’t sure if he was serious.
 

“Or..?”

“Or you could try and find out. I don’t know how exactly. But you could go to this Llanwindus place. Ask around. You don’t know. There might be something that explains this.”

Natalie cast her eyes downward.
 

“That’s not much of a choice.”

“Then you don’t have much of an option.”

She thought for a moment until he interrupted her.
 

“We could go together. If you don’t want to go on your own. We could take his photo, we could ask around. See if anyone remembers seeing him. If nothing else we could find this coastal path and see where the bag was hidden. It might tell us something more. I don’t know. There might even be something else hidden there.”

She was silent. Was this what she wanted, she asked herself. She glanced up at Dave. Dependable Dave. Still married, still running the business which she held shares in. Still handsome in his own way. Still the last man she’d slept with.
 

 
She shrugged. “OK,” she said.

twenty-seven

THEY DROVE THERE three days later. It was Dave this time who suggested they shouldn’t tell anyone, and she’d agreed at once. It didn’t seem likely there would be anything to find, and if that was the case, what good would it do to drag Jim’s death out into the open again? If on the other hand they did uncover something, they’d just have to deal with it. Whatever it might be.
 

The drive felt longer than the four hours the GPS predicted. They got stuck in traffic around Cardiff and then the last part in particular, through the winding roads of west Wales, seemed to take an age. High hedgerows hemmed them in and wooden gates gave glimpses of fields and stone walls. At first the signposts seemed to hint at a place well populated with towns and villages, but then Natalie realised the names were simply repeated in both English and Welsh. Suddenly it felt like an emptier landscape.

 
It was midday by the time they drove through the thin outskirts of Llanwindus, a few clusters of small grey houses, huddled close together despite the wide open fields which surrounded them. They followed the road down through what must be the main street, a sparse collection of small shops and cafés. It was prettier here. The town looked like it survived on tourism, but it wasn’t busy and to Natalie the empty street and the windows watching over it held a vague threat, like their arrival was being observed and noted. Then they arrived at the location Dave had put in the GPS, a small harbour with a great pile of lobster pots heaped on the quay and where dirty squat fishing boats sat alongside. Dave rolled the car into the gravel car park of a pub, the tyres crackled as they came to a stop.

“Funny little place isn’t it? Pretty I guess” Dave said, when they were out of the car.
 

Natalie looked around again. On a sunny day maybe, but under the blanket of grey there was an ugliness to it. It was cold too, she wrapped her arms around herself.