The Well (23 page)

“You understand, negru curvă? I decide what you do. If you live or die. I don’t want your body, but if I decide to take it you will
want
to give it to me. If you come back. You understand?”

Helen nodded. “I understand, you fucking bitch.”

The woman smiled, calm and unthreatened. She forced Helen’s arms together and then held them both easily with one hand. She pulled up the sleeve of Helen’s jumper, exposing her right arm; it was bare apart from the bandage, white against Helen’s dark skin.

The woman reached for the knife again and stroked Helen’s bare arm with the blade. The knife touched the bandage. “My friend he bite you. It hurt, yes?”

Helen said nothing. The woman slid the knife under the bandage and tugged the blade upwards, cutting it away. “Big bite for small bird,” she said. “But not big enough to keep you away.”

The woman brought the knife back to Helen’s arm and she felt it dig into her. Helen struggled but couldn’t move. She screamed as the woman pulled the blade downwards, making a clean five-inch cut along her forearm. “So this time you remember,” said the woman. “You do remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” Helen shouted back. The pain was agonising.

“Good. You stay out of things. Keep away.”

The woman stood and put the knife away.

“Our secret,” said the woman. She leant forwards and kissed Helen on the cheek – this time the kiss was chilling and awful.

Helen shook her head. “I have no secrets from Abby.”

“This I think you will. You tell her how easily you gave yourself to me, how much you wanted me? I think not.”

Helen was silent. The woman turned and walked away, disappearing into the falling rain.

Helen lay still for a few moments and then dragged herself up, supporting herself against the bonnet of the car. She was bedraggled, soaked to the skin. She looked at the blood running down her arm, being washed away by the rain.

Sobbing and shaking, she got back into the car, and locked the doors. Then she broke down completely, the windows of the car steaming up while she sat and cried, drenched and in agony.

But worse than the cut, worse than her bruised arms, Helen could still taste the woman on her lips and tongue.

14

It had been a hard day. Ed Davis took a long, grateful drink of his beer. “I needed that,” he said.

“Steady, Eddie,” said Stephen Carter.
That’s nearly half a pint in one go
, he thought.

“I’ve only had a few hours off in the last few days and I’m not in until tomorrow. There’s not going to be much downtime until this thing’s sorted one way or another. I’m making the most of it.”

Stephen sipped his drink. “Fair enough,” he said. Ed was a bit too fond of his drink for Stephen’s liking. They often shared an after-work pint, but whereas Stephen would have one or two at the most, Ed would have twice that, or more, before making his way home. Ed was a good cop, but not great; he had an impulsive nature that ran counter to good policing. If Ed had been a TV cop, he’d be the plucky maverick whose reckless nature delivered enough results to keep him in his job. The reality was that Ed wasn’t bold enough to be a true maverick and only occasionally did his impetuous nature bring real results. In a bigger town with a larger police department, he probably wouldn’t hold on to his job – but the Bankside force was a small team which looked after its own. They generally accepted each other’s foibles and focused on getting the best from each other, although Stephen was pretty sure that Ed was stretching the station’s camaraderie a bit too far – especially with his drinking.

“When are you back on?” asked Ed.

“In a couple of hours,” said Stephen, “overlapping with Jenny at the family’s house.”

“Lucky you,” said Ed. “I wouldn’t mind pairing up with her.”

“Who wouldn’t?” agreed Stephen. “Best legs at the Bankside station. Possibly in town.”

Ed drained his pint. “Great arse, too. Another?”

Stephen shook his head. “Not for me.”

Ed bought himself another pint and sat down again. “How did the search go today?” he asked.

“We’ve only drawn blanks,” said Stephen. “We’ve not really been able to do a proper physical search because of the rain and so far the CCTV’s given us nothing, although we’ve only just got going on that. Spoke to the girl’s real father; he’s one hundred per cent clean. You?”

“Pretty much the same,” replied Ed. “Nothing after they were seen outside school. I feel like we’ve interviewed half the school, but I guess we’ve only talked to a tenth – if that. We didn’t really get much that we didn’t already know.”

Ed frowned. “I keep running one interview over in my mind, though. Something I can’t put my finger on.”

Ed explained what Hannah had said about Randle, then ran through his conversation with him earlier that day.

Stephen was dubious. “Doesn‘t sound like much to me. When you boil it down, all you’ve got is that Rebecca thought he was a bit creepy.”

“Well, and he
was
seen near the house. But that could be a coincidence. No, it’s not much. But right now it’s all we have.”

“Did he seem evasive?”

“Not at all. He was helpful if anything,” said Ed.

“What about his record?”

“CRB checked out fine, has for years. He’s well-liked. A war hero. A big part of the school,” said Ed, finishing his beer. “Another?”

“No, I’m off after this one.”

Ed sat down with his third pint. “It’s just a feeling. There was nothing wrong with what he said, but it didn’t quite tally.”

Stephen shrugged. “That’s not unusual. You don’t often get exactly matching stories. People just don’t remember things in the same way.”

Ed couldn’t shake the feeling that Randle was hiding something. “I want to talk to him again.”

Stephen frowned. “Make sure you do it under caution, then – and have someone else there.”

“What are you saying?”

“By the book, Ed, that’s all. By the book. We’ve got outsiders running this one now. This is going to be a national news story by tonight. Everyone’s going to be watching everyone else.”

“I do know how to do my job, you know.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “I’m just saying,” said Stephen, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“I know what you’re saying. You’re having a go about that Meadows kid.”

Stephen didn’t rise to the bait; Ed’s temper was growing and any answer would probably make things worse – but he was right. The Meadows kid was exactly who Stephen had been thinking of.

Wayne Meadows had been informally questioned as a suspect. Another local boy, Sean something or other – Stephen couldn’t remember – had been attacked with a knife. It was late at night and Sean hadn’t seen his attacker. As these things go, it wasn’t a serious injury, but in a small town that kind of crime is rare. Ed had handled the interview; convinced of the boy’s guilt, he had handled it badly – very, very badly. He’d led the suspect in the questioning and, when he didn’t get the answer he wanted, had lost his temper. He’d not hit Meadows, but he came close. He’d directly – and aggressively – accused Meadows. By the time Meadows was formally interviewed, he’d been assigned a lawyer who quite naturally used Ed’s behaviour to demonstrate that Meadows had been bullied, led and told enough about the crime to compromise any real interview. Although Ed hadn’t been formally cautioned, Sergeant Hutchinson had made his feelings clearly known. Ed wasn’t in the least contrite. In his view, Meadows was just another young criminal who they’d struggle to convict anyway. Put him in front of a half-female jury, in a new high-street suit, and even if they found him guilty he’d probably get off with just a few months’ community service.

Stephen brushed the matter aside as if it were unimportant. “That’s in the past – and nothing came of it anyhow. But this is a much bigger deal. Come on Ed, I’m not having a go. I’m your mate.”

Ed shrugged, disappointed that the argument had been defused. “OK, fair enough. It’s just that we have so little to go on.”

“It’s early days. But if all we have is what your girl says about this bloke, then we need to follow it up right. You can’t – you’re her Dad.”

Ed nodded. “I know. I’ll call in and get someone else on it.”

“Do you want me to call it in?” asked Stephen.

“No, it’s fine – I’ll do it.”

Stephen drained his pint and stood up, patting Ed on the shoulder. “I’ve got to be off,” he said. “Don’t make it too late. Makes you think, girl the same age as yours goes missing. Family is important.”

“Damn right,” agreed Ed. “See you tomorrow.”

Ed watched Stephen leave, drained his pint and then bought another and took it back to his table. Then he went outside, away from the noise of the pub. He pulled out his mobile phone and called Hannah’s number. “Hi Han, it’s Dad.”

“Hi Dad,” said Hannah. “Any news?”

“Sorry baby, no. We’ve been looking all day but we’ve not found anything. But that’s a good thing. It means that they could still be alright.”

“Do you think so?”

“I hope so,” said Ed. “Listen, can I talk to you about the crossing attendant? Mr Randle?”

“Sure,” said Hannah.

“I won’t be mad, I promise. But I need to know. Did Becca say anything else about him? Anything at all?”

There was a pause. “I don’t think so Dad, no. Have you talked to him?”

“I have, Han, but I can’t really tell you about it, you know that. But he didn’t say anything to help us. He said he didn’t really remember seeing them.”

“That’s not true,” blurted Hannah. “He kept looking at her, I said that.”

“I know,” said Ed, “but even though he made Becca feel uncomfortable, it probably didn’t mean anything.”

“I guess so,” said Hannah, doubtfully.

“OK. Listen, we’re going to have to talk to you properly – take a statement. Is that OK?”

Hannah paused. “Yeah. It sounds a bit scary, though.”

“It won’t be, Han, I promise.”

“OK, Dad.”

“And tell your Mum that I’m working late,” he lied. “And I’ll be stopping off for a quick pint later on my way home – it’s been a long day.”

“OK Dad, I will.”

“And Hannah – I love you.”

“I love you too Dad.”

He rang off and went back to his pint, brooding.

Someone needs to talk to Randle pretty soon,
he thought, and considered ringing the station to get someone onto it. He looked at his watch; it was approaching six.

Fuck it,
he thought. He called into the station and Angela Jones answered. “Ange, can you go through today’s notes and get me the address of Thomas Randle? The school crossing attendant. Can you text it through to me?”

“Sure,” said Angela, at the other end of the line. “Give me ten minutes. Any reason?”

“No, not really,” said Ed. “I’m just looking at where some of the staff live, if they might have walked home the same way as the kids.”

“OK Ed, see you tomorrow.”

“Night, Angela.” He rang off, finished his pint and bought another.

A few minutes later, true to her word, Angela’s text came through.
The benefits of working in a small station
, he thought, knowing that any properly run police department wouldn’t put up with officers sidestepping protocol.

He went back to the bar and ordered another beer.
A couple more,
he thought,
and I’ll go and have a chat with Mr Randle, when he’s all relaxed, settling down to watch a night’s television.

15

“Mummy, Helen’s hurt!”

Abby had closed the shop almost an hour ago, but had only just finished tidying and cashing up. She stopped what she was doing and looked at Sammy. Sammy had clearly been crying – and was still running a temperature, her hair sweaty and untidy.

“Did she phone, Sam?” asked Abby, knowing that she’d not heard the phone ring but asked anyway. Sammy shook her head, coughing.

“Do you know where she is?”

“Not really. She’s in the car. It’s dark and she’s very upset so her thoughts are all muddled. She’s been in the car for ages.”

Abby reached for the phone. “You don’t need to call her, Mummy. She’s nearly home now. But she’s very scared.”

“Do you know what happened? What’s she scared of?”

Sammy clung tightly to her mother. “The bad woman,” she said. “She’s scared of her. And –” Sammy’s voice tailed away.

“Someone else?” prompted Abby.

Sammy wiped away a tear and nodded. “Yes.” She seemed reluctant to say any more.

“Who?” pressed Abby, frustrated that she couldn’t sense even slightly what Sammy saw so clearly. “Do you know?”

Sammy nodded. “Yes, Mummy. She’s scared of you. Scared of what you’re going to say. You have to be nice to her. She’s very upset.”

Dear God,
thought Abby. She couldn’t imagine what had happened and desperately wanted Helen to be home. She didn’t have to wait long. Less than a minute later, she heard the back door to the flat open and close. She ran through to the sitting room behind the shop, Sammy following her.

Nothing could have prepared Abby for the sight in front of her.

Helen was wavering on her feet, steadying herself against the door – but Abby could only just tell that it was Helen. She was soaked, and covered in mud almost from head to foot. Her hair was a wild, dripping mess. The front of her jumper and skirt were covered in blood. Helen held her right arm protectively against her chest. Abby couldn’t see whether the blood was coming from Helen’s arm or chest.

She rushed to Helen, who almost fell into her arms, sobbing. Abby led her to the sofa.

She turned to Sammy, who was crying again and had almost turned white. “Sammy, come here a second,” said Abby, trying to sound calm. “I need you to be a big grown-up now. I need your help. Can you do that?”

Sammy nodded, brushing her tears away.

“Go and get me some towels from the airing cupboard. And a big bottle of water from the kitchen.”

Sammy turned, then hesitated. “How many towels?”

“It doesn’t matter. Four, get four,” Abby replied.
And I thought she could read minds,
she thought. Sammy ran upstairs and Abby turned her attention to Helen, pulling her close.