Dark Winter ns-6 Page 26

  ‘It was all right, wasn’t it?’ She took half a step towards me, her eyes still down, seemingly intent on avoiding mine at all costs. I wasn’t too sure what she was going to do, but whatever it was, I wanted her to.

  She put down the spoon on the worktop and took another step towards me. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to get it wrong: to open my arms, only for her to walk straight past and check the microwave.

  She was just a couple of feet away from me when the door buzzer went. That rueful smile came back as she diverted to the hallway intercom.

  ‘It’s me, open up.’ The Yes Man obviously hadn’t brought his audience.

  She hit the buzzer and came back into the kitchen. ‘Saved by the bell, eh?’ We both laughed, a little too self-consciously.

  The microwave pinged as Suzy filled the kettle to get a fresh brew on and I went and opened the front door.

  The Yes Man looked as if he’d been doing a bit of overtime. The suit and shirt we had first seen him in were badly creased now, and his tie was loose. I was very pleased to notice a boil developing nicely on the back of his neck.

  He took the settee and Suzy put his tea down in front of him, but he didn’t thank or acknowledge her in any way, just waited for her to sit in the chair opposite him. ‘Right, step by step.’

  I shifted in my chair until first light as we went through the whole job, giving Suzy credit for saving my life and for the DW not getting smashed. The Yes Man took it all in, then nodded at her, and for once there was a smile on his face. ‘Well done.’ She deserved nothing less.

  He looked over at me and the smile disappeared. ‘You’re weapons free, but you will stay here in the flat. You are to stay here until I release you. Got it?’

  I nodded. He’d have to get the OK from George before he let me off the hook. ‘What about the States? Are they hitting the west coast, or the east?’

  I was thinking about Josh and the kids. Maybe I should be DHLing them a shit load of doxycycline.

  He pointed at Suzy, totally ignoring me. ‘You can go home. No point in keeping you here. Just be on call.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He stood up and repeated his congratulations to Suzy, then hesitated. ‘In fact, well done, both of you.’ I could almost hear his teeth grinding. He picked up his briefcase and made to leave.

  ‘When do you think I’ll be able to go, sir?’

  ‘When I’m ready.’

  ‘Can I have a sub then? I am getting paid for this, aren’t I?’

  ‘Take it out of your cover documents.’ His lip curled. ‘It’s just cash for you, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right, sir. Just cash.’

  The moment the door was closed, her eyes flashed. ‘He was trying to say thank you.’

  ‘Not hard enough.’

  She stayed where she was for a moment, then hauled herself up. ‘Thanks for all that credit stuff. You didn’t have to.’

  ‘Yes, I did. You’re going to need as much help as you can get, working for that arsewipe full time.’

  She walked past me, laying her hand on my shoulder for a second. ‘Thanks anyway.’

  She turned into the bathroom and a few seconds later the electric shower kicked in. She came out again and headed for the bedroom. I finished the Yes Man’s brew, hoping his boils weren’t contagious, as I listened to her padding about. I checked traser. It was nearly six thirty. Surely Carmen and the gang would be up by now?

  I hit my cell yet again as Suzy came out of the bedroom wrapped in the green towel. ‘Kelly?’

  I nodded as the BT service came on, and Suzy disappeared into the shower. I told myself there was still plenty of time: they weren’t leaving until eleven.

  I stretched out in the chair, rubbing my temples. What now? First thing, go to Bromley, see Kelly, and get my documents and antibiotics. Fuck the Yes Man – and George, for that matter. I’d leave my cell here so he couldn’t track me, be back here by the afternoon, and with luck they’d never know I’d left. Did we stop taking the antibiotics now? Nobody had told us. Fuck it, I’d carry on for a bit longer.

  I was half dozing in the chair when Suzy reappeared. ‘You need a shower, you’re minging. Get through?’

  ‘No, I’ll go there as soon as I’ve cleaned up.’ I went into the kitchen. The door to her bedroom was still open a little as I dragged the shit-in-a-tray from the microwave and pulled back the film. I fished about in the drawer for a spoon and took a mouthful. ‘I was wrong.’

  ‘’Bout what?’

  ‘It’s fish.’

  She was somewhere behind the door, still in dead ground.

  ‘You going straight home, then?’

  ‘I’ve got a conservatory to build, remember?’

  ‘You sure you can resist one of these?’

  She came out, her hair scraped back, dressed in black cargoes and a jumper. ‘I’m not eating that crap.’

  ‘No problem, I’ll eat it for you.’ I put the tray down on the side and reached for the next one. She seemed to have other ideas. I felt her hair, wet against my face, and her breath on my neck. I put my arms round her, but an inch or two away as hers moved tightly round my back. She smelt wonderful, and all I could think about was that I smelt like a wet fart.

  I ran my fingertips slowly down between her shoulder-blades. She nuzzled into my neck and I could smell apples again and feel her skin against mine. Then she put both hands on my chest and pushed herself away, blushing with embarrassment. ‘Nick, I . . . I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. Beats breakfast, anytime.’

  ‘No, really, I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have done that.’ She turned and went back to the bedroom.

  I picked up the second tray, looked at it and put it down.

  When she reappeared a couple of minutes later she was wearing her short black leather jacket and carrying her bag. ‘I’m off. Maybe we’ll see each other again?’

  I nodded. ‘Yep, maybe.’

  But we both knew we never would.

  She held out her hand, and as we shook she pulled me to her once more and her lips brushed my cheek. ‘ ’Bye.’

  I let go of her hand and she left.

  48

  The traffic crawled through south London. I listened to the same news on LBC’s nine o’clock bulletin that I’d watched a couple of times on BBC24 while I cleaned myself up. Most of it was about SARS and Iraq, but the breaking story was that the USA had heightened its terrorist alert state to amber, just one away from closing down the country. It looked like George couldn’t risk keeping his operation covert any longer, now he knew the UK ASU had been in their FOB, ready to attack.

  There was nothing about Germany. Maybe I’d been wrong about that, or maybe their people had been successful too. If so, I thought fleetingly, Suzy and I might deserve some of the credit. Nobody would ever know, of course: the few who did would be taking that information to their graves, along with a lot more where that had come from. They knew that if they ever decided to open their mouths, people like Sundance and Trainers would be digging that grave for them much earlier than they had expected. That was just the way things were.

  There wasn’t anything about three bodies being found near King’s Cross station either. The clean-up team would have been sent in quick before Zit Girl or her mates broke in for shelter and found more than they’d bargained for. By now all four bodies would have been burned, along with every shred of evidence in that room, and any lumpy bits left over would be floating about in the Thames estuary, waiting to feed the fish.

  I’d hired a Vectra from Victoria station using my covert documentation, then maxed out on one of the Yes Man’s cards at a nearby cashpoint. What was he going to do? Sack me?

  I was feeling surprisingly good on not very much sleep as I reached Bromley high street. I’d shoved my clothes in the washer-dryer at the flat while I’d showered, and even my Caterpillars felt OK.

  I didn’t know why, but I always felt depressed as I entered the prim and proper road they li
ved on, with its miles of neat hedges and bungalows with shiny Nissan Micras and six-year-old Jags that got the good news with Turtle wax every Sunday. It was probably the thought of people being retired that did my head in. I’d rather be dead than land up trimming hedges and pruning roses. Or, even more depressing, maybe I’d get to like it.

  I turned into the engineered-brick drive and stopped in front of the red garage door that Jimmy had had to repaint recently because the coat underneath hadn’t been quite shiny enough for Carmen. I got out and hit the bell push. A nice traditional bing-bong echoed from the hall.

  No answer. I tried again, then fished into the shrub pot just to the left of the double-glazed PVC door and pulled out the key. People never learn.

  I bing-bonged a few more times as I turned the handle. ‘Hello? It’s me – anyone home?’ I was hit by the smell of polish and plug-in air-fresheners, and a lot of silence.

  They couldn’t still be in bed, because Jimmy deadlocked the front door every night. Maybe they’d left early: the way Jimmy drove, eleven would have been cutting it a bit fine.

  It was shit, but not a big problem. I’d call the American desk at Heathrow and say there was some family drama and Carmen needed to call the house.

  I went into the kitchen and was surprised to see the table still laid for breakfast. Carmen put the things out every night before bed, and whisked them away the moment the meal was over – sometimes even before. If the multi-grain toast was getting the better of Jimmy’s teeth and she was anxious to get on with the Hoovering, that was just tough shit.

  I grabbed a handful of Mini Shreddies, Kelly’s favourite, and tipped them into my mouth. I could see my two brown Jiffy-bags on top of the fridge-freezer, where all the mail was kept. I picked up the phone and got the dual tone. Why couldn’t they just check the thing now and again? It would have made life so much easier.

  Chomping away, I dialled 1571 and wedged the receiver between my shoulder and ear. BT told me there were two messages. I grabbed the first envelope, gripped the top of it in my teeth and started to tear it open, showering myself with bits of Shreddies. It felt quite good getting my life back, no matter how fucked up it was, as I listened to myself waffle away to the answering service.

  I glanced into the hallway. From this angle I could see that the door into the garage wasn’t quite closed. That Jimmy had dared leave a door ajar was strange enough, but I could also see a highly polished section of his Rover still sitting there.

  Shit.

  The envelope and phone went down slowly on to the kitchen worktop and the last bits of cereal fell from my mouth as I let my jaw drop. Stretching out my hand, I grasped the handle of the cutlery drawer and eased it open. Everything was in its place: potato peeler, bread-knife, forks and spoons. I pulled out two vegetable knives, one for each hand, and moved into the hallway, placing my feet carefully on the Amtico tiles so the Caterpillars didn’t squeak.

  Throat constricted, I checked the corridor and turned right.

  No sign of forced entry anywhere. The only ambient light came from the kitchen and the half-glazed front door.

  The door to the living room was only about three paces to my right. The place was empty: everything where it should be, magazines tidied, cushions still puffed up and curtains opened from when she’d gone to bed. All I could hear was the grandfather clock, ticking away in the corner.

  I moved back into the hall, closing the garage door and locking it before I headed past the bathroom. There were no signs of morning life in there, no condensation on the mirrors or windows, no smell of soap or deodorant. The shower tray was dry, and so was the bath. Dry towels were folded neatly over the radiator rail.

  I came out into the hall again and turned left towards the bedrooms. The next door down on the right was Carmen and Jimmy’s bedroom, and the one beyond that was Kelly’s. Both were ajar.

  I gave the first a gentle push, stepping back out of the way, not wanting to present myself as a target.

  The room was in darkness, just a few slivers of light fighting their way past Carmen’s immaculately interlined curtains. But I didn’t need to see that they were in there: I could smell them.

  The metallic tang of blood. The cloying stink of shit.

  There was a heavy pounding in my chest.

  Oh, shit, no. Not again . . .

  I ran down to the next door, my feet unable to cover the six or seven paces as quickly as my head needed them to, wanting to get into her room before the video started up.

  Not bothering to check before bursting in, I hit the light switch.

  The room was empty.

  I checked under the bed, checked the wardrobe. Nothing.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck !’ I screamed it over and over inside my head as I ran back into Carmen and Jimmy’s room. I had to make sure she wasn’t there. I switched on the bedside light and pulled back the duvet. They looked like they’d been in a road accident. Jimmy had shit himself, and he and Carmen had both been stabbed and slashed far more times than it must have taken to kill them. Carmen’s eyes were still open, dull and glassed over like a fish too long on a slab. She had a curious half-smile, exposing toothless gums, and blood had dried in the deep lines in her face that even Lorraine Kelly hadn’t been able to make disappear.

  I looked under the bed: just slippers. Maybe she was hiding? I opened the wardrobes, but everything was still perfectly in place, nothing had been touched.

  My own voice screamed inside my head. ‘Not again . . . this can’t be happening to us again.’

  Disneyland .

  I ran back to the garage, the same terrible feeling clawing at me that I’d had being chased by my stepfather as a kid.

  I fumbled with the lock.

  ‘Kelly? Kelly?’ I pulled it open. ‘Kelly, it’s me! It’s Nick!’

  I let the knives clatter to the concrete floor as I dropped on to my stomach and checked under the car. I even opened the deep-freeze. She wasn’t there.

  Feeling like a six-year-old lost in a supermarket, I ran back into her bedroom, a sinking feeling in my gut. There was no sign of a struggle. Her duvet was pulled back neatly. The bedside lamp was upright. Her suitcase and shoulder-bag were packed and by the door. My own black leather bag was stuck in the corner.

  I emptied her shoulder-bag on to the floor and her passport fell out with her ticket, some coins, her CD player and an envelope. The only thing missing was the Old Navy T-shirt she always slept in. I looked under the bed again: I didn’t know why, I could already see there was nothing and nobody there.

  My stomach was jumping all over the place, my throat so dry it ached. I sank on to the carpet, dropping my head into my hands. This had to be connected with the job. Shit, it could even be the Yes Man – maybe I’d asked one question too many last night and Sundance and Trainers had been sent to tidy things up.

  I had to shout at myself to cut away. ‘Stop! For fuck’s sake, stop!’ Flapping wasn’t going to help me – or her.

  I had to secure this place. Nobody must know what had happened here – not yet, anyway.

  Did they have milk delivered? I wasn’t sure. Fuck, I should know these things.

  I got up, feeling a little better now I was doing something. I didn’t know what, but that didn’t matter. I opened the front door. No milk on the doorstep. I went back in and checked the fridge, found a litre plastic bottle from Safeway.

  What about post? The top half of the door was frosted glass, so no one was going to see letters stacking up on the carpet, and I knew they didn’t have a paper delivered. Jimmy walked to buy one, taking his time, for some peace and quiet.

  If not the Yes Man, then who?

  Who was I kidding? My head was flooded with names and reasons why.

  I stopped, gathered my thoughts. Let’s not worry about why, just concentrate on the here and now. First, I’d take her bags and remake the bed, so if this place was discovered at least it was going to be a while before the police worked out who was missing. I didn’t want them scre
aming around trying to do their bit to find an abducted child just yet. It might put her in greater danger.

  The smell from Jimmy and Carmen’s bedroom was creeping into the corridor as I headed back into Kelly’s. Sitting on the light blue carpet, surrounded by flowery wallpaper, I picked up the stuff I’d tipped out of her bag and started to repack it. I opened the passport and was unable to resist looking at her picture. She never allowed me to see it. She was two years younger then, and her blonde hair was a bit longer. I felt myself smile: she’d had a zit on her chin, and had tried to cover it up all morning before I’d finally dragged her kicking and screaming into the photo booth.

  I flipped it closed, slipped it into my back pocket and shoved the ticket into the bag, just as a neighbour came out from next door. I could see him clearly through the net curtains, trying to manhandle a black plastic refuse bag down the path. He dumped it into a wheelie-bin, then disappeared back inside.

  As I moved the purple envelope out of the way to pick up her purse, I saw it was addressed to me. I sat against the wall and opened it. Dear Nick , By the time you read this, I’ll be back at Josh’s That’s if I remember to put this out with your other letters before I leave!! I’m sorry we argued on Saturday. It’s just that I really miss you when you go away.Remember you asked me what I think, and then your phone went and I didn’t get to answer? Well, here’s what I think. Here’s the deal. When I get back home, I’m really going to get myself together, I’m going to get help, I’m going to go to school, and I’m going to work things out.

  My eyes were stinging badly. I must have been more tired than I’d thought. I know I always go on at you for being at work all the time and now I feel really bad because Josh told me why. I didn’t know that you gave him money all the time and that seeing Dr Hughes and the school costs so much. I didn’t realize that’s the reason you have to work all the time. So that’s why I’m going to sort myself out. I figure you won’t have to work so hard to pay for me, so therefore I get to see a lot more of you. OK, deal? See you when you finish work. Love, Kelly. PS This letter was the stuff I was doing when you called.