A Cry in the Night (33 page)

‘Sarah could fix me up,’ Bud replied.

‘No, she won’t be up to it, not after what just happened. It’s not fair to ask her.’

The words seemed sensible. Bud frowned and then nodded.

‘Mrs Pascoe will sort me out, I bet,’ he said.

‘Great. You go see her. I’ll stay with Sarah.’

‘Okay,’ the big man happily agreed. He grabbed a coat and then bounded off.

Sam watched him all the way to make sure he didn’t turn back. Then he went to the door and quietly closed it. Inside, Sarah watched him from the small distance of the living room, retreating when she saw the way he looked at her. She saw that the mob was still there, now distilled into one man. Its purpose, its violence, its deafness and blindness; it was all still there.

Sam turned and checked that the door was locked and that no one could disturb them. Then he walked back towards the living room, ready to finish the job once and for all.

The men walked away from the house, the mob dispersing into smaller groups, then petering out into individual, shamed journeys home.

For a while, Tim and David walked together until a fork in the road forced them into different directions. They paused momentarily, but neither could think of a thing to say. Tim walked on, head down against the falling snow, blood still pumping, but now with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Slowly the usual drain of tiredness and misery sapped his anger and left him fumbling with the key in the door like the sad, lonely drunk that he was.

He went inside, but didn’t bother to turn on the light. He didn’t want to see the unwashed dishes dumped in the sink, or the rooms where nothing had changed because there was no one to change them. But then he tripped on something and slipped on the floor. And when his hand went out to steady himself, he realised that the floor was covered in
other things. Confused, he found a switch and turned on the lights.

The house had been trashed. While he’d been in the pub, someone had come in and ransacked the place. He went from room to room, and in each he was greeted by the same sight – debris and carnage. His first thought was to call the police, but then he remembered the deluge of snow and knew it was a waste of time.

And then he wondered why.

What had he done?

What did they know, whoever they were?

He went to his bedroom where the drawers’ contents spilled out across the floor. His wife’s jewellery was gone. But somehow, this didn’t feel like the work of common thieves.

He went back downstairs. There was no clear sign of how the burglar, or burglars, had got in, so he double-checked all the windows, pushed latches across doors where he could, and heaved the heavy fridge across the back door.

He grabbed some blankets and sat down on the sofa, swamped by the exhaustion of fading adrenalin and the spiky fear that something worse was about to come.

When he finally slept, he did so upright.

Sam walked into the sitting room, and there she was, waiting for him. Sarah stood behind an armchair, tightly gripping its tatty fabric. The room was lit by the flickering fire, well stocked and burning brightly. She didn’t move but the flames seemed to make her shimmer.

‘Go away,’ she whispered.

‘Where’s Lily?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. How could I know?’

He took a step further and saw her flinch.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, and neither believed him. ‘I got rid of that lot, didn’t I?’

She didn’t have an answer for this.

‘I just want you to tell me the truth. About everything. If you do that, I can end all of this. You must be so unhappy, living like this. Am I right?’

She looked around at the shabby room and shrugged a little miserably.

‘I’m here to help you, believe it or not.’

Bud’s dog stumbled in from the corridor. It stared at them both with a mournful look then collapsed in front of the fire and promptly fell asleep.

‘Everyone hates me,’ Sarah said.

‘Yes.’

‘But I haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘Yes, you have.’

‘No, I’m just, I’m not right for here.’

Was that it? No. She was out of place, for sure. But it wasn’t just this village where a woman like her was out of place.

‘Where’s Lily?’

‘I told you.’

‘No, you’ve said nothing. You’ve hidden behind lawyers and rules. But there are no tapes here. We don’t have to do things by the book tonight.’

Sam threw a log onto the dwindling fire. The dog rolled onto its back and stretched.

‘Please, Sam,’ she said, and she gave him her widest eyes. ‘Please believe me.’

It was a mistake, to try to win him over like that. He’d been expecting as much.

‘You’re good at getting men to do what you want, aren’t you, Sarah?’

She frowned at the question.

‘Tim, now Bud.’

‘I do what I have to,’ she said after a moment’s thought.

‘I think you do a little more than that.’

‘If you were a woman, you’d do exactly the same.’

‘I doubt that.’

A shove in the street can easily deteriorate into something worse. It’s a short leap from kissing to killing.

‘Where’s Lily, Sarah?’

‘Stop asking me that.’

But he wouldn’t be deflected. Not now when he was so close.

A woman’s eyes, the sway of her hips, the pull on her lip to force a smile. Sarah lied with every movement of her body.

‘I will make you talk,’ he said.

‘You’re a cop. You can’t make me do anything.’

Sam rolled his heavy shoulders as though he was warming up for something.

‘How long do you think the snow will last? I heard them saying in the pub that we’ll be snowed in all night. It’ll melt tomorrow, sure enough, it’s only November after all. But tonight, no one can get to us. I don’t think I need to be a cop, not tonight.’

The snow began to fall again outside, as if to make his point. Sam saw the flakes, illuminated by the fire inside. They seemed to glow red, like it was raining fire.

‘If you touch me,’ Sarah said with a slow, clear calculation, ‘then Bud will kill you.’

She smiled after saying it. Sam just rolled his shoulders again, looser and looser.

‘He’ll come after you if I tell him to. You have no idea how much he loves me.’

‘You have a way,’ Sam said.

‘I have a way.’

‘Just like your lawyer.’

She just shrugged.

‘Where’s Lily?’ he asked again.

And again, she just shrugged. The casualness felt so cruel. He took a step forward and saw her retreat again.

‘You killed your son, didn’t you?’

He thought of the little boy, smothered in his mother’s embrace, floating like jettisoned cargo in that empty swimming pool.

‘How did it feel?’ he asked.

Maybe she and Helen did it together, maybe they smashed his head on the rocks, before dumping him in the lake, just like Jenny Smeeton – her nephew broken to pieces against a kitchen sink.

‘Is she still alive, Sarah?’

Nothing. A blank stare. Maybe it was too late. The thought made his hand shake. He grabbed for her, but she was quick
and pulled away. He pushed over the armchair that she hid behind and heard the wood crack as it fell.

‘Where is she?’

She couldn’t run now. He could hold her by the throat, he could tear her apart. Where is your daughter? What did Helen Seymour make you do? Why did you kill them? Where is your daughter? The questions burst upon her but she wouldn’t answer.

He stepped forward and she screamed with terror. But he was trying to save her. Why didn’t she see that he was trying to save her? He had to rip the truth from out of her, but she wouldn’t let him. He just wanted to save a little girl. He just wanted to find Lily and stop this. Stop it all. Bring everything to a halt so that people could be people again. So he could be his old self, a cop, a dad, a good guy. She had to stop fighting him. She had to stop the lies and tell him where Lily was. It was so simple, so fucking simple.

He went for her again, and as she ran from him she slipped and tripped on the upturned chair, sprawling onto the carpet.

‘Why won’t you help me, Sarah?’

He should grab her and shake her, but she seemed so small, so frail, and he found he couldn’t do it. Outside the snow had stopped falling. The window was now just a black rectangle, a leap to the stars. He looked down at her again, forcing his resolve.

‘You never loved them, did you?’

The question brought a miserable cough from her.

‘You were a terrible mother. They were better off without you.’

And finally, she spoke.

‘Yes.’

Good girl.

‘You let this happen.’

‘Yes.’

‘You let Helen manipulate you and sent them to their deaths.’

‘Yes.’

Yes. Finally. Yes. The truth made him feel sick. He noticed a smear of blood from her nose.

‘You killed your son.’

She nodded, tearless.

‘And your daughter?’

But she didn’t reply to this one.

‘She’s alive, isn’t she?’

There was nothing there. He was talking to a shadow. She slowly got to her feet, but she wouldn’t look at him.

‘Sarah. Why did you do it?’

But then he heard the front door open and feet kick the snow off boots on the mat. He and Sarah turned, expecting Bud to return, but instead it was her brother Jed who walked in. He wore the same bedraggled clothes as before and his
appearance, if possible, seemed more dishevelled. He stared at Sam in shock, then saw the blood from Sarah’s nose.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’

Neither Sam nor Sarah replied. Sam found himself slipping his warrant card from his back pocket, like it was some sort of free pass.

‘I’m Detective Inspector—’

‘Yeah, we met before, I remember. What’s happened to my sister?’

‘It’s nothing, Jed,’ Sarah said, her accent thicker now, adjusting to her brother’s presence.

‘You’ve come to visit, have you?’ Sam asked.

‘Piss off,’ was all he got in return.

Sam turned to Sarah, but he knew he could do nothing now.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Jed said, his arms waving up and down. ‘She’s the bloody victim, here. What is all this?’

‘Jed. Don’t.’ She seemed so calm despite everything.

‘In bits, ripped to bloody bits, she is,’ Jed continued. ‘Smashed to bloody pieces by it, aren’t you, Sis?’

Sam looked at her, but there were no clues in the look that met his.

Lily was alive. She’d admitted as much, and now she knew that he’d worked it out. He needed to act fast.

‘And the way everyone else treats her, Jesus!’ Jed went on, but neither Sam nor Sarah were listening to him. Their eyes continued their silent conversation.

Sam trundled through all of the appropriate words to mollify Jed, then made his polite and professional goodbyes. Jed continued to protest as Sam made his way to the front door, where he stopped long enough to allow one last look between him and her. This wasn’t over.

Back at the pub, a few men still lingered around the bar, but Sam went straight to his room. His phone was crammed with messages from Ashley, but he ignored them all. Three hours’ sleep. No more. He needed to be ready for whatever Sarah did next.

Zoe sat in the dark and waited. She had parked at the end of a smart road where the cars had their own drives and the houses were tall and white. Ten minutes earlier she had sent Helen a text message, and she saw its effect as lights snapped on in the house opposite, starting on the top floor and slowly working their way down. A lamp above the front door clicked on and a moment later Helen stood in the doorway, wrapped in a dressing gown. Zoe got out of the car, walked across the road and entered her house. She noted the way that Helen glanced out behind her before she closed the door, as though spying out the enemy.

Helen led Zoe along the corridor and down the stairs into a long, open-plan kitchen that took up the entire length of the building’s basement. A wooden floor stretched out before her – oak or beech or something well beyond Zoe’s reach. The kitchen was large, too large for one. The countertops were bare but for a folded newspaper. To Zoe, it felt lonely.

‘Tea, coffee, something stronger?’ Helen asked. Zoe shook her head. Helen nodded, fair enough, but put the kettle on for herself and then busied herself with a mug and teabags from a cupboard. Eventually she turned to face the young detective.

‘I was summoned by the Chief Superintendent,’ Zoe said.

‘James Frey?’ Helen asked with a smirk.

‘You know him.’

‘I do,’ Helen replied.

‘I know. It wasn’t a question.’

The kettle boiled and Helen made herself some tea.

‘He’s going to get me fired,’ Zoe said.

‘Shit. Really? I’m sorry.’

‘So, I wondered, if the offer, you know, of me coming to work for you, if that was still on.’

Helen nodded before she spoke, as if trying to frame the sentence right.

‘Yes, of course I can help find something for you.’

‘Something?’

‘It’s the middle of the night, OK? But I won’t let you down.’

‘I can trust you?’

‘Of course. Of course you can.’

She smiled at Zoe and put her hand on her shoulder, then turned back to the tea, dunking the bag in and out of the mug, and finally dropping it into the bin. Zoe watched and waited.

‘Because, the thing is,’ Zoe said, stumbling a little, ‘there are things that worry me. About you.’

She had Helen’s attention now.

‘Sam will never forgive me if I sign up with you. It’ll kill him. And I need to be sure, Helen. You do understand that? I need to be sure of you.’

Helen nodded, making all the right faces.

‘I’m not a fool, Helen.’

‘Of course you’re not. I never thought that.’

Zoe let Helen lead her to a bare kitchen table. She could imagine Helen sitting here, working her way through cases in the dead of night. She placed her briefcase on it, between them.

‘The reason you got me to go after Sam,’ Zoe said as she sat down opposite her, ‘was because he’d worked out that you were fiddling with a witness.’