The Other Child (57 page)

She made progress more quickly across the meadows. If she had hurried before, now she was running. She heard the thud of her steps on the ground and her own panting breath. She was horribly out of shape, she knew that, and although it was irrelevant right now, she resolved to go jogging regularly. The idea surprised her, but she told herself it was perhaps quite normal to latch onto something banal when fear was threatening to turn to panic. She wondered whether her jogging bottoms were still somewhere in her cupboard. The thought offered her some relief. Everything else she could have thought about concealed horrors.

She stopped when she saw the farm below the hill she was standing on. It was dark, completely dark. She could dimly make out the farmhouse roof, and beside it the roofs of the stable buildings and the shed. Nothing was moving down there. Where were the police? Cars, headlights, torchlight moving this way and that, spotlights, a voice roaring over a megaphone …

God, Leslie, did you seriously believe they would send a squad out here

just because Chad calls Valerie Almond and says that his daughter and her fiance disappeared a couple of hours ago?

But there was a warrant out for the fiancé. One officer, at least, should have turned up. Maybe Valerie herself, especially as she was waiting for Leslie to meet her. Was she taking her time over her pizza before getting into her car and roaring out to Staintondale?

Leslie ran down the hill, through the gate and into the yard. She could see the dark shadow of her car parked near the drive, and Chad's Land Rover much further on. Apart from those two there were no others. Not the police, or Valerie Almond or anyone else.

Perhaps Chad had called later than agreed. Or he had not called at all and instead, as soon as Leslie went out the door, had forgotten what he had been asked to do. That would be just like him.

She ran to the front door. Threw it open. Why wasn't it locked any more? She herself had heard Chad turn the key in the lock. ‘Chad?'

No answer. The hall was dark and empty.

She had left the light on when she left. She knew that. But perhaps Chad in his economising way had turned it off.

She turned it on, and walked down the hall. The door to Chad's study was ajar. Cautiously she opened it and peeked in. Empty. The desk lamp was on, the computer too. She could hear its quiet hum.

‘Chad?' she asked again.

She went into the kitchen, turned on the light. The light should be on. She felt a little safer if the house was not completely dark.

Why wasn't Chad answering?

Something was wrong. Chad did not just leave the computer and lamp on and go to bed. He was so thrifty it could drive you mad. He must be around here somewhere, and there was no reason for him to hide from her.

‘Chad?' she called out again, realising that her voice sounded almost fearful.

She stepped into the living room, turning the light on there too – and saw Chad lying on the floor in the middle of the room. He was on his stomach, his head turned to one side so that she could see his chalk-white face. His eyes were closed and his arms were down by his sides.

She stared at him. For a moment she was too shocked to do anything. Snapping out of it, she rushed to him. She knelt down and felt his pulse, an automatic reflex. It was very weak, but at least it was still there. She carefully turned him to face her.

‘Chad! What happened?'

His eyelids flickered. Leslie felt that she had put her hand in something warm and sticky. She lifted her right hand. It was red with blood, and now she could see the blood on the floor too. It had spread over the stones and trickled into the cracks. Chad's thin blue shirt was soaked in blood. As far as Leslie could see, the bleeding had stopped now, so there was no need for her to provide first aid assistance for that. She guessed it was a knife or bullet wound. In other words, he had been attacked after she had left him.

Whoever had done it might still be nearby.

She forced herself not to react hysterically and run for her car. She had to call an ambulance and the police, and she could not leave Chad alone. His condition was critical. He had lost a lot of blood and she had no idea what his internal injuries were.

She touched his cheek softly. ‘Chad! It's me. Leslie. Chad, what happened?'

His eyelids began to flicker again, and this time he managed to open his eyes. His eyes were cloudy and wandered unsteadily. He was in shock. ‘Leslie,' he whispered.

She held his head in her lap. ‘It'll be all right, Chad. I'll get help. We'll get you to a hospital …'

He focused on her. ‘Dave,' he whispered. He was finding it extremely difficult to speak. ‘Dave … he …'

‘Yes, Chad, you …'

‘He … is … still …' His gaze went cloudy again and although he seemed to want to say more, his tongue refused to cooperate. He could only babble incoherently.

But Leslie had understood what he wanted to say. Dave Tanner was here. He was still somewhere on the farm. He had given Chad life-threatening injuries and now he was probably looking for her. Her car was parked in plain sight in the farmyard. He knew she was there. He knew how dangerous she could be to him.

Had he searched the house for her and was now outside, a silent shadow moving between the shed and stables, perhaps with a torch to shine in hidden corners, guessing that she was trying to hide from him? Or was he still in the house? Upstairs perhaps, in one of the bedrooms?

She knew that you could barely move upstairs without making the floorboards creak. It was almost impossible to creep silently through the rooms. She listened intently, but could only hear the roar of blood in her ears.

She had to do the right thing now. She could not take any risks.

She lowered Chad's head to the floor carefully, stood up and shot to the door of the room. She closed it and turned the key, then leant against it with a sigh of relief. A little bit of security, a chance to win some time. She had no doubt that Dave could break down the old door. But it would take him some minutes. Minutes which could be the difference between life and death.

She turned the light out. If Dave was creeping around out there, she did not want to present herself to him on a plate. Especially as he might be in possession of a gun.

She got out her phone. No reception. Reception in Staintondale and the Beckett farm in particular could drive you crazy. She tried another corner of the room. No luck. It was not even better near the window. She knew that she might be in luck if she left the farm and headed towards the main road. But that would have meant running the risk of an encounter with Dave. He was somewhere around here. He had tried to kill one person and he would not just stand by and let her phone the police. She tried Valerie's number, but as expected it did not ring. She was about to throw the useless thing across the room, but she controlled herself just in time. Who knew when she would need it.

Her eyes had accustomed themselves to the dark. She could see Chad, as a shadow, lying on the floor. He was completely immobile, possibly unconscious. If he was not helped soon, things did not look good for him. Although she was a doctor, she could do almost nothing for him here. Even getting him into a more comfortable position on the sofa seemed too dangerous to her, as she did not know what injuries he had sustained. And she had nothing there, not even a bandage. Only a phone with no reception. And somewhere outside a madman was lurking and would stop her from getting help. Why was he doing that? Why Chad? Why – most probably – Fiona too? Was he really working for Semira Newton, who in turn was looking to satisfy her desire for revenge (in spite of her claim that she had no wish to spare Fiona the troubles of old age)? Or had Dave killed Fiona on his own initiative, and then suggested to Semira yesterday that he could also give Chad the punishment he deserved? Or was what Semira had said not true, perhaps Dave had visited her much earlier? Perhaps the whole story of his presenting himself as a journalist was not true? Were Dave and the old lady from Robin Hood's Bay a much more sophisticated and cunning pair than Leslie had imagined? But then why had Semira said that he had visited her? It would have been more logical for her not to tell anyone.

And what if Semira was not behind it? What if Dave had done it on his own? Leslie looked at Chad, who was still not moving. He was the man who stood between Dave's desire to own the farm and the fulfilment of that desire. Was that the key? Dave was ready to marry a woman who meant nothing to him in order to have better prospects for his future. Yet the property would only be available to him when his father-in-law had kicked the bucket. Had he not wanted to wait? Had he murdered Fiona, so that she could not ruin his plans with her sharp tongue, and Chad, so that his future path was smoothed immediately? But where on earth did Gwen fit into the story? It was unlikely that he had shot her dear father in front of her eyes. On the other hand, he could not do anything to Gwen herself, because he needed her and their marriage in order to get what he wanted.

Where was Gwen?

Not the moment to think about it, she decided. Not the moment to solve the mystery.

She had to phone. That was the next and absolutely necessary step. Nothing else.

The landline was in the study. The question was whether she could risk leaving the living room, where she felt more or less safe for the moment, to rush across the hall and barricade herself into the study to make the call. If she encountered Dave she would be lost. She had no illusions: he could not let her live. She represented the greatest danger to him. He had to eliminate her. She had no doubt that he would do it without hesitation. Even if she had not managed to suss out his motives, she was sure that he was playing for high stakes. He had probably planned his actions well in advance and thought of all the possible consequences. Whatever he was getting out of it, he would not let it be snatched away in the home straight. He was dangerous, cruel and amoral. His continuous lies were only the tip of the iceberg. Leslie's alternative was to stay in the room and hope that help would arrive – but she had no idea when that would be, if ever. What would Valerie Almond do when Leslie did not turn up as agreed in the pizzeria? She would probably try to reach her by phone, and that would not work. Maybe she would drive to Prince of Wales Terrace and ring her bell like crazy, and no one would open the door. Would she be worried? And would she think to drive to the Beckett farm?

The Brankleys had gone. She had no idea where Gwen was. So there was little hope of help. And very little chance that Chad would survive. Even if Leslie had not been a doctor she would have seen that Chad did not have much longer to live. He would not survive the night if he were not taken to a hospital as soon as possible.

She crept to the door and silently turned the key, then slowly opened the door with bated breath. She had almost expected to see Dave standing in front of her, but the hall was bright and empty. She could still not hear any noise anywhere.

He's either outside, or he's standing around somewhere in here, holding his breath and waiting for me to make a mistake
.

Her heart was beating like crazy. And the blood was pounding in her ears. She had not known until now what real fear was. She knew the fear of an exam, of being alone, of an unpleasant conversation, a visit to the dentist, of divorce proceedings. A thousand fears, but what she felt now was a fear of death. That was new. Leslie had never experienced it before. In those moments she came to know this extremely physical fear: she kept breaking out in a sweat, on her whole body. She had a buzzing in her ears. Her mouth was completely dry. She could not swallow. Yet she still felt her way bravely along the hall. As in the living room, there was a stone floor here. She managed not to make the slightest sound.

Just a few yards, perhaps three or four. They seemed infinite to Leslie, and the minute it took Leslie to cross them seemed an eternity. Each second she expected a hand to rest on her shoulder or a voice to speak to her. But nothing happened. Nothing broke the silence.

She reached the study and slipped inside. Nothing had changed. The lamp on the desk was still on. The computer was humming.

She closed the door quickly and froze, realising there was no key in the lock.

Gathering all her courage, she opened the door once more and looked on the outside. But there was no key there either. She was sure the study had one normally. Never mind, she had no choice but to make the call here with the door unlocked – as quickly as she could, praying no one would find her. She picked up the phone.

I wouldn't do that,' said a voice behind her. ‘I'd put the phone down now and slowly turn around.'

Leslie started to shake with fear, horror and surprise.

She turned around, her eyes open wide in astonishment.

Gwen was standing in the door.

She was holding a revolver in her hands and aiming it at her friend. Her hands were steady.

The expression on her face was that of a madwoman.

16

Nice to be home again, thought Jennifer. The house smelt a little strange after their two-week absence, but she opened all the windows and let fresh, autumn air flood the rooms. Colin was working his way through a mountain of post, which their neighbour had conscientiously fetched from the letterbox and put in a pile on their dining room table. Cal and Wotan had been given their evening meal and had happily occupied the corner of the living room where their blankets lay. The television was on quietly in the background.

What am I doing tomorrow? wondered Jennifer. She was standing in the open door to the kitchen and looking out at the dark garden, which smelt of autumn leaves, dying grass and the damp. She liked autumn. She loved its dusky afternoons, early evenings and all the things that heralded the approach of the Christmas period. Going for long walks with Cal and Wotan over misty fields, returning to a warm house with a crackling fire and candles in the windows. The inner warmth that the atmosphere created had always done her good. But there needed to be something more in her life. She needed communication with other people, its stress and irritations, but also the happy moments which arose. What she needed was to take part in life. That was what she should look for.