Читать книгу Darkhouse - Alex Barclay - Страница 16

Joe could feel the alarm pounding in his chest. His heart beat wildly. He realised it was the phone when Anna reached across him to answer it.

‘’Allo?’ she said. She listened, confused.

‘No, Martha. He came in about eleven-thirty on his own. Unless … I don’t know. Let me go check.’ She handed the phone to Joe.

‘Hi,’ said Joe. He let her talk. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m sure there’s—’ Anna walked back into the room, shaking her head. Shaun bounded in after her, frowning.

‘What?’ he asked, looking at both his parents. ‘What?’

‘She’s not here, Martha,’ said Joe. ‘What time did you leave her?’ he asked Shaun.

‘About eleven-thirty, quarter of twelve,’ said Shaun. They all turned to the clock. It was four-thirty a.m.

‘Oh my God,’ said Shaun, his eyes wide.

‘What would you like us to do? Is there anyone we can call?’ said Joe into the phone. ‘OK,’ he said, then put it down. ‘Martha’s gonna call some of the girls from school.’

‘But she wasn’t with any of the girls from school,’ said Shaun.

‘It’ll be OK,’ said Joe. ‘She could have met one of them on the way home. Why didn’t you walk her home?’ He hesitated. ‘Did you have an argument?’

When Shaun saw the concern in his father’s eyes, he had to look away. There was no way he could tell him what happened tonight. Katie would kill him.

‘No, we didn’t,’ he said. He looked like he was about to cry. ‘She just wanted to walk home on her own.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Joe. ‘She’ll show up.’

For the past two hours, Frank Deegan had been staring at the ceiling. He had nodded off on the couch earlier, but a phone call had jerked him too wide awake to handle his regular bed time. It had been a hang-up, to make matters worse. He turned to look at Nora, asleep by his side. Raising himself up on one elbow, he lumbered out of bed, pausing to sit on the edge before standing. He tightened his navy pyjama pants and headed for the kitchen. He stopped at the counter, his short fingers hovering over a shiny foil bag of coffee grounds. Nora had to be different, a coffee addict in a generation of tea drinkers. She would complain when she visited friends’ houses that they’d use the same instant coffee that they offered her a year beforehand, its granules in damp clumps against the side of the jar. Only the teabags were replaced regularly in most Mountcannon homes.

‘Vile,’ she would say to Frank, afterwards. ‘Vile.’

He looked up at the clock, heard the rumblings of his ulcer and ignored the call of caffeine. Instead, he put a small saucepan of milk on the stove and sat down at the table with the newspaper. He reached for his reading glasses with their thick magnifying lenses. He’d bought them from a stand in the pharmacy. Nora loved to poke fun at him and his super-sized eyes. He reminded her of something she could never remember. Sometimes he would look up from his book or paper just to make her laugh.

As he settled back into the chair, the phone rang.

‘Hello,’ he said as if it was ten o’clock in the morning.

‘Frank, it’s Martha Lawson. Katie didn’t come home last night.’

‘You mean the night before last?’ asked Frank.

‘No, well, tonight, I mean. She should have been home at midnight.’

‘It’s five a.m., Martha, the night is still young for a teenager. Especially at the weekend.’ He rubbed a hand through his hair. ‘Was she in one of the discos in town?’

‘No,’ said Martha. ‘She’s not allowed. She was in the village with Shaun. She wanted to walk home on her own for some reason and now she hasn’t shown up. Oh, hold on, Frank. There’s someone at the door.’

‘Well, there she is now,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

She came back on the line, her voice shaking.

‘It was just the Lucchesis,’ she said.

‘Oh, OK. Well, I’ll come over to you, so,’ said Frank. ‘Sure I’ll probably pass Katie by on the drive.’

‘Thanks, Frank. I appreciate it.’

Frank took the milk from the stove and reached for the Colombian roast.

Martha Lawson lived with her daughter in a small white bungalow with a large garden – a suburban home on a country road, a ten-minute walk from the harbour, a thirty-minute walk from the Lucchesis. Inside, the house was a blend of different woods, carpets and fabrics: a mahogany dresser with varnished pine coffee table, floral carpet with Aztec print drapes. Every surface was spotless.

Frank sat to Martha’s left on a brown sofa, his body turned towards her. She had a plain face, but most of the features that made Katie beautiful. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her eyelashes wet from tears.

‘I’m sure Katie is fine,’ said Frank. ‘I don’t know what she’s up to, to be honest, but whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll have a good explanation when she walks through that door.’

‘No, Frank, I really don’t think so. Please. I know Katie. It’s not like her at all. God knows, she could be dead in a ditch somewhere. You hear about these hit-and-runs …’

‘Don’t be worrying about things like that,’ said Frank gently.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘This is just, I’ve never …’ she trailed off.

‘It’s OK,’ said Frank, patting her hand.

‘Shaun called here for Katie at eight,’ she said. ‘She didn’t stick her head in to say goodbye, she just hopped out the hall door to him.’ She thought about this for a while. ‘I didn’t even say goodbye to her,’ she cried.

‘We don’t know anything’s happened to her,’ said Joe, who had been standing at the fireplace opposite. ‘And if we all got up to say goodbye to our kids every time they went out the door, we’d be up and down all day.’

Martha smiled, wiping her nose with a pink tissue.

‘Shaun said they had been hanging around the harbour, but she wanted to walk home on her own or something, so he let her.’ She glanced over at Anna and Joe. ‘She was supposed to be home at midnight.’

‘Where is Shaun?’ asked Frank, frowning.

‘He wanted to stay at home,’ said Joe. ‘And wait by the home phone. He figures she could call him on that because he doesn’t get a great signal on his cell.’

Shaun stared at his bedroom wall. His heart was thumping. He moved around, trying different positions to get a signal on his mobile, but he knew nothing would work. He used the portable phone to dial his message minder. There were no new messages. He tried his private line in the bedroom. It rang. He hung up. He checked the answer phone. There were no messages. He picked it up, pushed buttons, turned it over, put it down again. Still no messages.

There was a knock on the door. Martha looked around at everyone. They all stood up at the same time, but left her to answer it. Low muttering came from the hallway. Richie Bates, in his pristine navy uniform, bent his head to get through the door and nodded when he saw Joe and Anna. He was pale, but alert. His hair was still damp from the shower. He turned to Frank.

‘Howiya, Frank,’ he said sombrely, nodding again.

Martha walked in behind him, disappointed and exhausted.

‘Will you have a cup of tea, Richie?’ she said.

‘I’ll get it,’ he said.

‘You will not,’ she said. ‘Sit down there.’

She brought him out a plate of plain biscuits and tea in a china cup that looked lost in his big hands.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

After a long silence, Frank spoke up.

‘Sorry to have to ask, but was there anything wrong with Katie?’ He pulled out his notebook. The formality of Frank Deegan, out of context, sitting on her sofa as a policeman made her cry.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Martha.

‘Did you have an argument or anything?’

‘No, no, everything was fine,’ she said defensively.

‘Was she fighting with anyone in school?’

‘She wouldn’t tell me if she was.’

‘You know with young girls, they could have been jealous or there could have been something—’

‘No. I know a bit of bullying goes on at the school, but she’s never been part of it.’

Frank searched for questions that wouldn’t alarm Martha at this early stage, but would reassure her that she was being taken seriously.

‘I’m trying to think,’ said Martha, ‘did I do something that annoyed her?’

‘Tell me what she did during the day today.’

‘She went to school and was home straightaway afterwards. She didn’t have any homework, so she went out to meet Shaun. She didn’t change out of her uniform. She came home on her own for dinner, then went upstairs and had a shower. She spent a good while getting ready. She had a lot of makeup on, which she normally doesn’t. I might have told her that she could have taken some of it off. I think that annoyed her.’ She looked up at Frank.

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ he said.

‘I went into the kitchen then and I presume she took a jacket from the hall, because then she just shouted, “See you later,” and off she went out to Shaun. I went into the hall after her, but she was gone.’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I don’t know why I had to say that about her makeup. She looked beautiful.’

Richie Bates stayed silent throughout the interview, but took notes every time she spoke. The bones in his hand were rigid. Frank wondered if the pen was going to snap.

‘Maybe she hated me and I didn’t know,’ blurted Martha. Everyone looked at her.

‘No,’ said Anna, rushing to her side. She patted her arm. ‘She loved you. We all know that. She’s just late home.’

The questions continued until Frank was satisfied he had enough information. But that didn’t mean he had any idea where Katie Lawson was.

The cottage, at the end of a damp, mossy lane, was five miles from Mountcannon and had lain derelict for fifteen years. Wooden boards criss-crossed the fractured windows, protecting the place from people less determined than Duke Rawlins. His hands tore at the rotting frame, pulling free parts of the brittle timber. Within minutes he was climbing through the back window into a dark, cramped kitchen. He breathed in the stale air, then worked on the rusted door latch, finally pushing the door open to the breeze.

He moved through the house, shining his torch over mahogany furniture, ragged net curtains and religious pictures, crooked on floral walls. The bedrooms were small and dark, barely lit by the tiny windows. A tarnished picture frame lay upturned on a sideboard. A strip along the centre of the photograph had been bleached white, where a gap in the boards had let shafts of sunlight through the window. He picked up the frame and slid out the photograph, letting it float to the floor. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out one to replace it. Uncle Bill stood in a faded XL denim shirt and jeans, his right arm extended. The sun was setting behind him and glowed orange, catching his brown hair and full beard. His left thumb was hooked into a brown leather belt that was too tight for his vast stomach. His smile was broad. Solomon sat on a bow perch next to him, one foot raised. Sheba was swooping through the air, poised to land on Bill’s gloved hand and collect her prize.

‘Solomon was majestic,’ said Duke, holding the photograph to his chest. ‘He truly was.’ He stretched out his arms and looked into the shadows. ‘But Sheba, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.’

Anna pushed aside plates, bottles, cutlery and mugs to add a jug of maple syrup to the breakfast table. Joe looked at the waffles, juice, croissants, bacon, sausage, coffee and tea. ‘Whose room will we charge this to?’ he asked. Anna laughed and looked to Shaun for a reaction. He had none. Tears were dripping onto his empty plate.

‘Do I have to sit here?’ he said. ‘I feel sick.’

‘No, no, you go,’ said Anna, tilting his chin up. He looked away, then left the table.

Frank stood quietly in the doorway, smiling at Nora. She never let him down. He knew she would have got out of bed as soon as he left. There was something about her and that navy satin dressing gown that always touched his heart. She hadn’t heard him come in. She sat in a corner of the sofa, her legs stretched out and resting on the low table in front of her. One hand was flicking through a book telling her how to de-clutter her life. The other was reaching out for her coffee mug. She missed the handle, but grabbed it back before it rocked off the side. Frank laughed. She jumped.

‘You’re dreadful,’ she said, smiling. She put down the mug and turned around to him.

‘Well?’ she said, closing the book.

‘There’s still no sign of her.’

‘Really?’

Frank nodded.

‘How was Martha?’

‘Very upset. God love her, though, she’s very innocent. I asked her a few questions, but I think it scared the life out of her … and I hadn’t even gone near the serious ones.’

‘Ah, it’s hard for someone like Martha. She’s from another era.’

‘God knows, Katie could have got fed up with how strict she is and run away to make a point.’

‘Maybe. And who knows? Martha’s never got over Matt’s death; maybe her moping around the house all the time made Katie feel guilty for getting on with her own life.’

‘Could be.’

‘Or maybe it just suffocated the poor girl.’

‘Possibly,’ said Frank.

They looked at each other. They knew they were already sounding desperate.

‘Either way, we’ll know soon enough,’ said Nora. ‘Good kids like Katie don’t last too long away from home. She’ll be back before lunch, probably.’

‘I feel guilty even saying this, but I called the hospitals and a few of the other stations, but nothing.’

‘I don’t know whether that’s a good or a bad thing,’ said Nora.

‘Hmm.’

‘And what about Shaun?’

‘I don’t know what’s going on there,’ said Frank. ‘He didn’t walk her home even though he was out with her. We’re always seeing him walking her home, that funny walk they do, wrapped around each other.’

‘I know,’ said Nora.

‘And he didn’t come with Joe and Anna to Martha’s.’

‘What was he doing?’

‘Waiting for her to call him, says Joe.’

‘That’s a bit odd,’ said Nora. ‘You’d think he’d want to be around everyone. And surely, if she didn’t get hold of him, she would have called her mother, let her know she’s all right.’

‘I had a chat with him after Martha’s,’ said Frank, ‘and the poor lad definitely seems out of it.’

She studied Frank’s face.

‘You’re worried.’

‘Yes, I am, actually.’ His eyes were tired and sad.

Nora was about to ask another question, but he held up a finger.

‘I can’t really stop,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to talk to some of Katie’s friends, maybe have a look around the harbour and the strand and out towards town, see if I can see anything. If she isn’t back after that, I suppose I’ll have to call it in to Waterford, make it official.’

Shaun walked for a mile past Shore’s Rock, along the scenic route from the village. He climbed the iron gate into Millers’ Orchard and jumped down onto the path. John Miller was hunched in the corner, shovelling leaves into a smoking pile, far enough away not to notice Shaun run along the wall to the opposite side and slide down behind the trunk of an apple tree. He closed his eyes and was still in the same position ten minutes later when footsteps behind him made him jump.

‘Hi,’ said Ali.

‘Hi. What’s up?’

She sat down beside him and took out an empty soda can. It was bent forward at the bottom and pierced with nine tiny holes. She pulled some grass out of a plastic bag.

She turned to him. ‘Where do you think she’s gone?’

She put the grass over the holes and held the opening of the can to her mouth. She held her lighter to the grass and sucked in hard. She tried to pass it to Shaun. He shook his head.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve spent the whole morning wandering everywhere …’

‘I went into town to look for her around the shops. Which I know was a bit stupid.’

‘It’s just not like her to—’

‘I know.’

‘This was my last resort.’

‘Me too.’

Nora and Frank locked eyes when the phone rang. He was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to eat a sandwich. He slowly reached across to answer it.

‘Frank, it’s Martha. She still isn’t back.’

‘All right,’ he said firmly, looking at his watch. It was twelve o’clock. ‘What I think I’m going to have to do now is call Waterford.’ Waterford Garda Station was the district station over Mountcannon.

Martha gasped at the other end of the phone. He could barely hear her when she spoke.

‘OK. Thanks.’

‘So I imagine a detective inspector will be out to see you later on this evening. Do you have someone with you, Martha?’

‘Yes. My sister, Jean.’

‘All right. I’ll let you know what’s happening.’ He put down the phone and dialled Waterford. He was surprised at how his heart had started racing. He never suspected the worst of anyone or any situation, but he was now hit with a fear he tried to tell himself was irrational.

Joe bent down and looked at the four pieces of steak under the grill. The butter had barely melted on them. The Worcestershire sauce wasn’t sizzling.

‘Get away from there,’ said Anna.

‘Come on. Steak sandwiches. You never say no.’

‘The only problem is that you know none of us are going to eat. And the last thing you need is something to chew.’ She tapped the side of her face. He looked under the grill again. She sighed.

‘I hope I’m wrong,’ said Joe. ‘But I think there’s something Shaun’s not telling us.’

‘What? But he would have said something to Frank earlier.’

Joe straightened up, turned off the grill and slid the steaks into the bin.

‘I’m not so sure,’ he said. ‘I think it’s something he doesn’t want to tell anyone. He wasn’t even being put under any pressure and … I don’t know … he looked kinda scared.’

‘Worried, probably. I think it was because we took him by surprise, arriving back with Frank like that. I don’t think he thought Martha would have called the police that soon.’

‘Maybe.’

She stood up. ‘I’m making you one of your shakes. You can use a straw. And it will be better than that LV8 energy stuff, full of caffeine.’

‘It’s pronounced “elevate”.’

‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘All I know is anything that comes in bright colours like that is not good for you.’

He rolled his eyes. Anna went to the fridge for the ingredients. She pulled the liquidiser out from the wall and threw in a sliced banana, two scoops of ice-cream, two teaspoons of peanut butter, a spoon of honey and filled the rest up with milk, whizzing it until it was creamy. She put in a straw and handed it to Joe.

The Garda station at Mountcannon was small and neat, with grey floors, cream walls and bulletin boards with posters on awareness of everything from drinking and driving to using machinery near overhead wires. There was no cell; just a main office, Frank Deegan’s office, a kitchen and a bathroom. Frank leaned back in his chair, his light blue shirt straining across his armpits. Detective Inspector Myles O’Connor had driven fifteen miles from Waterford city and was sitting on the edge of his desk with a stylus in his hand, punching text into a slim silver PDA. He was the first person Frank had seen who looked comfortable with one.

Every guard had heard about O’Connor – at thirty-six, he was the youngest D.I. in the country and the first in Waterford. Frank couldn’t define it, but there was something about O’Connor that didn’t say guard.

‘Were you on holidays?’ asked Frank, noticing his fading tan.

‘Yes,’ said O’Connor, without looking up. ‘What was the name of the girl’s boyfriend again?’

‘Shaun Lucchesi. Where did you go?’

‘Portugal. And did you say she’d been at a nightclub that night?’

‘No,’ said Frank. ‘Out with the boyfriend around the harbour.’

Frank saw that O’Connor’s eyes were bloodshot. Every now and then, he would raise his hand to his face as if he was about to rub them, then stop himself before he did. Frank wondered was it from squinting at the small screen. Then he thought maybe he was tired, but he showed no other signs.

‘OK, fill me in on the rest of it,’ said O’Connor.

Frank went through all the details. O’Connor listened, then took notes when he had finished.

Richie barged in, breaking the silence.

‘You’ve met D.I. O’Connor before,’ said Frank. ‘Waterford’s going to be handling Katie’s disappearance from here on in. Superintendent Brady is on his way over.’

Richie flashed O’Connor a quick smile, squeezed his hand, then hovered in front of him, enjoying the six-inch height difference.

O’Connor didn’t have the insecurity to make it worthwhile.

‘Hello, Richie. Good to see you.’ He smiled and held eye contact with him until Richie looked away.

‘Right. What’s your take on all this?’ asked Superintendent Brady as soon as he walked in. He was almost entirely bald, with a narrow band of soft white hair around the base of his skull and a thick white moustache.

Frank opened his mouth to answer.

‘Ah, I’d say leave it for now,’ said O’Connor. ‘She’ll turn up later. It was Friday night, she’s young—’

‘Frank? You know the girl, the family …’ said Brady.

‘She was on her way home,’ said Frank. ‘It just doesn’t ring true that she’d—’

‘We’ve all been on our way home,’ said Richie.

‘You were there for all that this morning with Martha,’ said Frank, annoyed.

He turned back to Brady. ‘I’ve a bad feeling about this,’ he said. ‘There’s not a thing about Katie Lawson would have me believe she’d run away. And, yes, I’ve known the family for years. I don’t think we can ignore this.’

O’Connor sighed. ‘In fairness, she’s got no money, no passport …’

‘I think this is fairly serious,’ said Frank, nodding.

‘OK,’ said Brady. ‘We’ll get a search team in for tomorrow morning if she doesn’t show up in the meantime.’

‘Will you act as liaison officer with the family, Frank?’

‘I’d say Richie would be the man for that.’ Frank felt Richie could learn something about handling a delicate situation.

Superintendent Brady nodded at the men.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘We don’t all want to land in on the mother and scare the life out of her. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Right,’ said O’Connor, turning to Frank, ‘I suppose we’ll call in to Mrs Lawson.’

‘She’ll be worn out going through everything over and over,’ said Richie.

Both men looked at him.

‘Well,’ said O’Connor, ‘she might be doing it all over again tomorrow with the Chief and Superintendent Brady. You never know what you might miss the first time.’

‘What an asshole,’ said Richie later.

‘Well, you better get used to dealing with him,’ said Frank.

‘“You never know what you might miss the first time.” What a load of shite.’

Frank didn’t bother responding. Everything was always shite in Richie’s world.

Joe sat at the table, thinking about what Shaun could be hiding. His first guess was alcohol and drugs, but it was a half-hearted one. He knew Shaun had smoked dope back home, but he didn’t think he still did. And the worst he would do was sneak a beer or two when he went out. All kids did that.

And Katie – she didn’t drink or smoke. She was more innocent than the girls Shaun dated in New York. They had a predatory look that wasn’t restricted to Shaun. Katie had a twinkle in her eye, but it was more about intelligence and wit than bad behaviour. Was Shaun protecting her from something? Did something happen that made her want to avoid home? Was she making a statement? Was she pregnant? He didn’t want to think about it any more. An uncomfortable sensation – almost as physical as the dull ache in his jaw – was rumbling inside him.

O’Connor sat in Martha Lawson’s kitchen in a stiff wooden chair that pressed into his spine. The radiator behind him was turned up high. He shifted forward. He had already shaken off his suit jacket and hung it on the chair beside him. He ran through the same gentle line of questioning as Frank had, but quickly moved on.

‘Does Katie suffer from depression?’ he asked. The question hung in the silence.

‘She’s sixteen years old!’ said Martha. ‘Of course she doesn’t suffer from depression!’

Frank and O’Connor exchanged glances. Between them, they’d been to the scene of four suicides in the previous five months, all of them teenagers.

‘Depression can start even younger than sixteen,’ said Frank, gently. ‘You may not even have realised that’s what it is.’

‘Was she sleeping a lot?’ said O’Connor. ‘Emotional? Irritable?’

‘Isn’t that every teenager for you?’ said Martha.

‘Do you think she was feeling negative or hopeless? Or could she have been worried about anything?’ said O’Connor.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Martha muttered. ‘I don’t think she would have told me.’ She bowed her head and let the tears fall.

Frank’s eyes moved over the family photographs on the sideboard. The biggest one was Katie in her white communion dress, her hands clasped around a prayer book and a white satin bag, her parents standing proudly behind her. In the second, she was dressed in pink trousers, a white top and big white trainers, sitting on a bench, laughing with her father.

‘Do you think she was badly affected by Matt’s death?’ asked Frank.

Martha followed his gaze. ‘She was devastated. She adored him. But she was young when it happened. She’ll always miss him, I know that, but I wouldn’t have thought it was something that would trouble her at this stage.’

When she turned away, O’Connor leaned down slowly and turned the dial on the radiator. His face was red and his eyes looked dry. He kept blinking.

‘Does she drink or do you think there’s a chance she could be involved with drugs?’ he asked.

Martha looked back at him, confused. She glanced at Frank for support. His look was apologetic.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘No, she does not. She isn’t allowed. I don’t keep drink in the house. And where would a girl like Katie get her hands on drugs?’

Frank was saddened by her reaction. Did Martha really think she would only get drink from her own house? Or that drugs were hard for a teenager to come by?

‘To be honest, I’m getting very nervous about these questions,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry,’ said O’Connor. ‘For us to do our job properly, we have a list of standard questions that we ask people in a situation like this. We’re not judging you or Katie or anyone. I don’t know Katie, so I’m trying to get a handle on her. That’s all. It will help us to look in the right places for her.’ Frank nodded.