Down Cemetery Road Part 37

'You realize you twitched?'

'Rigor mortis,' said the corpse cheerfully. 'Or something.'

'And what's his name, Paul? Paul's created a work of art in the kitchen.'

'He reckoned the deader he looked, the less chance they'd check too careful. It worked, didn't it?'

'It worked. No thanks to Dodo.'

'Deedee.'

'Whatever. We're not handing out Oscars this week. That's the longest dying scene since Reservoir Dogs.'

'She was p.i.s.sed off. About the kid.' The former corpse, Brian, stood up. 'Paul had to smack her about a bit. Last night. Bring her into line.'

'What about the kid?'

'She didn't want to let her go. Deedee,' he amplified, 'didn't want to let the kid go.'

'But she did.'

'Downey came. About four hours ago? Early morning, anyway. Motor boat. We could have taken him.'

'I didn't want him taken.'

'I thought that was the point.'

'The point's changed.' Amos Crane had changed it, but Howard wasn't getting into that. 'And he took the child.'

'Like I said on the phone. We left her in the kitchen, he must have thought it was a trap.' Brian shrugged. 'He took her anyway. Back to the boat, voom, he was off. We were watching from over there.' He waved vaguely in the direction of the first corpse Howard had found. The indisputably dead one. 'Next thing we know, Jed's on the bell. Two more pa.s.sengers coming. Christ, nothing happens for weeks on end, then it all comes down at once.'

Paul came out of the house wiping gore from the side of his head. 'Was that fun?' he asked them. 'Was it f.u.c.k.'

Howard nodded.

'They came nowhere near me,' he added. Aggrieved.

Brian said, 'We could have just hidden.'

'Where?' Howard asked him.

He grew vague. 'There's places.'

'Downey didn't find you because he wasn't looking. Once he got the child he was away. Those two,' he waved in the direction the women had gone, 'they'd have looked.'

'Who were they?'

Howard just stared at him.

And also, he added, if things went wrong from this point in, and they wound up telling their story to anyone, well, it wouldn't help their credibility when they testified to deaths that never happened . . .

Brian said, 'They're bait too. Aren't they?'

Howard nodded vaguely. Sure they were bait. He was a.s.suming they'd lead Amos Crane to Downey . . . His best bet for coming out of this was to have them all wind up in the same place, then get the drop on whoever was left standing. He hoped that wouldn't be Amos. Still, he'd have to be prepared.

The helicopter was over them already. Brian said, 'You following them in that thing? It's a little conspicuous.'

Howard shook his head. He didn't need to. So long as Sarah Trafford kept hold of that bear, he'd know where they were.

He pointed over to where he'd found the first body. 'You planning on burying that thing at all?'

'Had to get the blood from somewhere,' Brian said.

'An' I always hated that b.a.s.t.a.r.d cat,' Paul said.

'You've still got some of its brains in your hair.'

Paul was still scrubbing while the helicopter took Howard away.

III.

Sarah stood at the stern, watching the wake scar the sea-surface . . . Only the sea healed without mark; wiped the white scar so cleanly, it had never been there at all. And that didn't count the invisible pollutants . . . Hard to think about Michael, now. Invisible pollutants in his case, too, and not just the toxic explosion in the desert what kind of worm ate into the soul so deep, it allowed you to kill whoever lay in your way? She thought of the trap that had been laid for him, and shook her head in weary disgust. Last time they'd put Michael on that island, he'd left bodies behind him. Why had they thought this time would be any different?

Zoe asked, 'Are you okay?'

'No . . . How about you?'

She made a face. 'They should put stabilizers on these things. But it's not as bad as it was before.'

Though the boat rocked as she said that, and Sarah saw white ghosts crawl over her.

Looking back to the sea, Sarah said, 'I can't believe he did that.'

'Killed them.'

'Did he have to? Wasn't there another way?'

She wasn't really asking. Zoe tried, anyway. 'He thinks Dinah's his.'

'He doesn't know.'

'No. Is that important?'

'That man, he said it wasn't so. He said she isn't Michael's.'

'He did say that. And maybe he was telling the truth, and maybe he wasn't. Either way, Michael doesn't know. And even if he did, do you think he'd really care?'

'But '

'Sarah.' Zoe put a hand on her shoulder. 'You don't even know the child. You've come this far. Do you think he should have just walked away?'

'I don't know.'

'Maybe he didn't either. But he does now.' Zoe turned and spat over the side of the boat. 's.h.i.t, I wish they'd built a b.l.o.o.d.y bridge. Sarah? Maybe they shot at him first.'

'He had a gun, didn't he?'

'That creep? Yeah, he had a gun.'

'And so have you.'

'And so have I . . . '

'Would you have done it? Shot him, I mean?'

Zoe gave her a look. 'We'll never know, will we?'

They heard a buzzing overhead, a giant mosquito whine, and looked up to see light glinting off the fishbowl windscreen of the helicopter as it flashed past, heading towards the island. Sarah caught the impression of a man in helmet, goggles, leather gear. Already he was into the distance.

'That'll be his lift,' Zoe said.

'Do you think this boat goes any faster?'

'Now would be a good time to find out.'

He had retreated from the harbour wall, and watched the boat dock from the doorway of a waterfront shop, where, for amus.e.m.e.nt as much as protective colouring, he'd been writing a postcard: Enjoying Retirement! Will Catch Up With You Later! This, he'd send to Howard's boss.

The sky was grey; the sea was grey. Only the car, parked thirty yards down the road, was blue.

Amos Crane turned his attention to the scene unfolding by the water's edge; two women disembarking; one of them Sarah Trafford handing a piece of paper to Jed. The other wore a red top, and as he focused on her face not using binoculars, not here on the street he felt the dizzying sensation he'd had before when he noticed disparate events falling together in a tidy heap. It was the woman from the train. The one who'd stolen into his dream.

He didn't know who she was, but then she didn't know him either . . . You could look on that as level ground.

He also noticed something else funny; that Sarah Trafford was carrying the bear. Bet that'll please Howard, he thought; quite pleased himself. He had, after all, brought it here. Looked like Howard would be reaping the benefit, though.

Amos pulled his wallet from his pocket; pulled a stamp from his wallet. Dabbed it on his tongue, and attached it to the postcard. It was nearly time to go. Either these women would lead him to Downey, or they would not. Either way, they couldn't remain on the board much longer. This had turned out to be one of those games where you burned your pieces as they fell . . .

Nutted. Scorched. Splatted.

He popped the postcard in the waiting box. When he looked up, the women had gone.

'Ladies,' Jed said.

'It's been your pleasure,' Sarah a.s.sured him, handing back the cheque Zoe had signed an hour before.

Zoe said, 'And Jed? We were never here.'

'Never where?'

'Good point.'

'I don't trust him,' Sarah said, once they were fifteen yards away.

'Well, that's pretty shrewd, Sarah. Seeing as we already know he takes bribes.'

Sarah hoisted the teddy bear under her arm. She couldn't keep lugging this toy around; on the other hand, she couldn't just dump it in a bin. At least she could, but it wouldn't feel right, somehow.

Zoe caught her by the arm. 'What now?'

'I don't know.'

'Try having a think.'

'I just want to put as much s.p.a.ce between us and that place as possible.'

'Now you're talking. Any special direction? Are you still checked in anywhere?'

She was, but suddenly that didn't seem important . . . She could leave, they could leave; she could settle her bill later. Send them a cheque. She owed Zoe money, too. Better get her life in order.

'We should head for a city. Head for Glasgow if we can. Get a train back south.'

'You need to talk to someone,' Zoe said.

'I know.'

'Press. Someone big.'

'Who'd believe me?'

'Believe us.'

'. . . Thanks, Zoe.'

'Bus stop. We need a bus stop.'

Sarah hadn't said all she wanted to say. Thanks was not enough. But Zoe was already on her way, as if the bus stop wasn't going to hang around if they didn't get a move on. She swapped the bear from one arm to the other, and took off after her friend.

The 'copter put Howard down right where it had picked him up: the corner of a field just out of sight of the main road: not too far from his car; a bit too close to a herd of cows. Which scattered. All but one, who held her ground, lowered her head; watched the crazy machine through huge brown eyes as it tilted up and pulled away. With her right front hoof she prodded a lump of gra.s.s, which until recently had commanded her full attention.

Howard dropped his briefcase. Picked it up. Looked at the cow. He was certain it was a cow: bulls have horns, cows have t.i.ts, and that was a rule of nature. But there was no point hanging round, so tucking the briefcase under one arm, he half-marched half-trotted across to the nearest gate, scrambled over it without damaging anything important, then kept on at the same ungainly pace until he reached his car, a hundred yards down the track. The cow had forgotten him by then; was deeply involved in her gra.s.s.

Behind the wheel, Howard luxuriated for a moment in motionless comfort. Then, hey-ho, back to work. From his briefcase he took a laptop; this he opened, and tipped a switch. A blue screen flickered into life. He adjusted its radius until it was operating within a two-mile area, which still left both major points in view, A being the laptop itself, dead centre, and B being the bear. Unfortunately, the area was laid out on a grid Howard couldn't actually drive along; without a map, it was worse than useless he had a map; he unfolded it, spread it over the pa.s.senger seat. All he had to do now was work out where he was, superimpose his position onscreen mentally and, theoretically, he'd be able to follow the bear.

What he really needed now, he decided, as point B began to move, was someone who'd operated one of these d.a.m.n things before.

The bus stop had the air of long-ago abandonment. It was just a metal upright with, chest-height to Sarah, what had once been a timetable hooped round it, but was now a mating diary for the local blades: Daz loves Peanut. Dish 4 Traj. What h.e.l.lish name abbreviated to Traj? Or Daz, come to that. s.h.i.t. Her mind, which had slowed to the point of stopping the inertia born of emergency was now all fizz and pop: none of it, though, any use at all.

Zoe said, 'Maybe we'll get lucky.'