Hanging Hill Part 35

'That was what really got me thinking. He'd gone to a lot of trouble hiding any evidence that you'd been there there wasn't a trace of you. So why didn't he get rid of Lorne's phone too? The lipstick?'

Zoe shook her head, mystified.

'I'll tell you why. It's simple. He didn't hide it because he didn't know it was there he didn't know it was there ...' ...'

'What?'

'Look. After he got caught up with the accident those bomb-disposal guys had in Basra, the work they had to do to put him back together again was awesome. He spent three months in the Selly Oak military hospital in Birmingham while they stabilized him, then another two months recovering from a cranioplasty. They put a t.i.tanium plate in his skull, but it was causing him trouble. On the seventh of May he was having a scan to see what was wrong.'

Zoe frowned. She wasn't getting it.

'Lorne was killed while he was in hospital. I've checked. I've seen the admission records, I've spoken to the staff who were on duty. It's solid, Zoe, solid. Kelvin Burford was in the hospital all of the seventh and on to the eighth. Under sedation. He could not have killed Lorne Wood.'

She sat down abruptly. Her head was buzzing. 'But ...' she began. 'But ...'

'I know. It was easy to jump to conclusions.'

Easy to jump to conclusions ... At those words something dark and nasty skittered across Zoe's head. Something that had been waiting there since the day Kelvin had attacked her, something she'd avoided all along. She remembered lying on the bed at Kelvin's. Remembered saying, 'Just do it. I want you to.' All those years ago when Kelvin had watched her from the shadows at the back of the club, she'd known what he'd wanted. And lying on the bed that day, she'd told him he could. If she was totally clear-eyed about it, totally honest and rational, he'd only done what she'd asked him to do. He'd battered her. Brutalized her. But the rest? Was it rape? Technically? ... At those words something dark and nasty skittered across Zoe's head. Something that had been waiting there since the day Kelvin had attacked her, something she'd avoided all along. She remembered lying on the bed at Kelvin's. Remembered saying, 'Just do it. I want you to.' All those years ago when Kelvin had watched her from the shadows at the back of the club, she'd known what he'd wanted. And lying on the bed that day, she'd told him he could. If she was totally clear-eyed about it, totally honest and rational, he'd only done what she'd asked him to do. He'd battered her. Brutalized her. But the rest? Was it rape? Technically?

'No,' she murmured, almost inaudibly, 'he killed Lorne. He had to have.'

Ben held her eyes solemnly. 'I know you think all I do is go around looking for miscarriages of justice. But, Zoe, rapist and all-round s.h.i.+t though Kelvin was, I think he was set up. I've got something to show you. Wait there.'

He went into the kitchen. Started opening cupboards. She stared numbly at the open doorway, letting it all filter through her. Kelvin in hospital the night of the rape? Someone else in the frame?

Ben reappeared in the doorway, holding a bundle of papers in a blue plastic wallet. 'The a.n.a.lysis of Lorne's phone. And some photos.'

He sat next to her and began to pull out the sheets page after page of request forms and data-protection forms from the Intelligence Bureau to the phone company. He got to a separate folder. Hesitated. 'Not nice, this part.'

'f.u.c.k off, Ben, I'm a police officer too.'

He shrugged and pulled out the photos. Four of them. They showed Lorne splayed out on the ground in the nettles. In the first she was alive, her eyes on the person taking the photo. She was holding out her hand, a universal pleading gesture. Tears ran down the sides of her face and her nose was thick and crusted with blood. In the second picture she was still alive, but the silver gaffer tape holding the ball in her mouth was there, and her expression had changed utterly. In this one she knew she was dying.

'These were taken on her own phone. He didn't even bother to hide them. But ...' Ben shuffled the papers '... something was was hidden on the phone. You've heard of data-recovery software? The boys in High Tech use it to find all the kiddie-p.o.r.n the perverts think they've got rid of by hitting hidden on the phone. You've heard of data-recovery software? The boys in High Tech use it to find all the kiddie-p.o.r.n the perverts think they've got rid of by hitting Delete Delete. We used it on the phone. Didn't find much that had been hidden. Except three texts that had been deleted the morning after she died.'

He held out the paper to Zoe, pointed to the places that had been highlighted in pink. She read: Hi L. Good 2 cu 2day. U looked hot. Spk soon Hi L. Good 2 cu 2day. U looked hot. Spk soon Then, lower down: don't u f.u.c.king bother to acknowledge ur mates any more? I'm not a rapist u know - grin - not going to lay a hand on u. U looked lovely. i think u r lovely i love u. 4 true don't u f.u.c.king bother to acknowledge ur mates any more? I'm not a rapist u know - grin - not going to lay a hand on u. U looked lovely. i think u r lovely i love u. 4 true And on the last page: This is pain like I never knew you give me pain babe. Don't ever think it isn't true This is pain like I never knew you give me pain babe. Don't ever think it isn't true 'These were deleted?'

'Yes. Nothing exactly incriminating in them, is there? Apart from the fact they were deleted. Which kind of puts a red light over them.'

Zoe couldn't drag her eyes away from the photo of Lorne looking into the camera. Her expression looked as if she still wasn't sure whether this was a joke or not. As if she was thinking, He's not serious. He's going to stop it and let me go He's not serious. He's going to stop it and let me go.

'You think this person the text person-'

'He set Kelvin up. Planted the fleece, the phone and the earring at his house. Probably cannot believe his luck that Kelvin's dead that he's not around to deny it all.'

'Is there a name?' She shuffled through the pages. 'He doesn't sign the texts. Is there a name?'

'A number look here.' He put a finger on a number that had been highlighted in green. 'But no name. The computer geeks think the address list was copied over nothing they can do to recover it.'

Zoe pushed the papers aside. She put her hands to her temples, thinking hard. The words Kelvin had said when he found her in his house came back: Don't think you'll get away with this again Don't think you'll get away with this again. As if he'd known someone had broken into his house before her. d.a.m.n it all to h.e.l.l, why hadn't she thought of all this before? Someone else out there? Someone who had done this unspeakable thing to Lorne? And Kelvin just set up? Kelvin just the lout, the one capable of a.s.sault and battery, maybe, of doing what he'd done to her, but not capable of killing a teenage girl?

'OK,' she said, after a while. 'We dial it.'

Ben smiled. 'I love you. Here's the phone.'

She took it from him, set it to speaker, tapped in *67 to block her phone from registering on caller ID, then dialled the number. She gazed out of the window as the call connected. There was a line of puffy clouds moving across the horizon above Bath. A pigeon sat on the window-ledge, watching her beadily. The phone rang and rang in the silence. They were just starting to expect an answerphone message when the phone clicked and a voice said, 'h.e.l.lo?'

Ben held a finger to his lips, but Zoe cancelled the call and sat back, dropping the phone on the table with a clatter. She was cold. So cold she was shaking. She'd been wrong. All along she had been wrong and Debbie and Ben had been right.

'Why did you do that?' Ben said, standing up. 'Why the h.e.l.l did you hang up? He might never answer again.'

'We don't need to call again. I know whose voice that was.'

6.

Sally was helping Millie sort out the containers of juice and crisps and the hopeful bags of fruit she'd insisted on putting in. They got the picnic hamper half into the camper, then found it wouldn't go any further. Sally looked to the front of the van for Nial to help. He was at the offside wheel, prodding the tyre with his foot, his phone up to his ear.

'h.e.l.lo?' He went to the driver's seat and leaned inside to turn off the music. 'h.e.l.lo?' he said into the phone.

'Who is it?' called Millie. 'Peter?'

'I don't know.' Nial gave the screen a look. He switched the phone off and put it in the back pocket of his jeans.

'Nial?' Sally said. 'Any chance you could help us back here ...?'

He came round to them, took the hamper and gave it a good shove inside. Then the three of them piled all the sleeping bags and cagoules on top of it. Nial slammed the door and smiled. 'I suppose that's us, then.'

'Wait.' Sally fished in the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a pack of cards. 'Since you're going to be hippies for the whole weekend, I thought you might like these.'

Millie swooped on them. 'Your tarots tarots? Mum you can't. They took ages.'

'It's OK. My new company have copies of them. In fact, next year you might even see them on the stalls at Glasto. Please.' She pushed them at her. 'I want you to have them. Enjoy them.'

'Oh, Mum Mum. Mum!' Millie jumped up and down like a three-year-old. She tipped them out of the box and began shuffling through them, holding them out for Nial to see. 'Do you remember these? Look there's me. The Princess of Wands.'

'What happened to it?' Nial frowned at the card. 'Her face is ruined.'

Sally smiled, thinking of how scared that image had made her when she'd first seen it. She'd painted a new card for the printers, but she hadn't got rid of the original. It had no power over her now. 'I don't know. It's nothing. There are others of her.'

'The Magus and the Priestess.' Millie was still happily flicking through the cards. 'And oh, my G.o.d, that's Dad, isn't it? Dad, and bleck bleck Melissa. And Sophie, and Pete. And look here's you, Nial.' Melissa. And Sophie, and Pete. And look here's you, Nial.'

Nial took the card from her and studied it.

'Do you like it?' Sally asked.

'It's great.' He turned the card to the light and inspected it, looked at the places the pegs had left a mark where it had been hung up to dry. 'The Prince of Swords. What does it mean?'

'It means clever,' said Millie.

'And intelligent,' Sally added.

'Except,' Millie said, 'if you turn it upside down it means treacherous and untrustworthy. The trickster.' She laughed the open-mouthed little-kid's laugh she still hadn't ironed out, no matter how cool she tried to be. 'See? Mum, you always had Nial sussed. The trickster.'

'That's me,' Nial said, handing back the two cards. 'The trickster.'

Millie pushed all the cards back into their box and put them on the dashboard. In the house the phone was ringing.

'Aren't you going to get that?' Nial said. 'Cos we've got to go. Got to get that s.p.a.ce. The ravers, they are a-coming.'

'I'll get it later they can leave a message.'

Nial got into the van and put the key in the ignition. Millie clambered into the pa.s.senger seat next to him. She'd found a ridiculous Stetson somewhere and now she opened the window and waved it out. 'Yee-hah, Mum. Yee-hah.'

Sally shook her head, half smiling. She stood next to the window, looking at Nial. He was wearing one of his faded seventies band T-s.h.i.+rts. Baggy shorts. His legs were already tanned. She could smell the freshly cleaned clothes, and the not-so-fresh sleeping bags all tumbled into the back. She could smell the sandwiches they'd packed for lunch and she could smell their skin. She felt jealous. Just for a moment.

'You know something, Mrs Ca.s.sidy?' he said.

'No.' She smiled. 'What?'

'I don't know if I'll ever let you get away with it.'

Sally's smiled faded. The words had cut her dead. And there was something ugly in Nial's face. 'I beg your pardon?'

'I said,' he spoke slowly, enunciating every word as if she was stupid, 'I'll never let you get away with making it so difficult. For me to take Millie to Glasto.'

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. They stood, eyes locked. Then, like the sun breaking through the clouds, he smiled. Laughed. 'I mean, I really won't. I never thought you'd let me.'

Sally hesitated. She looked at Millie, who had stopped waving the hat and was sitting scowling at her hands. Feeling a little stupid, a little confused, Sally forced a laugh. 'Well, you'll have to promise to take some photos of her.'

'I will.' Nial put his hand on hers. 'I'll send them to you on the phone. They'll be the best you've ever seen.' He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

This time Sally smiled for real. She held his face as he pulled away. 'Thank you,' she said warmly. 'Look after her.'

'I will.'

Sally walked around the front of the camper-van as Nial started it up. She leaned in the window and kissed Millie on the cheek.

'Yeah, OK, Mum,' Millie said, rolling her eyes. 'Respect the makeup.' She pulled down the sun visor. Checked the mirror and rubbed the place she'd been kissed. Then, in a sudden rush, she leaned out of the window and threw her arms round Sally's neck. 'I love you, Mum. I love you.'

'I love you too. You're going to have the best time. The time of your life. Never forget it.'

Nial revved the van. Sally stepped back. A plume of smoke came out of the exhaust pipe. Steve came out of the garage and stood, his arm around Sally, to wave the teenagers goodbye. The van jolted once, then the tyres bit and off it went, out of the driveway, past the hedgerow where the first tea roses were coming out. Millie stuck her arm out of the window. It was long and slender. By the time she got back from Glas...o...b..ry it would be burned to a crisp, Sally thought, folding her arms. That suntan lotion would stay in the rucksack.

Steve put his arm round her. 'See?' he said. 'Didn't I say it would all work itself out in the end?' He kissed the top of her head, and murmured into her hair, 'I told you there'd be no punishment.'

The van turned left. Not right, the way she would have gone. 'You'll never get to Glas...o...b..ry that way,' she wanted to shout. And then she caught herself: trying to interfere. She had to smile. Leave them alone, she thought, dropping her head against Steve's chest as the van disappeared over the hill, going in completely the wrong direction, the strains of Florence and the Machine fading until there was nothing but birdsong left in the garden. You just can't go on worrying about your children for ever.

Acknowledgements

Years ago Transworld Publishers went to great lengths to a.s.sure me they were a happy, committed company, faithful to their authors and readers with the love of reading firmly rooted in their ethos. At the time, if I am honest, I suspected it was a lot of puff to impress me, and I didn't believe a word of it. Over the years they have proved me wrong one hundred per cent wrong and for that I'd like to thank everyone there: Selina, Larry, Alison, Claire, Katrina, Diana, Janine, Nick, Elspeth, Sarah, Martin (the list goes on).

Jane Gregory is my agent and my rock and how can you express your grat.i.tude to someone who is always there when the world threatens to crumble (which it does frequently, believe me)? The same goes for everyone in her team Claire, Stephanie, Terry and Virginia.

The following allowed me glimpses into their worlds and without those glimpses I couldn't have done justice to some of the scenes: Alex 'Billy' Hamilton talked me through a lot of the super-sleuthy telephony stuff and Colonel Len Wa.s.sell, Deputy Provost Marshal, RMP, gave me huge insight into the workings of the Special Investigations Branch. Others who helped were Corporal Kirsten Gunn (Signals Regiment), Dr Hugh White (HM pathologist) and Jeremy White. A little thank you to the Green and Black's gang, especially Sarah and Michael for letting me borrow Peppercorn Cottage as a name, and Marc Birch for gleefully painting all those lurid gamekeeper stories. Also Hazel Orme and Steve Bennett two people who never ask for or expect thanks and praise, but absolutely deserve it.

A big apology goes to the City of Bath for playing merry havoc with your geography intertwining Hanging Hill and Freezing Hill. Bath, you are old and wise, and I believe you will forgive me.

Above all, a little whisper of grat.i.tude and affection to my family, my amazing, patient friends and, last but certainly not least, Bob Randall for his continuing help, support and miraculous, inexplicable faith in me.

About the Author.

Mo Hayder has written some of the most terrifying crime thrillers you will ever read. Her first novel, Birdman Birdman, was hailed as 'a first-cla.s.s shocker' by the Guardian Guardian, and her follow-up, The Treatment The Treatment, was voted by The Times The Times as 'one of the top ten most scary thrillers ever written'. Mo's books draw on her long research with several UK police forces and on her personal encounters with criminals and prost.i.tutes. She left school at fifteen and has worked as a barmaid, security guard, English teacher, and even a hostess in a Tokyo club. She has an MA in film-making from the American University in Was.h.i.+ngton DC, and an MA in creative writing from Bath Spa University. She now lives in England's West Country. as 'one of the top ten most scary thrillers ever written'. Mo's books draw on her long research with several UK police forces and on her personal encounters with criminals and prost.i.tutes. She left school at fifteen and has worked as a barmaid, security guard, English teacher, and even a hostess in a Tokyo club. She has an MA in film-making from the American University in Was.h.i.+ngton DC, and an MA in creative writing from Bath Spa University. She now lives in England's West Country.

Also by Mo Hayder

Birdman

The Treatment

Tokyo

Pig Island