Текст книги "The Jump"

Автор книги: Doug Johnstone

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

25

She ran. She had no idea where she was going, just wanted to get away, feel her feet pounding on the concrete, her body moving away from Inchcolm Terrace and Alison, from confrontation, away from Sam and Libby and the mess she was involved in.

She ran so she didn’t have to think, her body took over, she had to concentrate on breathing, the molecules going in and out of her mouth, her bloodstream, her pulse pumping energy from her heart through her stomach to her legs. She ran to feel the rhythm of it, settled into the thud, thud of her heels on the ground. She was wearing the wrong shoes, casual trainers, and the wrong clothes, clinging to her as she began to work up a sweat, but she didn’t care, she just kept on.

Gradually she began to be aware of where she was. She’d gone in the opposite direction from it all, up the back roads of the Ferry, east towards Dalmeny, vaguely aware of the A90 somewhere behind the trees on her right, sweeping towards Edinburgh. She turned left and found herself on a farm lane, views of Dalgety Bay across the Forth, her legs aching and her arms still thrusting away, as if she knew what she was doing, where she was going.

She turned at the end of the track, passed some cottages and realised where she was, heading back into the Ferry from the east side, close to Dalmeny railway station. Her breath was short, a wheeze in her chest. She headed towards the train station. She’d waited on that platform hundreds of times for trains into the city, always looking the other way, over the bridge. In the last six months whenever she’d stood there, she imagined jumping on to the tracks, not suicide, not that way at least. She imagined leaping on to the gravel between the rusty rails and sprinting in the direction of the bridge, it wasn’t far, she could make it easily. She wondered if she could run all the way over the rail bridge before a train came and crushed her, or before railway security managed to stop her. She imagined the bridge from Iain Banks’ book, an entire civilisation living inside the legs and arms of the structure. Everyone in the Ferry knew that book, Iain had lived over the water in North Queensferry, he was one of their own.

She didn’t stop at the station now but pounded on, pulled towards the shoreline by the gravity of the sea, the power of the water that had taken Logan, her home calling her as she leapt down the steep stairs below the rail bridge, through the thick trees, coming out on Shore Road at the east end of the village by the legs of the rail bridge.

Without looking she ran across the road to the bridge leg, where she stopped and placed her shaking hands against the stonework. Her breath heaved and her lungs ached, her legs trembled as she used the bridge for support. Three tourists walked past, sauntering into the village, staring at her. She wasn’t dressed like a jogger, so why was she out of breath? What was she running from?

As she stood there, that comforting rumble of the train overhead, click-clack of wheels on rails, the rattle of people going places a hundred feet above her head.

If she’d run on to the bridge like she imagined, the train would be bearing down on her now. She wouldn’t even be halfway across. Maybe she would’ve just lain down and let it crush her. Maybe she would’ve jumped over the side, like her son. Maybe she would’ve stood tall, a character in a superhero movie, and the train would explode on impact. She would walk away unharmed, to save the planet from annihilation.

*

Back home and the water was calling her as she stood in the kitchen gazing out the window. She had a note from Ben in her hand, he’d gone out flyering again, somehow convinced after their boat trip yesterday that something was up with the new bridge.

She jogged upstairs, stripped and got changed into her wetsuit, stretching the material and pulling her limbs into it. There was a little more room than before from the weight she’d lost, the rubber rippling and bunching at her stomach and thighs.

She went out the back door, not bothering to lock it, pulling the cap over her head, pushing stray strands of hair under the silicon. She didn’t stop to think, just dived in, the best way to acclimatise, the body used to the cold within seconds. She began stroking straight away, stroke and push, stroke and kick. She was already tired from the run but she had to feel empty, wanted to keep going until there was nothing left inside her. Swim until you can’t see land.

She concentrated on her breathing again, in out, in out, angling her head to the side, then face in the water, up to the side, down, pushing the slick Forth behind her, overwhelmed by the grey swells, the waves making her adjust her stroke, constantly monitoring her body, checking her strength, her muscles talking to her.

Before she knew it she was two hundred yards out. She pictured a huge ocean liner or ferry bearing down on her, the sharp edge of the bow splurging the water aside as it thundered over her, pummelling her body, whipping in the force of the undertow, ripping her to shreds in the wake of the engines. She imagined Logan falling from the bridge directly on top of her, the two of them spiralling downwards with the force of it, held in each other’s embrace, tumbling to the silt and sediment of the bottom, sucked into the mud, unable to break free, kissing each other one last time before they let the ocean into their lungs.

She stopped and treaded water, taking in her surroundings. It felt so free to be out here, unshackled from earth for a moment. But then she began to think about Sam and Libby, Ben and Logan, Jack and Alison, all of them leaking in through the cracks. She started swimming back to shore, breath shortening, limbs stretching, muscles screaming. She concentrated on staying alive and moving, always moving forward.

She was a hundred yards out from shore, arms and legs burning, a good burn. She had slowed down but that was fine, she was still going forward, pushing the past behind her, pushing the waves behind her, pushing her life behind her one stroke at a time.

She spotted Ben standing on shore, cup of coffee in one hand, towel in the other. She couldn’t make out his face yet, too far away, as she pummelled through the water, the surface splash salty on her lips, the taste of it like sweat and fish and freedom.

Then she was only twenty yards out, able to put her feet down and wade the rest of the way. She stumbled on the pebbles underfoot, her legs jelly from the exertion, and wiped her eyes. She saw now that Ben was frowning. He held out the towel and stepped to the side, his head nodding back to the house, where two uniformed police officers were sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea.

26

‘This is not a formal interview, Mrs Napier, we just want a little chat.’

Ellie looked around. This wasn’t an interview room, didn’t look anything like she’d seen on television crime dramas, they were just sitting in the corner of a regular open-plan office, computer and paperwork on the desk, spreadsheets and forms pinned to a noticeboard, a couple of framed awards mounted on the wall.

They were at the back of the police station, so the view out the window was of someone’s garage and an overgrown lawn. Round the front of the station were the Forth and her house, where Ben was waiting.

She’d told him not to come. The police wanted to talk to her about her visit to the McKennas’ house, and Jack’s attempted murder. They seemed happy to talk at her kitchen table but she wanted them out, wanted to distance the whole thing from what was left of her family. So she told Ben not to come to the station. He’d mentioned getting a solicitor but the female officer said there was no need, it was strictly informal. And anyway, Ellie thought, they didn’t have a solicitor. Who has a criminal lawyer in real life?

She’d gone upstairs, dried off, changed into her clothes and walked with them to the station. Now she was sitting in this ordinary office, facing the two cops. She didn’t recognise either of them, she’d thought she might, from Logan’s suicide, or just from around town. She was surprised about that, it couldn’t be much of a police force in such a small station.

The female officer was about the same age as her, maybe a little younger, auburn hair pulled into a ponytail, sleek, well conditioned. Her nails had been done recently, she took care of her appearance. Ellie saw a wedding ring and wondered if she had kids. The male officer was younger, just a kid really, mid-twenties, confident, sharp haircut, smelling of cologne, expensive, chunky watch on his wrist.

‘Ellie.’ It was the woman officer, a sympathetic note in her voice. Were they going to do good cop, bad cop, did police really do that?

‘My name is PC Macdonald, this is PC Wood. Do you know why you’re here?’

‘No.’

‘Alison McKenna contacted us,’ Macdonald said. ‘You know who I mean?’

Ellie nodded.

‘She said you’ve been round to see her.’ Macdonald had a notepad and pen at the ready. Ellie noticed she’d already written Ellie’s name and the date at the top of the page and underlined it. ‘Have you visited her home?’

Ellie nodded again.

‘Why?’

Ellie rolled her wedding ring round her finger. She felt something like tears beginning to well up inside her, felt her stomach lurch, bile rise in her throat.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’ This was the young guy, Wood, incredulous. He got a look from the woman. Ellie wondered about the power balance between these two. He would resent having a woman as his boss. They were the same rank but she was older, more experienced, in charge.

Ellie kept looking at her hands in her lap.

Macdonald stared at her. ‘Mrs McKenna says you made accusations about her husband, Police Sergeant Jack McKenna. Is that true?’

Ellie lifted her head and looked at the certificates on the wall.

‘Mrs Napier?’

Ellie shook her head, sniffed. ‘No, I never said anything about her husband.’

‘Do you know PS McKenna?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know Mrs McKenna?’

‘No.’

‘Then why go to her house?’ Macdonald flicked a page back in her notebook. ‘She says you’ve visited twice in the last two days, is that correct?’

‘Yes,’ Ellie said.

‘Why?’

‘I wanted to offer sympathy.’

‘Sympathy?’

Ellie rubbed at her palm with her thumb. ‘I know what it’s like to have trouble in the family.’

Macdonald cocked her head to the side. ‘Your son Logan.’

Ellie nodded.

‘But this is very different,’ Macdonald continued. ‘This was a violent assault, attempted murder. What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Nothing,’ Ellie said. ‘I just felt . . . I get confused. I’m on medication, you see. Since Logan.’

Wood leaned forward, he’d had enough. ‘Alison said you made accusations about her husband. A good cop.’

Ellie shook her head.

‘She also said you’d been in touch with her son, Sam. Is that true?’

Ellie shook her head again. ‘I made that up.’

‘Why would you do something like that?’

Ellie felt tears well up in her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know,’ Wood said. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Have you been in touch with Sam McKenna?’ Macdonald said, voice softer.

‘No.’ Ellie sniffled as she spoke. ‘I made it all up.’

‘Why?’

‘I saw in the news that he was missing,’ Ellie said, tears down her cheeks now. ‘I imagined what it must be like for him, alone out there somewhere, not wanting to go home.’

‘What do you know about the attack on Jack McKenna?’ Wood said.

Macdonald shot him a look.

‘Nothing,’ Ellie said.

‘Were you anywhere near Inchcolm Terrace two days ago?’

Ellie shook her head. She wondered about CCTV, Neighbourhood Watch, if there was evidence. She had been all over that place, if they could just find out. It was only a matter of time, surely, but the fact they were asking meant they didn’t have anything yet.

‘Can you account for your activities that day?’

Ellie thought. Closed her eyes, opened them, stared out the window at the weeds. ‘I went for a walk.’

‘A walk?’ Wood’s voice sounded like he’d just been personally insulted.

Ellie nodded.

‘Whereabouts?’

‘I don’t know exactly,’ Ellie said.

‘Do you go on walks often?’

‘All the time. It’s what I do now, walk for miles, go running, swimming. It’s how I cope without Logan. I walk all over the Ferry, beyond as well, out to Hopetoun House or Dalmeny, even to Crammond.’

‘You walk to Crammond?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Did you walk to Crammond on Monday?’

‘No.’

‘Then where?’

‘I don’t remember,’ Ellie said. ‘I go all over the place, I can’t remember specifics.’

‘Did anyone see you on this mysterious walk?’

‘Plenty of people,’ Ellie said. ‘But no one I know, I don’t think.’

‘Very handy.’

Macdonald butted in. ‘Look, I understand you’re dealing with a lot. But you can’t turn up at strangers’ doors, making accusations and getting them upset.’

‘I didn’t make any accusations.’

‘Mrs McKenna insists that you did,’ Wood snarled.

Ellie thought about how the police had found her. She’d given Alison a false name, but it wasn’t exactly hard. She’d mentioned Logan jumping off the bridge, that was in the local paper, she would’ve been named in that. Easy to find the address. What must they have thought when they realised she lived fifty yards along the road from the station? Nice easy job for the officers.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ellie said. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to see her. But I was confused, that’s all. I don’t know why I did it.’ Tears were really flowing now. Was she putting it on for them, or really crying? She wasn’t sure any more. It didn’t make any difference.

‘It’s OK,’ Macdonald said.

Ellie heard Wood snort derisively. She didn’t blame him. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at her cheeks, her nose. Sniffed loudly.

‘Can I go?’ she said.

Wood was shaking his head, but Macdonald had a soft look on her face.

Ellie thought about fingerprints. They were all over the house, but then she’d been there to talk to Alison, surely that was her cover. If anyone saw her the day Jack was stabbed, that was different. And if the police checked her phone records they would know about her and Sam. The phone was in her pocket now, hot against her thigh. She imagined it buzzing with a message from him.

‘You can go for now,’ Macdonald said. ‘But we might well be back in touch, depending on our enquiries.’

Wood leaned forward, trying his best to be intimidating. ‘And we’ll definitely be in touch if you go near the McKennas again. Got it?’

Ellie nodded. ‘I understand.’

She got up, her legs weak, and headed for the door, wondering where Sam was and when she could see him next.

27

Ellie was on Rose Lane trying to get herself together when a car pulled up ahead of her. She recognised it straight away, the silver BMW from the driveway in Inchcolm Terrace. She stared at the brake lights as the passenger-side window buzzed down, then she stepped forward and bent over to look in.

Jack McKenna.

‘Can we talk?’

Ellie looked behind her. The police station was round the corner, he must’ve been waiting for her to come out.

‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ she said.

‘Please.’

He was leaning forward, clutching his side. She could see under his Hugo Boss T-shirt where it was thick with bandages. How was he out of hospital so soon?

Ellie felt her house key in her pocket, thought of Ben waiting at home for an explanation. She thought of Sam in the boat, Libby at school hoping beyond hope this man wouldn’t get out of hospital any time soon. Yet here he was, wheezing and grimacing in pain.

Ellie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

Jack nodded at the passenger door. ‘It’s for the best, for Sam and Libby. For everyone.’

His skin was pale, dark rings under his eyes. His black hair was greying at the temples like Ben’s, but closer cut, neatly shaved round the back and sides. He looked smaller than when she’d seen him in hospital, smaller than when she’d found him on his kitchen floor.

In her pocket she pushed the house key between her fingers and made a fist, a makeshift knuckleduster. She pulled the door open and got in. She looked in his eyes for a moment, but couldn’t see anything there. She imagined sticking the knuckleduster in his face, blood spurting out. He smelt of hospitals, antiseptic and bleach, and she could smell his sweat underneath.

She pulled the door closed and put her seatbelt on.

He put the car into gear and drove to the car park at the end of the road, did a three-point turn and headed back. He turned right at the junction and for a moment she thought he was going to take Shore Road to the marina, but instead he turned along Hopetoun Road heading out of town.

He was clearly in pain, his movements slow and tentative. She couldn’t imagine him overpowering her, one quick punch to his bandaged side would double him over.

They picked up speed as they left the Ferry, the road bending towards the coast beyond the marina, flowing with the contours of the land where it met the sea.

Was that the face of a child abuser, someone who could rape his own daughter? She remembered Libby telling her what he’d done, and her fists tightened in her pockets.

They drove over a makeshift crossing, a workman in a hardhat and hi-vis jacket leaning on a STOP/GO sign. Muddy tracks to their left, the building site for the new bridge on the right. This was where the approach road was going to go, through the fields and woods, stretching out over the water.

Jack kept driving. Ellie could see Rosyth docks and the naval base across the firth. The road widened and there were thick gravel verges on either side. Jack pulled in sharply and stopped, pushed the handbrake button. Ellie tensed her muscles, ready.

Jack looked out over the water and pulled his hand down his face as if he was trying to wipe it clean. The engine was still running.

‘I saw you,’ Jack said. He was still looking out the window, away from her.

Ellie stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I saw you in my house.’ He turned to her. ‘In the kitchen, when I was lying there. You spoke to me, said something about Sam. Right?’

Ellie tried to remember exactly what she’d said.

‘You went out the patio door.’ His face was drawn, exhausted. ‘When Alison came home.’

Ellie shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Come on, no lies.’ Jack looked beaten by the world, so tired.

Ellie didn’t move or speak. Jack pushed himself up in his seat a little, gave a grunt of pain.

‘I’m not supposed to speak to you,’ he said. ‘Macdonald and Wood are handling the case. I’m meant to be at home resting. By the time I got out of hospital, Alison had already talked to them about you. If she’d asked me, I would’ve told her not to.’ He shook his head. ‘You know, I could have forensics check those patio doors. But I don’t think it’s in either of our interests for that to happen, do you?’

He squinted, brushed at something on the steering wheel.

‘I’m sure we both want what’s best for Sam,’ he said. ‘And Libby.’

‘Do we?’

Jack turned and frowned. ‘I’m not quite sure how you’re involved.’

‘I’m not involved.’

‘This is such a mess.’ He sighed. ‘Let me tell you what I think. After he stabbed me, Sam left in a panic. You found him somewhere, upset, he told you what he thought he saw and what he’d done. You came to the house to see for yourself, then you left when Alison came home. You know where he is now, and you’re trying to work out what to do.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘Am I close?’

She said nothing.

‘I’m close,’ Jack said.

‘You said, “what he thought he saw”, about Sam.’

Jack lifted a hand, palm up. ‘It was all a stupid misunderstanding.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you weren’t raping your daughter?’

Jack’s eyes widened. ‘Of course not, I love Lib.’

‘What were you doing, then?’

‘She was upset about something in school. I was just comforting her. I’m allowed to hug my own daughter.’

‘So Sam got the wrong end of the stick and stabbed you.’

Jack sighed. ‘I don’t want him to get in any trouble over this.’

‘It’s you who’s in trouble,’ Ellie said. She was trying to keep her voice level.

‘It escalated out of control. I don’t know what he thought he saw, but it was totally innocent. Honestly.’

‘He said your trousers were at your ankles.’

‘He’s been very difficult recently, big mood swings, struggling with mental illness.’

‘Really.’

Jack shook his head. ‘We’ve been to see a psychologist, and he’s taking different medication, but he’s tried to overdose twice. Talks about seeing and hearing things, hallucinations, maybe that’s what happened the other day.’

Ellie remembered Sam standing on the bridge, in a trance.

‘I don’t believe you for a second,’ she said.

Jack narrowed his eyes. ‘You’ve been speaking to him. Has he seemed rational the whole time?’

Ellie thought about that. ‘Yes.’

‘I know you’re covering for him and I know why. Because of Logan.’

Ellie didn’t say anything.

‘But Sam isn’t Logan,’ Jack said. ‘He’s my son.’

Ellie shook her head. ‘You’ve been abusing Libby for years.’

Jack looked shocked. ‘Sam made that up.’

‘Libby told me, not Sam.’

Jack stared at her. ‘When did you speak to Libby?’

Ellie shook her head.

‘She’s lying,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t know why, but she’s lying. Maybe she’s covering for Sam, maybe she thinks if she says that, Sam won’t get in trouble for stabbing me. Maybe she wants to hurt me and her mum. I don’t know. She can be a very difficult girl.’

‘I don’t believe a word you say,’ Ellie said.

‘It’s the most hurtful thing a kid can do, accuse their parent of something like this. She doesn’t realise, she’s only young, but it breaks my heart. You must know how it would feel. Imagine if Logan had said that about you, or Ben.’

‘How do you know my husband’s name?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I’m a police officer.’

She pictured herself at her kitchen table, Logan coming in, sheepish look on his face, avoiding eye contact. She asks if something is wrong, he skirts around it, not wanting to tell but yes, wanting to tell, confronting something horrible, then blurting out that his dad has been doing things to him, terrible things, touching him, making him do things he didn’t like. Ellie felt her stomach flip and the muscles in her shoulders tighten.

What if it was all made up? What if Sam was struggling with medication, with mental illness, what if Libby was covering for him? What if this was an innocent man sitting next to her – imagine what she or Ben would feel like if false accusations were made against them, if Logan had written something in a suicide note that said he’d killed himself because of them, because of abuse?

No, this is what abusers do, they manipulate people. It’s all about power, being in control, and Jack didn’t like it because for once he wasn’t in control, things were spiralling away from him and he couldn’t contain them any longer.

‘I need to get some air,’ Ellie said.

She opened the door and felt a hand on her arm. Her fingers tightened around the key in her pocket.

‘Wait,’ Jack said.

Ellie looked at him. He was worried. If she was honest, he didn’t look dangerous, sweating from the pain, he looked nervous and downtrodden, an underdog.

‘You have to believe me,’ he said. ‘I’ve never done anything to Libby. I would never harm her, I swear on my mother’s grave. The same goes for Sam.’

Ellie pressed her mouth into a thin line. ‘I need to go.’

‘I just want my family back,’ Jack said. ‘Things back the way they were. You of all people must understand that.’

Ellie shook her head and looked at his hand on her sleeve. He followed her gaze then lifted his hand away, letting her go.

‘Please help me get my family back,’ Jack said. ‘That’s all I want.’

‘I have to think.’

Jack nodded like a puppy. ‘Of course.’

Ellie undid her seatbelt. ‘I’m getting out.’

Jack frowned. ‘I’ll give you a lift back.’

Ellie got out the car.

‘It’s miles back to town,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘I want to walk.’

She shut the door. She didn’t want any more words, she needed space and time. She looked up and down the road. Several miles of nothing, scrub grass on the verge, the Forth over the other side of the road, hedges and fields behind her.

The BMW sat next to her for a long moment, the engine turning over. Then she heard revs and it swept round in a U-turn towards town. The crunch of gravel and the throb of the engine receded until there was nothing, just the gentle shush of waves lapping at the shore.

Ellie waited until the car was out of sight then began walking back to the Ferry. She pulled out her phone. It rang three times then she heard Sam’s voice.

‘Your dad’s out of hospital,’ she said.