Текст книги "Wrong Time Wrong Place (Quick Reads 2013)"

Автор книги: Simon Kernick

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 5 страниц)

10

SLOWLY, EVER SO slowly, Ash’s eyes opened.

For a few seconds she had no idea where she was, just this vague feeling that she’d had a dark and brutal dream in which her beloved Nick had been murdered. Then, as she raised her head from where it had been face down in foul-smelling mud, and felt her whole body aching, she remembered what had happened, and her heart sank.

Rubbing mud from her eyes, she carefully glanced round. Sunlight dappled through the trees, and she was forced to squint against it. By the sun’s low angle she guessed it was fairly early in the morning.

She rolled round on to her back with a groan and saw that water was lapping at her hiking shoes. She was lying next to a fast-flowing river, with a cliff stretching up on the other side. The river must have carried her along for God knows how far before depositing her here in a flat clearing.

As she slowly sat up, Ash felt a rush of sickness that immediately set off a bout of shivering. She was in a bad way. But at least she was alive. Somehow, against all the odds, she’d made it. And somehow they hadn’t found her, even though she must have been unconscious for hours.

Ash got to her feet, cold and sick but determined not to break down and cry over what had happened to Nick. Which was when she remembered that she’d killed one of them herself. Killed him. It was hard to accept that she, Ash, a primary school teacher by trade who hadn’t had a fight since she was thirteen years old (with Chloe Baxter about a boy in the dinner queue), had beaten a man so badly that his brains had come out. Jesus. It made her want to throw up.

Pulling a thick knot of matted hair out of her eyes, she staggered through the trees. How on earth was she ever going to explain what had happened the previous night to anyone? She still wasn’t sure why she, Nick and the others had been targeted. But at least now that it was daytime, she felt less scared. There was something about the sunshine that lifted her spirits.

The woods were empty and filled with the sound of birdsong. It was a real contrast to the previous night. No baying of hounds, or screams of dying friends. She thought about Tracy then. Poor, frightened Tracy caught in a metal trap and left to die alone.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Ash told herself. ‘You did what you had to do.’

Even so, it didn’t make her feel any better.

The forest began to thin out, and the sunshine became brighter ahead. Ash sped up, telling herself that soon she’d be able to rest, that it wouldn’t be much longer before she found someone. Just one more big effort and this would all be over.

Suddenly the trees parted in front of her and she was standing on a narrow pot-holed road. On the other side was an overgrown field that stretched up towards another pine-covered hill.

She looked down, never so pleased to see tarmac in her life. It was a sign, however minor, of life – something she felt she’d left behind. It filled her with a renewed sense of hope.

She looked left and saw a stone cottage on the corner thirty metres away. Smoke rose from its chimney, and a battered old Land Rover sat on its dirt driveway.

A new emotion mixed with the hope, one she’d become used to in the last twelve hours. Fear. This could be where the men hunting her lived. They had to live somewhere, and it was likely to be close by. Had the girl, the one who’d caused them so much trouble, escaped from here? If she had, it would explain why they’d been so keen to silence Ash and the others, to prevent them from reporting what they’d seen to the police and leading them back here.

She took a deep breath, trying to work out what to do. The problem was she had no idea where she was. She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her mobile, hoping for a reception, but it wouldn’t even turn on. The water had ruined it.

Standing in the road shivering, Ash felt utterly drained of energy. It could be miles to the next house, and she wasn’t at all sure how much longer she could keep going. She was sick. She was being hunted down. She needed help.

The front door to the cottage opened. Ash instinctively jumped out of sight behind a tree.

A well-built older lady with her silver hair in a bun stepped outside. She had a basket in her hands and was wearing a navy dress and an old-fashioned white pinafore. Even from a distance, Ash could see she had a kindly, round face.

But Ash had had her world torn apart these past few hours and the experience had made her very careful. The old lady hadn’t seen her so Ash waited and watched as she walked round the side of the cottage and passed out of sight, singing softly to herself as she went.

Keeping inside the treeline, Ash crept towards the cottage, stopping when she saw the old lady bent over, feeding half a dozen chickens in a coop. She was cooing at them in a lilting Scottish accent as she threw the feed, looking as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The sight of her made Ash’s eyes fill with tears.

Slowly, awkwardly, she stepped out from the trees. ‘Excuse me …’

The old lady jumped, then turned her way, putting a hand to her mouth, her bright blue eyes widening. ‘Gosh, my love. You scared me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Ash took another unsteady step forward, trying to stop herself from breaking down. ‘I’ve been hurt.’ The tears were streaming down her face now.

The old lady opened her two beefy arms and Ash fell into them, sobbing into her shoulder, breathing in comforting smells of lavender and baking.

‘There there, my love,’ the old lady whispered into her ear, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘You’re going to catch a death of cold out here. Let’s get you inside, into the warm.’

The old lady put down her basket, ignoring the frantic clucking of the chickens, and led Ash into the cottage through a side door. Ash found herself in a surprisingly spacious, if tired-looking, kitchen.

‘You sit down there, young lady,’ she said, pointing at a wooden table with stools in one corner, ‘and I’ll get you a blanket.’

Ash leaned back against the stone wall, wrapping her arms round herself in an effort to stay warm. The kitchen was cluttered with pots and pans, cooking utensils and dog-eared recipe books, and there was a faint damp smell that was mixed with the smell of fresh bread. A tray containing a newly baked loaf sat on the ancient cooker. On the opposite wall, an equally old picture of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland grinned at her. Ash even managed a small grin in return. For the first time since this nightmare had begun, she found herself able to relax.

‘What happened to you, my love?’ asked the old lady, returning with a thick spotted blanket.

Ash saw no reason not to tell her the truth. Wrapping herself in the blanket, she gave her a brief description of the previous night’s events, starting from when they’d run into the girl. She kept the drama down to a minimum but told her that her husband and two friends had been killed.

The old lady looked shocked, which was no great surprise, and put a hand to her mouth. ‘And this all happened round here, you say? Here in these woods?’

Ash nodded numbly. ‘Yes.’

‘I’ve lived here all my life, my love, and I’ve never heard of anything like this. I don’t understand where this naked girl could have come from. There’s nothing here but national park and the shooting estate over near Wood End, but that’s owned by one of those banker types in London you never see. It all seems very strange. Men chasing this girl, then chasing you and your friends, trying to kill you. Whatever happened to the girl?’

‘I don’t know.’

The old lady was right. The whole thing was strange, like something out of a cheap horror film. For a moment, Ash wondered if she actually was going mad. But then she pulled herself together. It had happened. All of it. Just as she remembered.

‘I’m not lying, Mrs …’

‘Dora. Call me Dora.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not saying you are, my love. I can see you’ve had a terrible time of it.’

‘I need to call the police. My phone’s broken. Do you have a phone here?’

‘Course I do,’ said Dora with a laugh. ‘We might live out in the sticks, but we’re not in the nineteenth century.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Ash, wrapping herself even tighter in the blanket.

Dora put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘I know you didn’t, my love. Now you wait here while I call the police. Then I’ll come back and make you something to eat.’

Ash nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Dora left the room for a second time and Ash got to her feet, the effort making her wince. She could tell the old lady didn’t believe her story, but she wasn’t surprised. It was not an easy one to believe. Three murders, possibly four, as well as at least two killers, all in the same quiet forest in the middle of nowhere. Ash wouldn’t have believed it either. She’d think the person telling the story was high on some particularly intense drugs. But in the end it didn’t matter as long as she called the police. Then they could deal with it.

She could hear Dora’s voice in the next room talking on the phone and she walked slowly over to the door. As Ash stepped into the living room, Dora put the phone down and turned round. ‘They’re on their way, my love, but they won’t be here for a good twenty minutes. We’re a long way from the station here.’ She wiped her hands on her pinafore. ‘Let me make you some hot breakfast.’

The thought of food made Ash feel sick. ‘It’s all right, Dora,’ she said with a weak smile, ‘I’m really not hungry.’

‘But you must eat something.’

‘Please, can I just have a cup of tea?’

Dora tried not to look disappointed. ‘As you wish, my love. I’ll get the kettle on.’

‘Do you have a toilet I could use?’

‘We certainly do, my love. It’s even an inside one.’ She winked and grinned playfully at Ash as she pointed to a door beside the staircase.

‘I really appreciate this,’ Ash told her. She thought about asking for a shower too but decided against it since she’d only have to get back into her wet clothes afterwards.

‘It’s the least I can do,’ said Dora, shuffling past her into the kitchen.

Something was wrong. Ash had no idea what it was but it was worrying her. Was Dora hiding something? Or was Ash just imagining it? Had the events of the previous night made her so paranoid that she was now suspicious of everything, including even a friendly old lady?

A friendly old lady who lived out in the woods near to where a mass murder had been committed, but who seemed unconcerned by what had happened.

Ash locked the toilet door behind her and took a deep breath, telling herself to calm down. A mirror in dire need of a clean hung on the bare wall just above the sink. Ash wanted to weep when she saw herself in it. She looked exactly like she felt. Her face was puffy and bruised beneath smears of encrusted dirt, and there were scratches all across her cheeks and forehead. One eye was swollen and black, and her thick auburn hair, usually one of her best features, looked like it belonged on a scarecrow. But it was the haunted expression in her eyes that affected her the most. For a good ten seconds she stared at her reflection, finding it difficult to accept it.

Yet when she’d suddenly stepped out of nowhere in Dora’s garden, rather than run a mile the old lady had been kind enough to take her in. Ash was suddenly ashamed for suspecting Dora of meaning her harm.

That was until she turned and saw something on the floor, poking out from just behind the toilet, and her hand went to her mouth to stifle the gasp.

11

ASH BENT DOWN, carefully picked up the heavily bloodstained ball of tissue, and touched it. The blood was dry, but from its colour she could tell it wasn’t very old.

She slipped the tissue back behind the toilet, and her hand brushed against something else. It felt like a picture frame. She pulled it out and stared at the faded photograph behind the glass.

It had been taken outside the front of the cottage. Dora was standing in the centre, wearing a bright floral dress and a big smile. She looked a good ten years younger. Flanking her were two unsmiling teenage boys with pale faces and red hair, one three or four years older than the other. It was obvious from their red hair and freckled faces that they were brothers.

It was also obvious that the younger of the two was the man she’d killed the previous night.

Ash swallowed, squinting at the photo. It might have been taken a long time back, and Ash might have been sick and exhausted, but she was absolutely sure it was him. It wasn’t the kind of face she was ever going to forget.

She put the photo back where she’d found it and stood up, no longer able to think about going to the toilet. She had to get out of there. The man she’d killed was Dora’s son and she’d bet her life that the second man hunting them, the one who’d shot at her in the woods, was the other son. Did they live here? It would explain the bloody tissue. It might also explain the fact that the photo was shoved behind the toilet rather than hanging on the wall where it could be seen. The other son would have known that Ash had seen his brother’s face, so would want any evidence of his identity hidden just in case she, Ash, showed up.

Which almost certainly meant that Dora was a part of this too.

But why would an elderly woman be involved in murder, not to mention the possible kidnapping and rape of young foreign women? That’s what Ash simply couldn’t understand.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she got out of there, and fast.

After flushing the toilet, she slowly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She could hear Dora singing to herself in soft, lilting tones in the kitchen. It set Ash’s teeth on edge, because the sound seemed so wrong coming from a woman who’d given birth to the two psychopaths who’d hunted her and her friends down. She looked over at the phone in the corner of the living room, wondering who it was Dora had been phoning. She was sure now that it hadn’t been the police.

Heart hammering in her chest, Ash crept over and picked up the phone, glancing over her shoulder to check that Dora was still busy before pressing the redial button.

The call went straight to a recorded message for a mobile phone.

Not the police.

Ash took a deep breath, put down the phone, and started towards the front door. As soon as she was outside she’d make a break for it, head back into the forest, try to find another house somewhere. There had to be someone round here who wasn’t involved in whatever the hell was going on.

She tried to turn the handle but it didn’t move. The door was locked and there was no sign of a key.

‘What’s wrong, my love? Where are you going? I’ve got your tea here.’

Ash turned round far too quickly, like a naughty schoolkid who’s been caught doing something wrong. She tried to look as casual as possible. ‘I was just going outside for some fresh air. I don’t feel too good.’

‘Sorry, I always keep that door double-locked.’

No, you don’t. I saw you walk out of it ten minutes ago.

‘Why don’t you sit down and have a nice cup of tea?’ Dora smiled and held up the steaming mug. ‘The police’ll be here soon.’

‘If I could just go outside.’

‘Of course you can, my love. No one’s stopping you. Go out through the kitchen door. Take your tea with you.’ She stepped aside, still smiling.

Ash could feel the adrenalin coursing through her, yet the situation seemed so utterly unreal that she was actually worried about appearing rude. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I just need a few gulps of fresh air.’

‘Course you do, my love. You’ve had a hard time of it.’

Dora held out the mug and Ash took it, instinctively putting it to her lips.

The old lady watched her carefully. She had incredibly bright blue eyes. There was a warmth in them that seemed to drag Ash right in. ‘Drink, my love,’ she said quietly.

Ash felt dizzy and exhausted. She so wanted to sip the tea, to feel its warmth running through her. To sit down and forget all the terrible things that had happened.

Something glinted in Dora’s eyes, something cold and triumphant, and the spell was broken.

‘I’ll have it in a minute.’ Ash smiled and turned to put the mug down, every nerve and muscle in her body ready for flight.

With remarkable speed, Dora’s hand flew out, knocking the boiling hot tea all over Ash’s face and upper body.

Ash screamed in shock and pain and leaped backwards. Dora grabbed her wrist and yanked her back, then placed her in a fierce headlock that immediately choked off Ash’s air supply.

The old lady’s grip was incredibly strong. Ash’s vision began to blur as she fought to break free, trying but failing to dig her elbow into Dora’s ribs. What little strength she had left was fading fast. Her whole body soon felt like it was on fire.

‘You little whore,’ hissed Dora in her ear. ‘You murdered my son. You’re going to pay for that. We’re going to have you begging for your life.’

Ash tried to shout out to her, to ask why, what had she ever done to deserve this? All she wanted to do was go home to her family. But all that came out was a long, drawn-out rasping sound. Blue lights flickered in front of Ash’s eyes. She was passing out. She wasn’t going to make it.

She had to. There was no choice.

Ash Murray does not give up.

With one last burst of energy, she brought her heel down hard on Dora’s toes. The old lady yelped, her grip loosened, and Ash yanked herself out of it. She swung round and punched Dora hard in the face, finding it hard to accept the fact that now she was violently assaulting a senior citizen.

Dora cried out and tumbled back on to her threadbare sofa, one hand on her jaw, a shocked expression on her face. It looked as if she couldn’t believe Ash would do such a horrible thing as punch an old woman. ‘You slut!’ she screamed, her features screwing up into a mask of fury. ‘I’ll have you for that!’

But Ash was already out of the room and running through the kitchen, pulling open the door, knowing the woods and freedom were only yards away …

She stopped dead. He was in the doorway, a huge man dressed all in black, a mask covering his face. Looking just like the man who’d murdered Nick, even down to the knife he carried in one gloved hand.

‘Oh God.’

The fight went out of Ash then. It was replaced by a dark and heavy acceptance that the end had come.

She tried to run back the way she’d come, but he was on her in a second, wrapping his arms round her in a massive bearhug and lifting her up. The tip of the knife blade sat painfully against her throat as he walked her further into the kitchen, her legs flailing uselessly beneath her.

‘Ah, I see you’ve met my other son,’ said Dora. The smile was gone from her face, replaced by a dirty scowl. ‘Now don’t fuck things up this time, Rory. Keep hold of her. She’s a feisty little whore.’

‘She’s nae going anywhere, Ma,’ grunted Rory. ‘Not this time.’

Ash screamed, the effort making her lungs ache. Her throat hurt where it pushed into the blade, cutting the skin.

Dora, the big jolly lady in dress and pinafore, just laughed and opened up one of the kitchen cupboards. She removed a bottle of dark liquid and a filthy-looking rag. She poured a generous slug of the liquid on to the rag, keeping her face turned away from it. ‘Scream all you like, my love,’ she said, coming closer. ‘Only the animals will hear you out here.’

‘Please,’ gasped Ash, making one last effort to save herself. ‘I just want to go home.’

Dora shook her head, almost sadly. ‘Sorry, my love, but that’s not going to happen.’

She lifted her hand and pushed the rag into Ash’s face. The whole of Ash’s world seemed to explode.

12

ASH MURRAY DREAMED strange dreams. Sometimes she saw her mother’s face in them, smiling down at her. Then her mother’s face would turn into Dora’s, and Dora would be forcing medicine into Ash’s mouth, holding her nose to make her drink it, singing nursery rhymes as she worked, the rhymes taking Ash back to the sunny white days of her childhood …

Her eyes snapped open and everything seemed terribly bright. She blinked rapidly, turning her head from side to side. Something tight and itchy had been placed round her neck. She looked up and saw the rope tied round a crossbeam a few feet above her head. That was when Ash realised that she was wearing a noose. Her head felt thick and heavy, as if she had a really bad hangover. Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t even swallow.

Looking round, she saw that she was back in the living room in the lodge. Daylight flowed in through the windows, and she could hear birdsong coming from outside. She gasped when she saw Nick’s body lying sprawled at the foot of the staircase, one leg twisted at a weird angle, where it had caught under a step. Thankfully his face was turned away from her. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been in when they’d gone walking – an event that seemed like another life to Ash now – including the black North Face fleece she’d bought him two Christmases ago. His bare legs, usually one of his most attractive features, had gone a strange grey colour.

She tried to whisper his name but all that came out was a toad-like croak. Tears stung her eyes. She had to hold him one last time, even if it was the last thing she ever did. But as she moved to go towards him, she looked down and saw that she was standing on a chair. If she stepped off it, the rope would tighten and she’d be left hanging in mid-air.

She grabbed at the noose, hunting for the knot with shaking, fumbling fingers.

‘Don’t bother, my love. I’m right behind you. All I have to do is give that chair a little kick and you’ll be throttled like one of last year’s chickens.’

Ash froze, wondering what new nightmare was in store for her as Dora walked into view, stopping in front of her. Ash could have kicked the old lady full in the face, but to do so risked knocking herself off the chair and she could see that Dora knew that. The old lady was giving her one of her friendly smiles, but there was a cruel twinkle in her eye. It made Ash think of nasty little boys pulling the legs off spiders.

‘What’s going on?’ Ash asked her, the words coming out in a thick slur.

‘I was waiting for you to wake up, my love. You see, I want to watch you suffer after what you did to my Stuart. I don’t want you to die peacefully in your sleep. I want to see you dangle and kick. I want to see your face change colour while the life chokes out of you.’

She stepped forward, a foot touching one of the chair legs, looking up at Ash as she did so, lapping up her fear. She was still wearing the same dress and pinafore, her hair in the same bun. Even now Ash found it hard to grasp that this old lady in front of her was just about to end her life.

‘Why?’ she whispered.

‘I told you. You killed my youngest child. Beat him like an animal. You’re going to have to pay for that.’

‘We just tried to help the girl.’ Ash was finding her voice again now. ‘That’s all we did. Who was she?’

Something crossed the old lady’s features then. Was it regret? ‘She’s just one of many,’ she answered with a sigh.

‘But why do you do it?’ Suddenly Ash had to know, even though she knew it would do no good. ‘Why do you kidnap girls?’

‘I don’t, my love. They’re nothing to do with me. My sons just look after them, and make sure they don’t escape. Which this time they didn’t do a very good job of. The girls belong to the man who owns the estate – the banker from London. He likes to have his way with them. You know what men are like. But some men are worse than others. And our lord of the manor has some strange tastes. He has his way with the girls, and when he’s finished with them, my boys clean up the mess.’

‘Oh God.’

‘I’m afraid God doesn’t spend time up in these parts, my love. It’s the Devil’s work that we do here. It’s not nice. Not for any of us. But needs must when he comes calling. And the lord pays us very well. Very well indeed. It was just unfortunate that you got caught up in it. A case of the wrong place at the wrong time, I’m afraid. That was Stuart’s fault. The girl should never have got away. The problem was, as soon as she ran into you, you all had to die. There is no way we can afford to let the secret of the manor get out, and have the police sniffing round here. We’re all too involved for that. Stuart’s paid the price for his mistake. And now it’s your turn.’

Ash didn’t know what to say. It was almost impossible to believe there were people out there who could murder young women for pleasure, and others who protected their secrets for money. Maybe it happened far more than she was aware of. After all, Ash had led a sheltered, middle-class life. She knew nothing of the grim lives of the thousands of young foreign women in the country. Many of them were probably disappearing every day with no one to notice their absence.

‘What’s the matter, my love? Cat got your tongue?’

‘You’ll never get away with this,’ Ash told her, desperately hoping she was right. Someone had to be punished for this atrocity. For the murder of her beloved husband, for the murders of Guy and Tracy, for all the other unsolved killings. And for the murder of Ash herself, because right then she knew that she was going to die.

Dora smiled. ‘Oh, we will get away with it, my love. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.’

‘No one will believe you.’

‘Well, that’s our lookout, isn’t it? You should consider yourself lucky, my love. We were going to take you up to the estate to replace the girl who escaped, and let the lord have his way with you. That would have been a lot worse than this, I promise you. Rory and Stuart have told me what those girls look like after the lord has finished with them. I have to say, it makes very unpleasant listening.’

She looked up at Ash, a mocking smile on her fat face. ‘But we thought it would be easier this way. Girl drinks too much. Girl goes mad with a knife. Girl kills her husband and friends. Girl hangs herself in shame. Hard to explain why something like that would happen, of course, but then …’ She shrugged, kicking the chair and sending it flying. ‘Who can explain such things?’