The Blackbird, page 20
More junk.
Until I got to the bottom.
Under a mess of wires and plastic debris was an old Ordnance Survey map. I unfolded it and immediately saw that part of it had been circled with red pen.
Next to the circle was an address.
Next to that, someone – presumably Michael Calvert – had written What really happened here?
41
I crossed London, south-west to the north-east, thinking the whole time about how far behind me the police might be. They’d put a trace on my phone and had managed to get that up and running fast, but gaining access to my financial records was more complicated, requiring more sign-off, and would probably take them longer. I felt like I was still ahead of the curve – just – but this detour wasn’t going to help.
I didn’t have a choice, though.
Not after finding the map at Calvert’s house.
As I arrived in Epping Forest, I felt worse than ever, but tried to push everything into the background. I finished a sandwich I’d started back in Camberwell and then got out of the car. The approach had been busy, a hot day in July bringing families in to cycle and walk, but this stretch of road was quiet. There were also no exercise trails, no paths to follow on foot or on bike – it was just a strip of tarmac, flanked by huge trees, except for a single clearing.
I looked at the address Michael Calvert had written on the map.
Slade Youth Hostel
Saxon Lane
Epping Forest
I made my way along a loose stone path towards the compact building in the clearing, the words YOUTH HOSTEL emblazoned on the front. The T of YOUTH had dislodged and swung one-eighty degrees, but my focus was already on something else.
All the windows were boarded.
And judging by the state of the paintwork, the graffiti on the boards, the height of the grass and the avalanche of circling weeds, it had been like this for a long time.
Shit.
This drive – this detour – had been worthless.
‘You all right there, son?’
I started, turning round.
An elderly man was standing behind me, a cane in one hand, a dog on a leash in the other. It was a retriever, jet black, but it barely seemed interested in me; instead, it was sniffing around in the long grass off the track, gently parting it with its nose. The man let her go, the lead unfurling from his hand. ‘Most of the kids I see hanging around here are a bit younger than you,’ he said and then broke into a smile. ‘No offence, obviously. You’re still a spring chicken compared to me.’
‘I didn’t see you hiding in the grass.’
He chuckled at the joke. ‘I like to walk past most days and try to keep an eye on things. I work as a layman at the church down the road, and y’know …’ He shrugged. ‘If kids start hanging around here – doing drugs or whatever – the church is going to be next.’
‘So how long has this place been shut?’
‘Oooh.’ The man let out a breath. ‘I think it was July 2012.’
I looked at the youth hostel again and another wave of pain flared behind my eyes – and then the panic really hit. I’d wasted over two hours on this. I’d followed a literal trail on a map and now it was just as possible that it was completely unrelated to the death of Audrey Calvert, the disappearance of her son and the overdose of Zoe Simmons.
‘What brings you here?’ the old man asked.
‘Just a bad hunch,’ I said.
‘Oh. I’ve had a few of those in my time.’
‘Do you know why this place closed?’
‘They had a fire.’
I thought of the man with the burns.
Harper.
‘Was anyone hurt?’
‘No. It was some electrical thing. The place was empty at the time.’
I looked at the building more closely and could see the hint of scorch marks at the windows, some blackened roof tiles too – but if there had been a fire, most of the damage must have been inside.
‘You ever hear of anyone getting in?’ I asked.
‘You mean, like squatters or something?’
‘Anyone, really.’
I was thinking about missing people.
About where they could have ended up.
‘I don’t think so,’ the man replied. ‘I mean, it doesn’t look all that easy, even if you wanted to.’ He meant the boards were as thick as concrete blocks and all secured into the masonry with rivets. No one was getting them off with a crowbar and elbow grease. The whole structure was on one floor, which was presumably why the boards had been made so immovable: the windows, and charred interior, would have been easy to gain access to otherwise. ‘Anyway,’ the man continued, ‘like I say, there was a fire here, so the inside will be a mess, even if you did manage to get those bloody great boards off. How come you’re interested?’
I thought of Michael’s note on the map. What really happened here?
‘I’m just trying to find someone,’ I said.
He frowned. ‘What, are you like a copper or something?’
‘An investigator, yeah.’
I really was feeling terrible again now, the relief of the shade slowly wearing off – but I tried to concentrate, tried to keep going for a little longer.
‘Do you know who used to run this place before it closed?’ I asked.
‘His name was Slade. Hence the name of the place.’
‘Was that a first or second name?’
‘Second.’ The man’s face scrunched up. ‘He had some weird first name. You know, unusual. Like, Jasper or Jenson. I’m sure it was something with a J, anyway. He was a nice guy, though. I didn’t speak to him a lot, but when I did, we had a good chat. This place always seemed busy – plenty of backpackers, tourists and all of that. I think he did pretty well out of it. But then I think he was doing all right already.’
‘You mean financially?’
‘I just heard his father was loaded and, after he died, he left the boy a ton of money.’ The old man shrugged. ‘That’s just what I heard. Not that that really makes any difference to anything. Everyone seemed happy here, that was the main thing. That was why we were so surprised when he just took off.’
‘He just left?’
‘Yeah, literally straight after the fire.’
‘No one saw him again?’
‘Nope, not a dicky bird.’
‘And he never mentioned where he was going?’
‘No, nothing,’ the man replied. ‘I just figured he probably went back.’
‘Went back?’
‘To where he was from originally.’
‘Which was where?’
The man pulled his dog back towards him. ‘He was from somewhere up in Northumberland.’
Names
30 Years Ago
After they left the coffee shop, Makayla offered to give Amelia a lift home and they headed to a car park a few streets away. Makayla talked on the way about the things she was going to set in motion in the search for ‘the mysterious Phil’.
When they got to the car, Makayla apologized for the mess on the back seat. The car was a red Astra that looked like it had seen better days a decade ago, and Makayla was soon apologizing for that too. ‘It’s a real bus, I know, but, trust me, this thing goes and goes.’ She started up the engine and, after an initial tick-tick-tick, it fired into life. ‘We’ve got a fleet of new Volvos at work, but the thing I like about this old girl is that it’s got all my music in it. Music helps me see clearly.’
Amelia nodded. ‘Me too.’
‘Really? Are you a music fan?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What are you listening to at the moment?’
‘The Prodigy.’
Makayla frowned. ‘I must be getting old.’
‘It’s dance music.’
‘As in, Abba?’ But she winked at Amelia.
Amelia smiled. ‘No. Not quite.’
‘Well, I’ll have to check out The Prodigy, then. I’ve got to be completely honest, I’m not much of an expert when it comes to modern music. I’m stuck in a time loop, where it’s always the seventies and eighties.’ Makayla pulled out of the car park, joining the main road, then reached down and fumbled around in a tray under the radio, where there was a pile of cassettes. She picked a few of them up, checked the labels and put them back, then eventually found the one she wanted and slotted it into the stereo. ‘Now this is the kind of tune that gets this old girl going.’
It was the Bee Gees.
‘You know this one?’ she asked Amelia.
‘Everyone knows “Stayin’ Alive”.’
‘That’s because it’s a timeless classic.’
They drove for a few minutes – just listening to the song – and then out of the corner of her eye, Amelia caught Makayla watching her.
‘Is everything okay?’ Amelia asked.
‘Sorry,’ Makayla said, her eyes pinging back to the road. But then she glanced at Amelia again. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean to be weird. It’s just you, uh …’
Amelia frowned. ‘I what?’
‘You remind me so much of someone else.’
‘Really? Who?’
‘She was about your age. And she loved music like you.’
Amelia didn’t know what to say.
‘Her name was Lilly Andrews.’
‘Lilly’s a really nice name,’ Amelia responded, just for something to say, but then a light went on at the back of her head. ‘Wait a second. Lilly Andrews. Isn’t that the name of one of the girls that they found in those dunes yesterday?’
Makayla nodded. ‘It is.’
Amelia studied her – and then a second realization sparked. ‘Shit, is that one of your cases?’ For some reason she hadn’t expected Makayla to be in charge of a case like that. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because Makayla wasn’t how she imagined a murder detective to be. Not that Amelia knew all that much about the girls or the case. She didn’t really watch much TV, and definitely didn’t read newspapers, but she remembered news reports that her parents were watching.
‘Yes,’ Makayla said. ‘That one’s mine.’
The Bee Gees became Bonnie Tyler, and then Makayla turned to Amelia again and said, ‘So have you given your parents the good news, then?’
‘The good news?’
‘That Makayla Jennings is on the case for you.’
‘Oh.’ Amelia smiled. ‘No, not yet. I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted to see how far we got before telling them. My mum and dad …’ She paused. ‘All the baby stuff has been a shock for them and I don’t want to throw all this at them yet. They worry about stuff, you know? I think they’d worry I was wasting your time.’
‘We’ll give them the good news when I find the mysterious Phil.’
‘Okay, cool.’
‘So, have you thought about names?’
‘For the baby?’ Amelia shook her head.
‘Not even once?’
‘Not really. It’s all still sinking in.’
‘Of course it is,’ Makayla said, and put her hand on Amelia’s arm again. ‘But let’s just play the game. What names do you like? Tell me.’
Gradually, Amelia started to smile again.
‘See?’ Makayla said. ‘This is the fun bit. What about if it’s a girl?’
Amelia took a second to think. ‘I like Hope.’
‘Hope,’ Makayla echoed. ‘That’s cute. And if it’s a boy?’
‘Boys are harder.’
‘They are. I have two boys, so I should know.’
Amelia felt thrown. ‘I didn’t know that.’
Makayla had talked about giving her child up for adoption when she was still in her teens, and so Amelia had assumed that the sadness that lingered was because she’d never had kids.
Makayla seemed to second-guess her again. ‘Just because I went on to have other children doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what it was like to give up that first one.’
‘No,’ Amelia said, flushing. ‘No, of course not.’
But Makayla held up a hand. ‘I wasn’t telling you off, sweetheart. It’s just you never forget the things in life that have hurt you. They always stick with you.’ She was distant for a second, and then pinged back into focus. ‘Anyway, yeah, boys. Twins.’
‘Wow.’
‘They’re a handful.’
Amelia looked out through the window. Then for some reason she thought of her Grampy, her mum’s father; he and Amelia had always been close. He’d been so tall but incredibly gentle, patient, kind – all things that Amelia had loved.
‘I do have one name I like,’ Amelia said.
‘Ooooh, what is it?’
‘It was my grandfather’s name.’
Makayla nodded. ‘That’s lovely. What was he called?’
‘Dylan,’ Amelia said. ‘You know, like the poet.’
‘Such a nice name.’
And then Makayla paused, and when she finally looked across at Amelia again, there was a faint shimmer in her eyes. ‘Do you know what I called him?’
Amelia frowned. ‘Who?’
‘The boy I gave up for adoption.’
‘Oh. No, what?’
Makayla swallowed. Another flash of sadness.
‘I called him Michael,’ she said.
Part Four
* * *
TRUE CRIME
42
I finally headed north.
My plan had been to get the whole way to Newcastle in one go if I could manage it – but it only took ninety minutes for reality to hit. The longer I spent driving, the harder it was to concentrate and, west of Peterborough, I dropped off at the wheel for a split second and drifted across to the next lane. The blare of a car horn startled me back into consciousness.
If I got into an accident, I’d be in hospital or in handcuffs as soon as I woke up – if I was lucky enough to wake up at all – so I pulled into the services and found a corner of the car park in the shade. I paid for a two-hour ticket, crawled on to the back seat, and – with a faint breeze escaping through the partly open windows – closed my eyes.
I went out like a light.
When I stirred next, my head was still fuzzy, but some of the pain had finally subsided. I noticed something else too: outside, it was getting dark.
What the hell …?
I checked my watch – and, instantly, my stomach coiled. I’d been out for almost six hours. It was now after eight thirty in the evening.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the front and sank what was left of it, then hurried into the service station and bought another. I bought a sandwich as well, feeling hungry for the first time, and, as I exited, kept my eyes on my surroundings. I looked for cops and security guards, and when I didn’t see any, I switched my attention to members of the public, to anyone whose gaze lingered on me for too long. My name hadn’t been released yet – at least as far as I knew – but that didn’t make me any less cautious.
There wasn’t anyone.
As I ate, I quickly checked the newsfeeds for stories about Connor McCaskell. There was no update on his condition, and I got confirmation that my name still hadn’t been put out to the public. But it was only a matter of time now.
I’d lost any head start I might have had.
I got back on to the motorway and put my foot down. I knew I was going too fast, knew it only increased the chances of me alerting the police, but I had so much time to make up. As I drove, it felt like my head was on fire, as much from the noise of my thoughts as the pain, but I tried to focus. At this moment my car was probably being worked on in a forensic lab, and that meant my neighbours and the people in my road would have seen it being removed from my driveway. So even if my name wasn’t out there on the newsfeeds right now, it would be being discussed already. And soon everyone would know for sure that I was a prime suspect in a hit-and-run – and that included Martin, Sue and Georgia.
I came back to the same question: why try to frame me?
And had the man who’d done it been Harper?
Whoever it was, I could see one obvious reason for setting me up like this and not just killing me. If I was dead, McCaskell would have followed a trail even deeper still, and along that trail there was always the chance that he might discover the truth about what had happened to Cate and Aiden. But if McCaskell was the victim, and I was fitted for the crime, neither of those things happened – because I looked guilty as hell, and McCaskell was no longer capable of following any trail, let alone Cate and Aiden’s.
I called Ewan Tasker’s burner.
He answered quickly. ‘Raker?’
‘I’m all right, Task.’
‘What the hell’s going on?’ He sounded concerned, fearful.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Someone took your car?’
‘Yeah. And put it back on my driveway.’
‘And – what? – you never even realized?’
‘I was out cold at the time. Drugged.’
‘Shit,’ he said eventually, almost to himself, and then ground to a halt again, as if processing everything. ‘It’s still locked down tight where the press is concerned, but there’s a ton of chat about you internally at the Met. I’m trying to keep my ears open, but there’s only so many times I can log into the database or ask people questions before it starts to look suspicious.’
‘Please don’t take any risks for me.’
‘I won’t. But I’ll do what I can.’
‘Thanks, old man. That means a lot.’
We shared a moment’s silence, and then Tasker said, ‘I looked into how long it would take to process dental work for that body in the arches.’
‘Let me guess: weeks?’
‘At least two, even if I got a rush on it. Probably more, though.’
It meant I wasn’t going to get confirmation that the body belonged to Audrey Calvert any time soon. Not that it changed much. I was pretty convinced, given what else I’d found out in the time since I last spoke to Tasker, that it was Audrey’s body and, like Zoe Simmons, she’d been killed for what she knew.
