All Fall Down: A gripping psychological thriller with a twist that will take your breath away (13 page)

I
t wasn’t
something she’d be proud to admit, but Wendy felt relieved when Rob suggested they split into pairs. He was prone to fly off the handle at the best of times, and since last night he’d been irritable and withdrawn. The more he’d tried to persuade her that there was an innocent explanation for the missing laptop, the more convinced she became that he didn’t actually believe it himself.

And now her beloved son was missing, and quite possibly in danger. Coming on top of Sunday’s incident, this was almost too much to take.

She wasn’t optimistic that the search would bear fruit: more valuable was the chance to speak to Evan without his dad breathing down his neck. ‘You genuinely didn’t know about this, did you?’ she asked, as they started walking towards the city centre.

‘No, and I’m really pissed off. I want to know he’s okay, and then I want to smack him in the mouth.’

‘Evan.’ Wendy was repulsed by talk of physical violence. ‘Let’s think constructively. How long since you last heard from him?’

‘Monday, wasn’t it?’

‘And you’re absolutely sure it was him?’

‘It was only a text, but. . . no, I’m sure it was – and why would an imposter—?’

‘Sorry, no.’ She patted his arm. ‘Forget that.’

Once they’d crossed the railway line the streets became progressively more crowded. Straight ahead was the Westgate, and the picturesque remnants of the ancient city walls; another couple of minutes and they were on the main cobbled thoroughfare in the medieval heart of the city. Wendy and Rob had visited several times since Josh began his degree, and they had enthusiastically approved of his choice. Canterbury appeared to be a safe, prosperous little city – not that different to Petersfield in many ways.

But Sunday had proved them wrong about that, she thought grimly. Was the same thing going to happen here?

Thinking aloud, she said, ‘Why would he ditch his degree so close to the end of the year? And why not come home? I mean, he could lie about taking his exams and we’d be none the wiser.’

‘Doesn’t make sense.’ Evan was trying to find the café via an app on his phone. ‘We need to go right, just over the bridge.’

‘Unless he
has
been lying about his results, do you think?’

‘Nah. He’s a fricking genius. He admitted to me that he finds it too easy, sometimes. He’ll sit there, surrounded by students staring at the board, puzzling over the equations and shit, and it’ll hit him that no one else can make sense of what, to him, is completely simple.’

Wendy gave him a friendly nudge. ‘I suspect that
equations and shit
might sum up the difference between Josh and the rest of the family when it comes to maths.’

‘Yeah, Evan the Thicko.’ Before she could protest, he said, ‘Actually, I think it scares him. He understands what he’s looking at, but he doesn’t know
how
he understands it.’

To Wendy, this admission placed Josh in classic territory for a mental breakdown. Her concern was now so intense that the question of whether or not he finished his degree was irrelevant. All she wanted was to know that her son was safe and well.

T
he café was called
the Boatman’s, a short distance along Stour Street. Unlike most of the eateries in the city centre, it was neither a trendy coffee house nor a quaint touristy tearoom: just a plain and simple place to eat. There were about a dozen tables, and roughly the same number of customers, mostly male, mostly on the heavy side, mostly sporting tattoos and piercings and what Wendy would class as aggressive demeanours.

‘I take it this is what he meant by “interesting characters”,’ she murmured.

There was a single waitress, a teenage girl, with an older woman handling the cooking duties. Wendy suggested that Evan look on his phone for a photograph of Josh, but it was hardly necessary: when the girl saw Evan she reacted just as Miya had done.

‘I wonder if you can help us,’ Wendy said. ‘We’re looking for Josh Turner.’

‘My twin brother,’ Evan clarified.

‘Yeah, I thought you must be.’ She tilted her head, studying his face. ‘Not quite the same, though, are you? His ears stick out more.’

Evan couldn’t help grinning; this was one of several minor differences that most people failed to spot.

‘Has he been in lately?’ Wendy asked.

The girl frowned at the tone of her voice. ‘Not for weeks, I don’t think.’

‘Does anyone else know him? Any of the staff, or other customers?’

The girl dug her tongue into her cheek. ‘Can’t think of any. He’d always sit by himself, reading or on his phone.’

‘Surfing on his phone?’ Evan asked. ‘Or playing games?’

‘Talking, mostly. He used to get a lot of calls. Sometimes it’s annoying to the customers, but he’d always speak really quietly.’ She twitched a nervous smile. ‘The whispering man, I used to call him.’

T
he café
clearly had a reputation for gargantuan breakfasts, but Wendy and Evan couldn’t stomach anything more than coffee and toast. They found a table by the window, and both began surveying the quiet street in the somewhat fanciful hope that Josh might come strolling past.

‘This is very peculiar,’ Wendy said. ‘The Josh we know is allergic to phones.’

‘And who would he be getting calls from? We’re talking about a man who has more hats than friends – and he doesn’t wear hats.’

The toast arrived, complete with little sachets of butter and jam. Wendy smiled at a memory of Josh’s ineptitude: he could never open such things without them exploding over him. Perhaps, in here, he’d asked the waitress to help?

She turned sharply to hide the pain from Evan. Outside, a group of men passed by in noisy debate; lagging behind them was a round-faced young man who looked vaguely familiar. Must be someone very like him in Petersfield, Wendy thought.

Evan was back on his phone, searching for wifi. As she watched him, a treacherous question formed.

‘I don’t suppose you two have any sort of. . . code word? A way of letting him know there’s an emergency?’

She’d expected him to be indignant, even angry, but instead there was a wry grin. ‘Funny thing to ask.’

‘He ignores virtually all of his messages, so it struck me that you might have cooked up a system to let him know when there’s something he absolutely has to answer.’

‘There is, sort of,’ Evan conceded. ‘I tried it back at the house, and not had anything yet.’

‘But he knew about the holiday. He knew we were coming here today.’

‘Dates and times don’t register with him, do they? And especially not if he’s in trouble.’

Or in the grip of a breakdown
, Wendy thought. And alongside that was the vow she kept repeating to herself:
I won’t lose him. I won’t lose him. I won’t lose him.

But what if she had?

S
he bestowed
her second slice of toast upon Evan, but with a warning: ‘It’s bribery. Eat that, and send him another
code red
or whatever it is.’

‘All right. But I wouldn’t hold out much hope.’

She watched him tap out a message, his face dark with tension. In the circumstances it seemed cruel to ask after Livvy, but she figured they were both in need of a distraction.

Gloomily, he said, ‘She and her mates are planning to drink the island dry – and then do God knows what.’

‘It’s probably just talk. I’m sure she’ll be missing you.’ When he only shrugged, she leaned forward. ‘You two are all right, aren’t you?’

‘Dunno really.’ He gazed intently at his coffee. ‘Nothing lasts forever, does it? Three years is a long time at our age.’

‘You think it’s run its course?’

‘Not just about what
I
think, is it? Like you and Dad.’

Shocked, Wendy could only stutter: ‘Wh-what is?’

He looked up, smiling gently. ‘Don’t panic, I’m not gonna put you on the spot. But I’m guessing that one or both of you is looking to get out. And if that’s what you want. . . I mean, I know it’ll be tough – for Georgia, especially – but it’s better than living a lie.’

Wendy kept her face impassive, even while her insides churned. ‘Do you really mean that?’

‘Yeah, I do.’

She nodded slowly, seeing the truth in his eyes. ‘As you’ve said, though, it isn’t just up to me.’

Evan’s phone buzzed. He checked the display and did an almost cartoonish double-take. ‘Bloody hell!’

Wendy’s heart began to race. ‘Is it Josh?’

Evan nodded, answered quickly, and at the sound of her other son’s voice on the line Wendy had to resist an urge to snatch the phone.

‘You’re okay, though, bruv? . . . Yeah, worried sick, of course . . . No, they’re gonna have to . . . Go on, then.’ He made a ‘writing’ gesture to Wendy, who handed over a pen and her pocket diary. Evan scribbled down an address and said, ‘Yeah, soon as we can.’

For a moment he looked distracted, perhaps because the café door had just opened behind her.

‘So he’s all right? Where is he?’

‘Not too far, apparently.’ Evan’s gaze flicked away again as Wendy took the diary.

‘Come on. I’ll ring your dad and get him to pick us. . .’

But Evan wasn’t listening. She turned to track his gaze, just as the door opened and a thin, shabby-looking figure hurried out and disappeared from sight.

‘That’s odd,’ Evan said. ‘He just came in, gave me a really intense look, then left without buying anything.’

‘Maybe he knows Josh. . .’ Wendy let it trouble her for a nanosecond, but she preferred to concentrate on the positive news. ‘We’ve found him, that’s what matters.’

F
letch got
out of the café sharpish when he realised the kid had noticed him. Legged it into a doorway and waited for them to come out.

What he wouldn’t have given for a mobile phone right now – but with the
need
back on him he’d pawned the phone weeks ago, along with anything else that would bring in a few quid. Still, this could mean a right windfall!

Except the kid looked weird, somehow – or rather
not
weird. Made him worry he was mistaken. The woman had to be his mum. A decent-looking bird, probably the same sort of age as Fletch, though she looked a lot younger. Not much space for a skincare regime in the life Fletch had lived.

Following them gave him a proper buzz. At eight or nine he’d longed to grow up and be a private eye: Sam Spade on the trail of the bad guys. He moved in a zig-zag, using the crowds for cover – not easy when most of the well-offs gave him a wide berth. Funny to think he’d only come out for a spot of cadging by the cathedral, tapping up tourists in ten-minute bursts before the rozzers moved him on.

Kent
was almost the right word for how he’d describe people round here.

Once past Westgate they turned into the road to the station, and his spirits nosedived. Fletch didn’t have the cash for a ticket: he’d barely begged enough for a cup of tea. Anyway, how much was Nyman gonna pay just to learn the kid had jumped on a train?

Then they stopped without warning, milling around near the car park. Fletch found a place to loiter at the entrance to a block of flats next to Sainsbury’s, though with so many pedestrians coming and going there were times when he couldn’t see them at all. This Sam Spade shit was proving harder than it looked.

A lot of traffic rolled past, which he mostly ignored, but something about a silver Land Rover snagged his attention. Was it a glimpse of the lettering on the side?

He fell in behind a couple of giggly students and found it hard to take his eyes off their arses, but what really made his heart beat faster was the sight of the Land Rover drawing up at the kerb. The kid and his mum climbed in, and as it pulled away Fletch had a clear look at the sign on the bodywork:
Turner Plumbing & Heating
.

Fucking
Turner
!

Pay phones were hard to come by these days, but by a stroke of luck there was one outside the station. The man himself answered, and Fletch’s voice clogged up. ‘Th-that kid you’re after, I think I’ve just seen—’

‘Who is this?’

‘Sorry, yeah.’ He introduced himself, and Nyman grunted, like he’d prefer someone else to be bringing the good news. ‘He was just in the Boatman’s café, with what I reckon was his mum.’

‘You sure it was him?’

‘Well, at first. . .’ This was where he had to be careful. ‘He did look a bit different, kind of in better shape than I thought he was.’

‘So maybe it wasn’t him?’

‘No, but they just got into a Land Rover with a sign on it –
Turner
Plumbing & Heating. So it’s gotta be, ain’t it?’

‘And where’s it gone, this Land Rover?’

‘I dunno. I ain’t got wheels, have I?’

‘Take a walk round town. Check the car parks. And spread the word, all right?’

‘Oh, I can do that, Mr Nyman.’ Fletch felt his chest swelling with pride, a long-forgotten sensation. ‘And will there be. . . you know. . .?’

‘Call in at the Ox later. Jeb will see you right.’

The connection was cut but Fletch went on gripping the receiver, a grin on his face as he tried to figure out who would be most impressed by his new status. ‘Nyman’s asked me to spread the word. . .’ Or: ‘Nyman and I need a favour. . .’

Nah, this: ‘I was chatting to
Johnny Nyman
, and he wants you looking out for an important vehicle. . .’

Busy rehearsing his lines, the day got better still when he went to cross the road and caught some gorgeous bit of stuff giving him the eye. Must have been the first time in thirty years, but there was no mistaking the way she’d clocked him. A hippy-looking blonde, real slip of a thing; couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty.

Sam fucking Spade or what!

T
he trip
to the campus proved fruitless. After twenty minutes of hurrying from building to building, Rob was hot and weary and out of ideas. The university wasn’t uninhabited – there was evidence of a summer school, as well as what might have been a corporate gathering – but they had no success in locating anyone from the administrative staff.

Retreating to the Gulbenkian café in the heart of the campus, Rob took a gulp of tea and said, ‘That was a good point about Josh not wanting to be found. But we do have to make sure he’s all right.’

Georgia, chewing on a flapjack, gave an expressive shrug. ‘What about the holiday?’

‘Your mum and I discussed that. If he really doesn’t want to come, we’re not going to force him.’

‘Right.’ Georgia absorbed this news with such a preoccupied expression that Rob couldn’t help grinning.

‘What, d’you wish you’d been given the same deal?’

She surprised him by saying, ‘No. I like it there.’

‘Really? With us boring farts for company?’ This was a perfect opportunity to ask about the tension between her and Evan, but Rob couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he tutted. ‘I feel like I haven’t been much of a dad to you lately.’

Squirming with embarrassment that the conversation had turned personal, Georgia said only: ‘You’re okay.’

‘Well, we worry ourselves sick about you – though I’m not sure what practical use that is to anyone.’

‘Me either.’ He was rewarded with a shy smile as she sipped, daintily, from her carton of Ribena and then wiped her mouth, not so daintily, with the back of her hand. ‘What if we don’t find Josh today? Are we still going to Norfolk?’

‘I’m not sure. Do you think we should?’

‘Dunno, but there’s no way Wend— Mum would want to.’

‘Oh, talk of the devil.’ His phone had buzzed. Rob answered in a rush, and was overwhelmed by Wendy’s delighted exclamation: ‘He’s all right! Evan’s heard from him.’

‘Thank God for that.’ Rob gave a thumbs up to Georgia. ‘Where he is?’

‘Still in Canterbury. Evan has the address. It’s all been a bit of a mix-up.’

Rob made the right noises in response, but he didn’t see how a ‘mix-up’ could explain what they’d heard this morning. For Georgia’s sake he maintained a positive demeanour, but his stomach was crawling with anxiety as they hurried back to the car.

The fact was, Josh had deceived them. No doubt, to his mind, there would be a sound reason for doing so, but Rob felt sure they weren’t going to like that reason when they found out what it was.

T
en minutes
later they pulled up outside the railway station. Georgia was in the front seat, so both Wendy and Evan got in the back. Wendy kissed the crown of her daughter’s head as she climbed in, then clapped Rob on the shoulder. ‘It’s
such
a relief, isn’t it?’

‘You’re sure this is for real?’

‘Yes!’ Wendy sounded shocked by the question. In the rear view mirror Rob sought out Evan’s gaze and held it for a moment. The response was an ugly scowl.

‘Mum isn’t lying to you, Dad.’

‘I know. I’m just not in the mood for a wild goose chase.’

A tense silence followed. Rob was disgusted with himself for snapping at them. Yes, he was frantically worried about Josh, but why could he only ever express the anger and not the fear?

He muttered something about being a bit wound-up, and hoped they would detect the note of apology in his voice. ‘You’ve got the address?’

Evan read it out, and the satnav brought up a destination on the eastern edge of the city centre. ‘Other side of the tracks,’ Evan remarked as they drove beneath the railway bridge on Wincheap, then took a left into a maze of residential streets.

And he had a point, Rob thought. They were heading into an area that was very different from the clean, photogenic city familiar to its many visitors. The satnav drew them along narrow streets of redbrick terraces, the roads choked with parked cars; at one point Rob struggled to find a gap to allow an oncoming car to pass. The driver gave Rob the finger and mouthed: ‘
Wanker
.’

Rob exhaled slowly, and said nothing.

Finally they were at their destination, a rather drab estate of council-built homes just off Zealand Road. A lot of parked cars here, too, so they had to drive on a short distance from the address Josh had given them: No. 18, Flat 2.

‘Are we all going?’ he asked, casting a dubious glance at a football game in progress just along the road. A lot of unruly-looking urchins who would think nothing of kicking a few dents into the Land Rover.

‘I think we should,’ Wendy said, opening her door, and Evan said, ‘Why don’t you stay, if you’re worried about the car?’

Rob didn’t react, but he was stung by the venom in his son’s tone. It was a reminder that, despite being a genial soul, Evan could turn vicious in defence of his mother. And that caused Rob to wonder what else they might have talked about during their time together.

He felt the bump of Wendy’s arm against his as they converged on the pavement. ‘Don’t fly off the handle.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ He gave it a couple of seconds, then said, ‘Evan’s very touchy.’

‘Mm. I think he feels betrayed.’

‘By me?’ Rob snapped, thinking:
What had she told him?

‘No. By Josh.’

‘Oh, right. I get you.’

The building was set back from the road at the top of a grassy bank. It was two storeys high, and seemed to be divided into half a dozen flats. They had to follow a path around to the side to find No. 2.

The doorbell wasn’t working, so Evan knocked, and the four of them clustered around a metal framed door, all a little nervous.

He won’t answer
, Rob was thinking, just as a key rattled in the lock. Evan took an involuntary step back, and by the time Rob had moved to see round him, there was a man facing them in the doorway.

And Rob, in that first instant, thought:
This isn’t our son
.