Darkmans (74 page)

Beede crouched down and carefully began uncovering the wire…

Papers

Bills

Broken plant pot

Soil

Books

Little side-table

Eh?

Good God!

How’d that end up there?!

He pulled a dark, wooden cross from the midst of the chaos – a handcarved, wooden cross (20 inches long, 12 or so wide) –

Remember?

– part of it (a small part) had been roughly whittled (in a primitive style) and the word MUM scratched in a childish hand across the middle. But the other part? The best part? Painstakingly, even exquisitely chiselled with a dozen tiny, intricate wild roses, blooming (as if against all the odds) between a dense and tangled thicket of leaves and stems and thorns.

Beede stared at the cross for a while, almost regretfully, then he placed it down and recommenced his search. The phone – when he found it – was actually hidden under a small wigwam of cushions. He threw them aside and grabbed the receiver – ‘Hello?’

His voice sounded very soft, very low. His voice sounded…

Scared?

‘Beede?’

‘Yes?
Hello?’

‘Beede, it’s me, it’s Dory…’

‘Dory?’

Beede seemed surprised. ‘Dory? Are you all right? Is something wrong? You sound…’ He paused ‘…different.’

Silence

‘Dory? Hello?
Dory?’

‘Where are you?’ Dory demanded, somewhat childishly, almost petulantly. ‘What are you doing?’

The reception on the line was bad.

Uh…

‘I’m at
home,
Dory,’ Beede scratched his head, ‘you’ve rung me at home. I’m here, at home, speaking on the phone.’

‘At home?’

Dory seemed confused by this answer.

‘Yes.’ Beede nodded, frowning. ‘At home. At
my
home. But how on earth did you get this number?’

‘The number? I don’t know. It just…It just popped into my head. The same way it did –
you
know – before…’

‘Before?’

Now it was Beede’s turn to sound confused.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Dory said. ‘The important thing is that you need to come, and you need to come
soon.’

Beede thought he heard a car horn sounding, in the background. It was followed by a nasty crackle of static on the line. He winced. ‘Dory? Are you still with me?’

Silence

‘Dory?’

‘Yes?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Where?’

‘Yes.’

‘Uh…I’m in the little room.
You
know…The little, metal room which likes to move around. I’m sitting in the middle of the little, metal room.’

‘Right.
Okay.
You’re in the
car.
You’re driving somewhere in the
car…’

‘Yes,’ Dory sounded pleased, proud, almost, ‘that’s
exactly
what I’m doing.’

‘And do you know where you’re heading?’

‘Heading?’

‘Yes. In the car. Do you know where you’re going?’

‘In the car? I’m going
heim,
of course.’

‘Heim?’

‘Ja.’

‘You’re going
heim?’

‘Ja.’

‘Right.
Right
…’

Beede inspected his watch. ‘I was meant to meet you there, wasn’t I, at ten? I’m afraid I got a little…uh…
caught up
in something…’

‘Well you really need to come,’ Dory reiterated, quite matter-of-factly, ‘because he’s here, Beede.’

‘Sorry?’ Beede frowned.

‘He’s
here.
He’s right here.’

‘Who is?’ Beede’s throat suddenly contracted.

‘
He
is.
Him.
The…the…
you
know…the…the d-d-d-d…’

Dory began to stutter.

Beede closed his eyes. ‘You’ve
seen
him?’ he whispered.

‘He’s
here,
Beede, and he’s being very…very
strong
…very…’

Dory cleared his throat. ‘I honestly don’t know how much longer I can hold him off for.’

‘Right…’ Beede struggled to calm his nerves. ‘Okay. And did he happen to mention what he wants?’

‘Yes. Absolutely. He says he wants to speak with you. In fact he told me this number. He recited it to me. He said he wants to
see
you.’

Pause

‘Beede?’

‘Yes?’

‘I think he’s intending to do something bad. In fact I’m not sure if he hasn’t already done it. He seems very d-d-d-’

‘Dark,’ Beede said, standing up, abruptly, almost lifting the entire body of the phone into the air on its tangled wire. ‘Then I must come,’ he murmured.

‘Yes…’ Dory sounded a little distracted. ‘He says we must go
ho…’

‘Home?’

‘Yes.
No.
Not like in home, like in…in
hot – ho –
like in hot or…or cot…’

‘Hot?’
Beede was immediately concerned. ‘Did he mention
fire
at all? Because you must be on your guard, Dory. D’you hear me? You
must
be on your guard. Just be sure and keep away from…’

‘No, not
hot,’
Dory maintained stolidly, ‘not hot:
hoch
…He means
hoch.’

Eh?

‘Hoch…?’
Beede slowly mulled this over, then,
‘Oh
…Of
course.

Hoch. Hoch,
as in…as in “high”?’

‘Yes. That’s it. On the roof. The
roef.
He wants to go up on the
roef.
He doesn’t want to be hot. He wants to be…to be
hoch.
On the
roef.’

‘Which roof, Dory?’

Beede suddenly visualised a huge expanse of roof – an infinite expanse – covered in antique, red tiles. And he saw a hand –
his
hand – reaching out towards them. He also saw the sky –

So blue!

Beautiful!

Look at that!

– and he saw a turret. And then he felt –

What?!

– this vast, this black and intoxicating wave of
rage
engulfing him…

Urgh!

He shook himself –

Enough!

‘My
roef,’
Dory repeated (Beede hadn’t actually heard him the first time).

‘Why?’ Beede’s voice was pitched very soft and low again. It was almost a growl.

‘Pardon?’

‘Why does he want you to go on to the roof, Dory?’

‘Why? Because he says there’s something we need to
do
up there.’

‘So you’ve been
talking?’
Beede felt his anger rising – he felt it
climbing,
scampering –

Higher and higher

– on mean, painful, little feet – he felt it…he felt it
barking
inside of him…

Roof!

Roof!

Roof!

He was a fierce dog, scratching away, keenly, at the door of its rage –

Roof!

– waiting for release.

‘What do you mean, Beede?’

Dory sounded bewildered.

‘You’ve been
discussing
these things together?’ Beede demanded (quite unable to help himself).

‘Yes.
No.
I’m…I’m not sure…’

‘For how
long,
exactly?’

Beede’s cheeks were crimson. His upper lip was shiny with perspiration.

‘I’m not…’ Dory stuttered ‘…I don’t…’

‘Weeks, is it? Months?
Tell
me!’

‘I can’t…I’m not…’

‘My
God,
how you must’ve
laughed
!’ Beede snarled. ‘How funny this all must’ve seemed. What a spectacular
joke
!’

‘A joke?’

‘Yes.
Yes…’
Beede was livid now,
betrayed.
‘So you’ve been changing my furniture around, eh? The
rug?
Did you swap the rug? And the kettle? The
bed?
Is Elen in on it too?’

‘You’re confusing me, Beede,’ Dory interrupted, ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. I don’t even know whether…’ he paused. ‘Did you call me or did I call you?’

Beede blinked. The wave smoothly withdrew. Quick as a breath, his anger retreated. He shook his head, confused.

‘Beede?!’
Dory sounded terrified.

‘You phoned,’ he said tiredly, ‘you called me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘But
why?’

‘Because you said…you said you needed my help.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes.’

Silence

‘Oh God,’ Dory groaned (as if suddenly remembering). ‘He’s been whispering things, Beede. I’ve told him to go away. I’ve pushed him away – with the yoga, the Pranayama, I’ve tried to block him out. But it’s almost had the opposite effect. It’s brought him even closer. And now he keeps telling me all this…all this
stuff
…’

‘What kind of stuff?’

Beede gnawed on his lower lip.

‘Things about you. About Elen. The boy. He calls Elen the most terrible, the most
unforgivable
…’

‘What does he say about me?’ Beede interrupted, coldly.

‘About you? Strange things. Stupid things. He keeps telling me that you made your own key. He keeps repeating it. He keeps going on and on and on and
on
…I mean at first I didn’t
understand –
he speaks differently to us. He kept repeating the word
kay
and I just couldn’t…but then he said
luk
…then
loch
…and I knew he meant lock. Like a lock and a key. A
key
…’

‘He seems rather confused,’ Beede snapped, ‘rather
incoherent.’

‘Yes.’ Dory sounded forlorn.

Pause

‘So I suppose…’ he sighed, ‘I suppose we’ll just be waiting for you on the
roef,
then.’

‘No,’ Beede butted in, ‘that’s not a good idea. It sounds too dangerous.’

‘But he…’ Dory’s voice was dreamy, now, and quite resigned, ‘…he simply
insists,
Beede.’

‘Then you should be strong with him. You should refuse him.’

‘I know,’ Dory yawned, tiredly.

‘Try and stay lively,’ Beede said. ‘Buy yourself a coffee. Or eat a bar of chocolate. Conserve your energy.’

‘Yes.’

Dory yawned again.

‘You need to stay awake, Dory. You’re driving. If you’re going to fall asleep then you must pull over.’

‘I know. I
know.
I already did. I pulled over earlier. But I don’t have too far to go now…’

‘Then just keep on talking,’ Beede said. ‘Tell me where you are. Tell me where you’re going.’

‘I’m going…’

Pause

‘Dory?’

‘Yes?’

‘Tell me where you’re going.’

‘I’m going…I’m going on the…I’ve got…’

‘Then tell me where you’ve
been
…Tell me about your morning.

Did you drop Fleet off at school yet?’

Pause

‘Fleet?’ Dory sounded very vague.

‘Your son, remember?’

Beede was gripping the phone so tightly now that the receiver was almost cutting into his ear.

‘Dory?’

He automatically switched hands (and ears) to relieve the pressure.

‘Damn!’

His grip failed. He dropped the receiver.

‘Damn!’

He swooped down, wincing, to retrieve it.

‘Dory?’

Silence

‘Dory? Hello? I’m sorry about that. I just dropped the…’

Silence

‘Hello?’

Silence

‘Hello?’

Silence

Beede peered down at the phone, confused. He shook the receiver. He stared into it. He gazed over towards the wall. The phone was unplugged.

He blinked –

Eh?

He blinked again –

But how long…?

Then slowly, very cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder.

Tenterden. He’d planned to head for Tenterden –

Peta
 –

Peta Borough
 –

The f-forger…

The f-fabricare…

She’s definitely the k-k-kay, here

– but when he drew up at the roundabout –

Eh?

– the Rover was just one car ahead of him –

Kay?

– so he calmly proceeded to follow –

F-f-fabric-what?!

– almost without thinking – ignoring the first turn-off (for Canterbury and Willesborough), the second turn-off –
his
turn-off – (for Hastings, Lydd and Hamstreet), indicating at the third (Cedar Wood) and slowly pulling on to the brand-new (still only partially completed) access-route into the estate beyond.

At first – fearful of blowing his cover – he tried to maintain a certain distance between his Merc and the Rover, but Dory’s progress was so gradual, so erratic, so halting –

Brake
 –

Accelerate
 –

Brake –

Accelerate…

What the hell is he playing at?

– that it was about as much as Kane could do not to plough straight into the back of him.

He promptly solved the problem by casually over-taking; furtively observing – as he roared past – that Dory appeared to be deeply embroiled in a telephone conversation –

Yeah?

Well that certainly explains a lot…

Three short minutes later and The Blonde was neatly slotted into the driveway of a vacant property (just two doors along from Dory’s home address) with Kane hunched down low in the driver’s seat, both eyes glued to his side-mirror. Twenty long seconds ticked by –

Shit…

Was this completely the wrong call?

– and then –

Ha!

– just as he’d anticipated, Dory pulled into the street, kangarooed his way along it, and brought the Rover to a juddering halt at the end of the very driveway on which Kane himself was parked.

Eh?!

Kane immediately began to panic –

Why’d he do that?

– crouching down still further –

Has the swine blocked me in?

– uncertain where to look, taut, agonised, all his senses on red alert, when –

YAAARGH!

– his phone began shuddering inside his coat pocket –

Jesus Christ!

He almost leapt out of his skin –

Fuck!

He grabbed a hold of it, turned it off, hurled it, furiously, on to the back seat –

There!

– then sat, staring down at his tightly clenched hands, barely even daring to draw breath.

Ten seconds –

Twenty –

Thirty –

Forty
 –

Kane slowly lifted his chin and peeked into his side-mirror –

Diddly-squat

Just the back bumper

He glanced over to his left, but the mirror on that side –

Damn!

– had been knocked flat (by his earlier collision, he presumed), so all that was currently reflected back at him was the crown of his own, terrified head –

Huh?

He blinked –

Am I thinning out a little on top, there?

He gently patted his hair. Then he blinked again –

Now just hang on
a…

He covered his face with both hands –

FUUUUCK!

WHAT IN GOD’S NAME AM I DOING HERE?

Kane remained in this position for a further full minute, then he dropped his hands and began hunting around inside his coat pockets for the small, polythene bag of tablets which he’d recently offered to Laura. He couldn’t find them. He noticed a small hole in the lining and poked his finger through it. His search became increasingly frantic…

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

He found his cigarettes and pulled them out, hoping to unearth the spare spliff which he generally kept for emergencies in the bottom of the packet. He opened the box and peered into it –

Nope

– then threw it, disgusted, on to the passenger seat.

He closed his eyes and tried to deepen his breathing –

Okay, okay…

Just tell him…

His eyes flew open –

Yeah!

Say you’ve come to look at the house
 –

Say you’re waiting for an Estate Agent…

Say the Estate Agent’s running late…

– he quickly glanced into his mirror again –

Nada

– then slowly twisted around in his seat, straightened his spine and peeked over his head-rest (like a startled chad, or a timorous prairie dog scanning the dry, mid-western plains for a skulking predator).

Dory (it transpired) was still snugly ensconced in his car, apparently oblivious to everything around him. Kane squinted –

Eh
…?

– He was leaning over the steering wheel and seemed to be scrawling something, frantically, into a small, black note-book –

The diary?

Kane recalled the earlier conversation between Elen and his father while scratching away at his arm –

Bloody fleas…

– his eyes still fixed on Dory, who continued to scribble –

His written confession, perhaps?

‘He was pestering my wife, so I cornered him in a neighbour’s driveway and then
…’

Huh?

Kane’s attention was momentarily distracted by the smallest, slightest, most
insidious
of tapping sounds. He abruptly stopped what he was doing, tipped his head and listened. The sounds persisted –

Tap-tap, tap-tap-tap –

Huh?

Kane turned, with a grimace, and immediately recoiled –

YAH!

Standing directly in front of him – only a yard away, at best – was a bird –

Starling?

– the same pesky, black bird (he was certain) which’d attacked him, unprovoked, several days earlier.

It was perched on the Merc’s bonnet, pecking away, determinedly, at one of the small, rubber discs – the washer – which helped to secure the Merc’s windscreen-wipers to its chassis.

Kane glared at the bird. The bird paused for a moment and stared straight back at him (with a single, mean, yellow-rimmed eye). It was so close that he could see the magnificent, iridescent sheen on its feathers, the constellation of white dots speckling its plumage, the slight, blueish tinge at the corner of its beak, and then – as it turned (to recommence its violent assault on the washer) – its tail made passing contact with the windscreen and he was privileged to observe the tiniest, the
daintiest
of grease-stains left behind on the glass –

Urgh!

Kane threw out his hand, revolted, determined to scare it off, but the bird didn’t move. It wouldn’t budge. It seemed fearless.

Urgh!

He continued to inspect it with a mixture of fascination and abhorrence, soon noticing that – for all its apparent vitality – there seemed to be something inescapably
awry
with the creature. He looked closer and saw a sticky patch of soft down at the base of the bird’s chest (consistent with a puncture wound or bite, perhaps) and a dribble of shiny, partially dried blood running down one scraggy leg. The tail also seemed thinner than it might be – tatty – wonky – lop-sided.

Even so, the bird still made short work of the rubber washer (tossing
it aside within six or seven seconds) before calmly hopping forward to start jabbing away at the neat, black rubber trim around the Merc’s tinted windscreen.

Kane expostulated, furiously, throwing out his hand again, but before he could make actual, physical contact with the glass, the bird had crouched down – with an angry squawk – and had taken wing – heading off – like a dark bullet – towards the scaffolding two doors along.

Huh?

Kane slowly twisted around and peered over his head-rest –

Shit!

It was Dory. Dory had finally stopped writing and had climbed out of his Rover. Kane ducked down, having observed (through the Rover’s still partially opened door) that he’d placed his diary on to the dashboard – directly behind the steering wheel – where a sharp gust of wind snatched at the pages, making them flutter, wildly,
whitely,
like the damp wings of a newly hatched moth.

Kane heard the door slam shut, closed his eyes –

Pretend to be asleep, yeah?

Why not?

– and steeled himself for a confrontation of some kind. He waited, listening out for the heavy thud of Dory’s footsteps on the cement driveway.

He did hear footsteps (eventually) but they certainly weren’t on the driveway. They were faint at first, then grew still fainter. Kane opened his eyes again –

Now what?

He drew a deep breath (almost irritated by the delay), twisted around and peeked over the head-rest. Dory was currently standing some distance away (in the middle of the street), staring over towards his own home, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. He was holding something rolled-up in his hand which he carelessly shoved into his back pocket…

Kane squinted –

The Missing Dog poster?

He quickly sank down in his seat (still following Dory’s progress – almost obsessively – in his side-mirror) as the German turned and strolled back towards the Rover again, yanked open the boot, leaned down, scrabbled around inside it for a while and then withdrew holding –

Oh shit!

– a large, metal tool of some kind –

Spanner?

Wrench?

Dory slammed the boot shut and paused for a second –

Not the car!

Please, God
 –

Anything but The Blonde!

– then turned and headed purposefully back down the road, drawing to a sharp halt in front of his home and calmly appraising the front of the property – his head at a slight angle, a speculative look on his face – before marching determinedly across the pavement, on to the lawn and directly out of Kane’s immediate sightline.

Kane cursed the annoyingly lustrous evergreen bush growing directly to his left which meant that for the next few minutes the only real clues he could accrue as to Dory’s activities were those of a strictly audible nature.

From what he could tell, Dory appeared to be engaging directly with the scaffolding (‘Shoring it up,’ he mused, ‘I guess…’), and from the sheer volume of the resulting clamour, he was undertaking this task with considerable enthusiasm.

After several more minutes of idle speculation, the suspense grew too much for him and Kane hauled himself over, clumsily, on to the back seat –

Ouch!

– fishing out his mobile from under his thigh, observing how Dory was almost half-way up the scaffolding now (and climbing ever higher) as the dark bird – Kane shuddered – darted all around him;
pestering
him; squawking, flapping its wings and bouncing from metal bar to metal bar like some kind of crazed, avian supervisor.

Kane reduced the volume on his phone and quickly checked his messages. One from Dina –

Where’s Kelly? Why ain’t she answerin’ her mobile? If you see the little minx, tell ‘er Linda’s home. Tell ‘er Linda wants a quick word with ‘er…

– and four more from angry clients, impatiently awaiting their deliveries –

Nothing from Gaffar
 –

Nothing from Peta
 –

Kane shoved his phone away again, scowling, plainly frustrated by his own lack of professionalism –

You really need to…

Uh…

He peered through the back window to see if it would be possible to reverse the Merc from the driveway without tangling with the Rover –

Nope

Luckily there was next to no proper planting in the adjacent patch of garden – just a brown, slightly frozen lawn (no gate, no fence). Kane calculated that – if the worst came to the worst – it’d be perfectly possible to reverse the Merc across it, over the pavement and down on to the road again without causing too much conspicuous damage.

As he made this calculation his eye was drawn – almost irresistibly – to the diary on the Rover’s dashboard. Its pages were still rotating –

Hmmn…

Air conditioning left on?

Kane grimaced, grabbed for the hem of his old crombie and began inching his way around it with his finger and thumb –

Where’d my stuff get to?

Is it lost in the lining?

– but he couldn’t feel anything and soon grew restive –

Need a smoke…

– so snatched his cigarettes from the front seat and lit one, then lay down flat on his back and gazed over towards his quarry, speculatively –

Nope.

It’s no good…

I just gotta…

He shoved his cigarette into the corner of his mouth, rolled on to his belly, felt for the door handle and slowly released it –

Click

As he pushed it open a cruel blast of winter air hit him square in the face. He closed his eyes for a moment (as if secretly hoping that it might jolt him back to his senses) –

Nah-ah

– then slowly, carefully, he slid out of the Merc, crouched down on to his hands and knees and began crawling, awkwardly, along the driveway. He was initially shielded from Dory’s sight – at least partially – by the Merc’s square chassis, but once he’d reached the bumper it became abundantly clear that the actual gap between the two vehicles was quite a considerable one – 5 or 6 feet, at least – with every inch of them in plain view.

Kane peeked around the Merc’s heavy rump and up towards Dory.

Lucky for him, Dory still seemed fully preoccupied with the scaffolding, so Kane snatched his opportunity and scrambled over towards the Rover, rising to his knees when he reached the driver’s door and peering in through the window to check out the alarm system –

Deactivated…

I think.

The black jotter continued to flap seductively on the dash. Kane applied his hand gently to the door handle, squeezed, heard the mechanism disengage, grinned, pulled the door open and leaned into the car to grab the book.