Killing Rachel (22 page)

‘He followed you here all the way from London?’

‘I don’t know. I think he must have. They must have recognised me at the restaurant and maybe he was hanging around outside the flat. He saw me getting into the car and followed, not knowing that I was going a long distance. Him and another guy. Anyway, the two of them just walked over and took me by surprise. I put up a fight of sorts but I got punched and I went down on the floor. Then they wrapped my hands and feet with the tape and then put it over my mouth.’

‘You must have been there for hours.’

‘They called Lev and he had to get to Norfolk. One of them drove off a while before you came – probably to pick Lev up and bring him here.’

‘What do we do with all this?’ she said.

‘I don’t know. I need to talk to Skeggs.’

She was momentarily stung. Why couldn’t he talk to her?

Joshua seemed to register what he’d said.

‘I just need his computers and know-how. After this we’ve got a whole new lot of information to explore.’

They were quiet, the heater making a low noise in the car. Outside it was pitch-dark. No other car had passed them for ages. Joshua’s hand went up to his lips and he seemed to cup the skin around there. Rose pulled at his arm and made him turn round to face her. Across his mouth was an angry red welt.

‘That looks so sore.’

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

She lifted her fingers and went to touch the skin but he shrank back. She got hold of his sweatshirt, though, and pulled him nearer.

‘When I saw you tied up I didn’t know what was going to happen. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought I was so frightened.’

‘I was worried, Rosie. I didn’t want you involved in anything dangerous . . .’

He put his hand on the back of her neck. She turned towards him. His touch was warm, his fingers stroking her skin beneath her hair. If anything had happened to him what would she have done? She looked up at him, at his worried expression and a surge of emotion went through her. She wanted to kiss his bruised mouth gently, without hurting him. The thought of it made her weak in the pit of her stomach.

He caught her eyes and they stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. He went to say something but stopped.

‘What?’ she whispered.

He shook his head.

His eyes dropped away and he pulled his hand back.

‘As long as you’re all right, Rosie,’ he said.

She nodded, her neck cold from where his hand had been.

She sat back in the passenger seat, dazed.

‘What shall we do now?’

‘Go home?’

She nodded. ‘My stuff’s at the school, though. We need to pick it up.’

He started the car and they drove back towards Mary Linton. He put the CD player on and music filled the car. Usually it would have cheered her up but she felt it pounding in her ears and she longed for the silence of the mudflats. As they passed through the school gates and went along the drive, Rose put her fingers up to her mouth. There she felt the kiss that hadn’t happened.

When they pulled up outside the main entrance she saw Joshua’s hand gingerly touch his mouth again.

‘Come into the building. There’s first aid and I can get you a couple of painkillers. We can have a sandwich or something before we drive home.’

He nodded, cut the engine and got out and they both walked towards the entrance. He looked terrible, battered and shaky. He lagged behind her and after a minute she waited, took his arm and pulled him on into the building.

TWENTY-TWO

Martha Harewood wouldn’t let them drive back to London.

She clucked and fussed over them. She got the first-aid kit out and tried to clean up Joshua’s face. She asked a hundred questions but Rose just told her that they’d been walking on the coastal path and misjudged the time, eventually stumbling in the dark. Martha took them to one of the small kitchens and made scrambled eggs and toast. She shooed off the inquisitive girls who were milling round wondering what had happened. She arranged for Joshua to stay in the staff quarters and told Rose to go back to her old room and have an early night. Rose watched as Martha led Joshua off down the corridor. She hadn’t been able to argue with her and was glad that Martha had made the decision for them.

She wanted to go to bed.

She went back to the room she’d left that morning. She put her phone on charge and remembered for a moment the message she’d sent to Frank Richards. It made her feel foolish now and she wondered whether he would get it and wonder what on earth it was about.

Her bedding was still on the floor where she’d pulled it off. She didn’t bother to remake the bed or even get undressed. She replaced the pillows and got under the duvet. Her hip felt sore. She must have banged it on the ground while she was being flung around by the Russian man, Mikey. She turned the lights off. There was noise along the corridors, the sound of feet passing, girls talking, laughing.

It didn’t bother her.

She was too tired to care.

She sank into a deep sleep.

When she woke the room was silent and black save for a finger of grey light that poked through the curtains. She looked at the clock. It was 0.07 She’d slept for four or more hours. She was drowsy and a heavy feeling came over her as the events of the previous evening resurfaced. She felt a moment’s fright at what might have happened at the cottage. It was as if they had been teetering on the edge of a dark hole. She remembered Mikey standing with his knife.
Just a little message for father? An eye? An ear?
And for a second she felt sick again. She sat up and made herself breathe slowly.

She tried to lie down again but felt something sticking into her side. She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the identity bracelet that she had found. She let her fingers trace the letters
Βайктор
.

Why was it there beside the boat,
Butterfly?

Did the boat belong to Brendan? Did the cottage belong to him? Joshua had been sure it did. Was he also right that her mother and Brendan had been transferred from Cold Cases to national security? Instead of investigating old unsolved murders they now worked for the British secret service? Was that why Lev Baranski blamed Brendan for his father’s death?
You tell your father I will never stop looking for him.

These things kept going round and round in her head.

She was not going to sleep. She stood up and walked across the dark room, stretching her arms out, feeling her joints crack. She went over to the window and looked out through the gap in the curtains. She stared into the night. The dark had obliterated the usual view, the grass, the quad, the lake. She went to close the curtains tight but something was niggling her. She peered out, not really sure what it was.

Then she saw it; a tiny light moving through the grounds. She blinked but it was gone and she thought she had imagined it. Seconds later, though, it was there again, a dull glow in the blackness. She watched for a few seconds and her eyes began to make some sense of it. It was a torch. Someone was walking through the grounds.

In the direction of the boathouse.

She watched carefully, the light growing dimmer and dimmer and then somewhere round the boathouse it went off.

Someone going to the boathouse. Just after midnight.

She sat down on the bed.

It was nothing to do with her if some girls were out in the middle of the night. After five minutes of staring into the dark room, though, she sighed and stood up. It wasn’t her business but maybe if someone had followed Rachel Bliss out then she might not have died. She pulled on her coat and went quietly out of her room and down the stairs, taking care not to make any sound. On the ground floor the school was completely still. Dotted here and there were night lights. There was the sound of a radio or television from further along a corridor, most likely one of the housemistresses on a night shift. She doubled back towards the classrooms and walked quickly past the language labs and the science block and then made a turn down a corridor that said
Staff Only
.

She passed the laundry block and headed for the side door that led out to one of the pick-up and delivery areas. She opened the door. The cold hit her. She clicked the snib on the lock so that the door wouldn’t close behind her. She wondered why Rachel had needed Molly to open the door for her when she could have done that. Maybe she just wanted Molly as a spectator to her love affair.

It was cold and she hugged her coat so that it was tight around her. She kept to the edge of the building and didn’t strike out across the grounds until she got to the quad which had some trees and benches to give her cover. Once on the grass, she ran towards the lake, slowing down as she neared it.

Six nights before Rachel had made this very same journey.

Approaching the boathouse, Rose stopped by a tree and looked carefully at the building. She saw a haze of light coming from one of the windows. There was no sound, though. She wondered if some of the girls were trying to sleep out all night in the boathouse. She’d heard of it happening in the
summer
.

She crossed over to the wall and then moved slowly along it. When she got to the window she paused. Then, leaning forward, she looked in.

Sitting on the floor of the boathouse, surrounded by candles, was a girl who looked identical to Juliet Baker.

Rose ducked back from the window in shock.

Who was she?

She crossed her arms and hugged herself. She blew on to her hands to warm them and looked to the side. The jetty was jutting out into the lake. She couldn’t see the water from where she was but she pictured it still, like glass, a thin layer of ice forming on it which would crack and disappear at the first hint of sunlight and warmth.

She leant forward again. In the flickering candlelight Rose could see that the girl was swathed in clothes; a long coat and a shawl or throw of some sort around her shoulders. Her face was in shadow but even so there was something familiar about her.

Rose stepped back again, not wanting to be seen.

One of the girls was dressing up to look like Juliet Baker. It was the obvious explanation. But why? What was the point of such an unpleasant game?

She heard a noise; footsteps, the rustle of bushes and grasses. She backed around the corner of the boathouse as the steps grew louder. She heard a male voice swearing and, looking out, she saw Tim Baker going into the boathouse. The door closed behind him.

Juliet Baker’s brother.

When she was sure he wasn’t coming out again she edged along the wall and looked in the window. The girl was standing up. This time she looked different. The girl’s black hair was gone. It was on the ground beside her. A wig.

Tania Miller was hugging Tim Baker. She had her arms tightly round him but his were hanging by his side. He looked angry and was speaking to her. Rose couldn’t hear what they were saying but the tone was one of reproof. Tania Miller, Rachel’s old friend. Dressed up to look like Tim Baker’s dead sister. Tim Baker, ex-boyfriend of Rachel’s, part of the deception. Rose turned away from the window, a feeling of revulsion filling her. She didn’t want to waste her time looking at them.

She began to walk away when the door of the boathouse opened suddenly. She stood rigid. Whoever came out would see her there and she would be mortified, especially in front of vile Tim Baker.

But no one came out.

The voices got louder and she crept back to the window. Tim Baker was standing by the door as if he was about to leave.

‘You don’t love me!’

‘I never said I did!’

‘You made me dress up and you caused someone to die and you don’t even love me!’

‘I didn’t make you do anything. And we didn’t cause anyone to die!’

‘I only did it because you said . . .’

‘You knew what you were doing . . .’

There was snuffling and nose blowing.

‘She was my friend . . .’

‘You hadn’t been friends for ages. You told me you couldn’t stand her . . .’

‘I didn’t mean I wanted to kill her . . .’

‘You didn’t kill her. No one killed her. She fell in the lake. That’s not our fault. Anyhow, I don’t feel sorry for her. She drove my sister to her death.’

Rose tensed.

‘I can’t stop thinking about it . . .’

‘Well, try!’

‘And there’s this policewoman in school. She’s been speaking to Rachel’s friends and I’m afraid she’ll want to talk to me!’

‘Why? You weren’t her friend!’

‘She’ll arrest me!’

‘You haven’t committed a crime. You dressed up a bit. It was a joke. No one gets arrested for playing a joke.’

‘You don’t care . . .’

‘Give it a rest, T. You’re driving me mad.’

‘I wish we hadn’t done it.’

‘Oh, come on, T. You loved it. You couldn’t do enough of it.’