Leave the Last Page (3 page)

Detective Fields let out a sigh and nodded. ‘So it would seem, Mr Holliday. So it would seem.'

*

An hour later and a couple of extra things had happened. Charlotte Holliday arrived and both parents sat in a vacant room at Sunnyside and had a good cry. There was nothing in Aisling's room or in the gardens outside that gave a clue as to where their son was.

Various pieces of evidence from the scene were bagged and tagged to be sent for further analysis, including Dodge. Perhaps irrationally, the news that they couldn't take the chair home brought more tears for the Hollidays.

The story pages were also taken, but photocopies were made, for the Hollidays and Detective Fields. He explained to them: ‘We'd like you to take the pages home and study them, please. Just in case you can see something in them that might give us a clue to what has happened. Of course, we'll do the same, but your personal view might bring more luck. Someone will be calling on you later just to ask a few more questions and see if you can shed a little more light on this situation.'

Charlotte nodded intently, clutching the photocopied pages. When Fields left them she thrust them at her husband. ‘Perhaps you've got time to read it now.'

‘Charlie, that's not fair.'

‘Just read the story…'

He flattened out the pages and began.

BEN FIELDS PUT THE PAGES OF STORY DOWN ON HIS DESK. It was a peculiar thing to be left behind at a crime scene; to him it just seemed like a pretty unremarkable start to a fantasy story. He wasn't much of a reader of fiction, and he couldn't abide tales of magic and mumbo jumbo, so he was probably the wrong person to judge, but no eleven-year-old was going to set the world alight with the written word.

He just hoped that buried in there was some clue, and that the parents would be able to find it. Why else would the boy go to the trouble of ripping out a couple of pages from a notebook (the Hollidays were able to tell him exactly which kind) and leave it so carefully on his chair?

And of course, that was the other biggie: how did the kid leave the room without his wheelchair? It didn't look like Granny carried him out of there, and there was no evidence of a third party. He would have to get someone to investigate the actual nature of the boy's affliction – perhaps he couldn't take the family's word for it that young Tom couldn't walk.

He couldn't do much more at the minute other than read through all his notes and wait for the forensic teams to get back to him later in the afternoon with any findings.

He looked at his computer screen and thought about how to categorise the case. Missing Persons? There were definitely two people they couldn't find. Abduction? If so, who took them and why? Breaking and Entering? Vandalism? What actually did smash those patio doors?

Murder? It looked like the old lady, Aisling Cleary, died of natural causes, but nothing could be ruled out yet. Again, he'd just have to wait for now.

He closed down his notes. The document on the screen was replaced with an image of his son, Daniel. He had headphones in, a skateboard tucked under his arm, and a blank expression on his face. A typical teenage pose. Ben remembered that it was under some duress that he managed to get a picture at all.

This case had come at the wrong time for Ben. He had hoped to not be working late this week as he had Daniel for a run of days, which was rare. His ex-wife was having a break with her new partner for four nights, which meant Dan was with his dad Monday to Friday. It would be just Ben's rotten luck to have to work every evening this week and hardly see his son at all.

He looked again at the image of his son.
Daniel. Dan the Man. Danny-Boy

He looked down at the young kid's story.
You better show up soon, Tom Holliday.

Then something caught his eye on the first page. He hadn't noticed it before because he'd been focused on the words rather than the page itself.

In the centre of the page, a ring of words were smudged ever so slightly, creating a small oval effect. He only had a photocopy, but it looked as if moisture had got to the paper and caused some of the ink to blur. Too small and imperfect for the base of a cup. What else could have been placed on the page to dampen and smudge?

He held the paper close to his face.

A mouth?

He put his lips to the sheet. It certainly fit, give or take. He would give the lab boys a nudge in that direction, just in case they didn't spot it themselves. Did Tom give the pages a kiss for Mum and Dad? It made him think that there had to be some sort of message in there that only they could pull out.

He was thinking of just sending a constable round to the Hollidays this afternoon, but now he felt it would be more beneficial if he went himself. With that in mind he decided to get updates from the other teams working on it, so that he could share as much information as possible with the family.

His call to the team still at the scene gave him a curious new detail.

He spoke to Edwards again. ‘What development?'

‘It's to do with the grass where we got the first prints, just outside the patio doors.'

‘What of it?'

‘Let's just say it's a good job we took the pictures and measurements when we did because the scene isn't preserved anymore.'

‘Did one of your team contaminate it in some way?'

‘Not us, but
contaminate
is the right word. The grass, about two feet square just before the stone step, has
changed
.'

‘Changed?'

‘Turned darker and slimy. God knows how. It's like someone sat a toxic barrel there or something. It's grown taller too.'

‘Grass will do that.'

‘Ha ha. The other thing is that the surface is full of worms. Dead ones. It looks like they were trying to get away before they perished.'

‘Get away? Didn't know you could think like a worm, Edwards.'

The forensic expert didn't bite. ‘Anyway, we've sent samples to the lab. We took more pictures so we'll send them over.'

‘Okay, thanks.' Fields hung up. Contaminated grass? What on earth had happened there?

Then a flicker of a memory flitted around his head like a bat in a bell tower. Then the bell rang. He picked up the story pages and quickly found the reference:
poisonous grasses.

Odd. Had the Holliday kid poured some chemical on the ground in an attempt to recreate a part of his story? If that was the case, wouldn't the lab boys have spotted that sooner, smelt it even? And where would he have got it from?

He definitely needed to get back to the parents and run all this by them.

*

Unsurprisingly, the Hollidays lived in a bungalow. Charlotte Holliday let Ben Fields in, her eyes red-rimmed from emotional exertions. She silently led the detective into the living room. Alex Holliday was waiting. He held the story pages tightly. ‘Hello, Detective Fields.'

‘Mr Holliday.' He indicated the pages. ‘Have you any thoughts about why your son left you the story?'

Alex shook his head. Fields updated them on the moisture mark on the paper and the dead grass at the scene. ‘Forensics will be round later to go through Tom's room. Please don't alter or move anything in there. We want to see if he might have had a substance that could have caused the grass to deteriorate.'

Charlotte was not amused. ‘You think he's been mixing up some chemicals or something? You think he's been making home-made bombs?'

‘Something did burst open those doors. The polluted grass could be linked.'

They then discussed each of the family members involved and their relationships with each other: Aisling Cleary, Patty Holliday and Tom himself, searching for reasons why these strange events might have happened.

‘Can you think of any reason why Tom might want to stay away from home? Have you had any arguments lately?'

‘Nothing other than the fact he wanted to visit a friend today, and…we didn't let him,' said Charlotte. ‘He's not an argumentative boy.'

‘And is there any reason, Alex, why your mother would want to keep Tom away from you?'

Alex shrugged. ‘She doesn't see him as often as she might like, but it's never been an issue between us. She wouldn't want to hurt us.'

Ben also asked about Tom's condition. ‘He has no possible movement in his legs?'

Charlotte answered. ‘Tom had an accident when he was two. He hasn't walked since. He has physio to maintain muscle definition but the doctors have ruled out him regaining full use of his legs.' She patted Alex's thigh, who was staring at a fixed point outside the window.

Fields felt his phone buzz in his pocket. ‘Please excuse me while I take this.' He stepped into the hallway. ‘What have you got?'

The information he received was interesting, if not quite enlightening. He went back into the living room and shared it with the Hollidays. ‘The grass has been analysed. Whatever happened to it, they can't find a match with any substance they have on record. It's going to be sent further afield for more detailed tests. However, the lab does not recognise the chemical make up
at all
of what the grass has turned into. Then shortly after that, it just turned back to normal grass, albeit with traces of dust on it.'

‘Is that possible?' asked Alex.

‘I don't know. More conclusive though is the paper. The original
was
affected by moisture to make the oval shape. And it was a mouth.'

‘Tom's?' asked Charlotte.

‘We don't have Tom's DNA or saliva on record, so if it was we wouldn't be able to confirm it anyway. As it is, we
are
able to make a match.'

‘Who?'

‘Aisling Cleary. Alex, it looks like your grandmother gave the story a big sloppy kiss before she died.'

*

Ben Fields left the Hollidays with a constable in their living room and a forensics officer in Tom's room.

The team at Sunnyside had uncovered nothing more and it currently still looked like a sixty-year-old woman and an eleven-year-old crippled boy had somehow fled the scene. It had been only a matter of hours, so with no more information forthcoming there had to be a period of waiting. The most likely outcome remained that before the end of the day Grandma Patty would turn up with Tom and a long tale to tell. Statistically that was favourite; he just hoped it was right.

He now hoped to spend a few hours at home, as late afternoon turned to early evening, so as to spend a bit of time with Daniel.

Only thing was, when he got home Dan was squirreled away in his room with a mate from school. They were playing a two-player console game and wouldn't be dragged off when there were aliens to shoot and artefacts to find. Ben was told in no uncertain terms to ‘leave them be.'

A little resigned, he made himself a coffee and watched quiz show repeats on satellite TV.

*

At Sunnyside the police were packing up for the day. So too were some of the staff, including Alfred Jacobs, one of the gardeners. It had been a strange old day, including a rare summons inside for the old timer. One of the directors, that sour faced Noon-woman, had sat them all in a line in the TV room while they waited for their five minute interview with the police.

Alfred had told them that he'd seen nothing untoward – he'd been busy in the flowerbeds when he heard a crash and by the time he shuffled round to that side of the building there was nothing on view but a destroyed patio door. By the time he got anywhere near, care staff were already in the room and he was sent away.

That had satisfied the police, which had pleased Alfred, because he didn't want to tell the actual truth. He was on his last warning with Felicity Noon, and he knew that one more mistake would be his last. A couple of times she'd caught him drinking whiskey from a hip flask whilst working, and were he to describe to the police and the Sunnyside director what he
actually
saw this morning, she would no doubt accuse him of drinking too much once again and give him his marching orders.

He was pretty certain about what he did see though, as bizarre as it was.

He had been on his knees re-edging a flowerbed when he saw what could only be described as a black cloud materialise from out of a bush. At first he thought it might have been a swarm of some kind, until it adopted the shape of a large man and started to stride towards one of the patio doors on the south side of the building. Except that it didn't seem to fully touch the ground, perhaps only kissing the grass over so slightly. It paused in front of the doors and held out its black arms. It held that pose for a good few seconds, allowing Alfred to see that the edges of the shape were sometimes fluid, sometimes firm. For a split second it held the shape of an actual man with slicked back hair and a black suit, but then returned to a silhouette, then a cloud. Although it was a man in outline it couldn't possibly be one in reality.

Then the black clouds for hands grew bigger and the patio doors blew inward.

Alfred had dived into the flowerbed face first, and so didn't see exactly what happened next. When he had gathered himself and dared look again, the blackness had gone and two people appeared in the destroyed doorway. An older lady leapt over the threshold, and despite the fact she held a walking stick, it didn't look like she needed it. The boy was more circumspect, looking unsure of his footing as he crossed from the room and onto the step. He looked down at his legs and rubbed his thighs like maybe he had an ache. The silver-haired lady put an arm on his shoulder and said something into his ear. He nodded, and then – tentatively at first but with growing ease – the two of them ran away. Alfred lost them in the trees before they reached the boundary wall of the Sunnyside grounds, although part of him thought he lost them because for a moment they might, just might have been transparent.

Once they were out of sight, only then did Alfred feel he could approach the room and see what had been left behind. By then his story was fact; the staff were there and shouted at him through the hole to stay away. It was that interaction which backed up his story and made him sound entirely truthful. It meant that Alfred would still have a job tomorrow.

He would be tired though, come the morning. Alfred didn't believe for one second that he would sleep a wink tonight, for fear of seeing the black-shadow-man again in his dreams.