The Dead Tracks (45 page)

    'Dealing
with people.'

    'You're
a manager?'

    'No.
I observe and then I act.'

    Markham
frowned. 'Why don't you elaborate?'

    'I
can't concentrate on my work, on anything in my life. I sit there all day,
looking at my computer screen, and all I can see is her face looking back at
me.'

    'Who
are we talking about here?'

    Sykes
didn't reply. He was staring down into his lap, his fingers on his knees, one
of his legs vibrating gently, his shoe tap-tapping against the carpet.

    'Mr
Sykes?'

    No
response. Markham leaned forward.

    'Who
is it you can see looking back?'

    Nothing.

    'Mr
Sykes? Whose face can you see?'

    A
second later, like a light cutting out, Sykes went completely still. He
continued looking down into his lap, the fingers of each hand resting on either
knee.

    'Mr
Sykes?' Markham leaned forward even further, trying to get an angle where he
could see Sykes's face more clearly. Who can you see?'

    Slowly,
Sykes started to move: his fingers slid back along his thighs, his legs
loosened up and his body seemed to expand, as if filling with air. Suddenly,
every inch of his six-foot frame was visible, shoulders broadening, chest
filling out, the curve of the stoop fading away. Markham sat back in his seat,
aware — without even really understanding why — that Sykes was transforming
into someone else. The nervousness was gone. The lack of confidence. The sense
of expectation and uncertainty. Finally, Sykes's face tilted upwards, eyes
fixed on Markham, a smile worming its way across his face. And, in that moment,
Markham realized something: it had all been an act.

    'You
want to know who I can see, Dr Markham?' he asked, even his voice different
now. You want to know who I can see every day looking up at me, terrified, from
a hole in my floor?' He paused. His eyes flashed; as dark as the entrance to a
tomb. 'I can see your wife.'

    There
was no noise inside the house. On-screen, Markham had stopped talking and was
wiping an eye. He'd just gone over the moment he'd first come into contact with
Glass.

    Healy
turned to me. 'Glass kidnapped Markham's
wife?'

    'Now
we know why no one can find her.'

    We
both looked back at Markham. His image was fuzzy, the age of the TV draining
colour from his skin. He shifted in his seat as if he couldn't get comfortable.

    'So
Markham was just a pawn,' Healy said.

    'Looks
that way.'

    'Why?
Why would Glass start using Markham?'

    I
shook my head. 'Maybe we're about to find out.'

    We
both looked back at the screen again. Markham was still composing himself.
'Glass,' said Healy quietly, as if he'd thought of something. He reached
forward and pushed Pause. 'He had a medical history. You heard Markham. Broken
arm, anxiety attacks, chest pains. We can trace him.'

    'It
won't be his.'

    'What
are you talking about?'

    'If
Markham had medical records in front of him, they won't have belonged to Glass.
He's too careful for that. He doesn’t make mistakes.'

    We
both went quiet and I pressed Play again.

    'Everything
after that was a lie,' Markham said on-screen. 'But I did it to protect Sue. I couldn't
bear the thought of him hurting her. He kept calling me, saying he'd do all
these unspeakable things to her — slice her, and stab her, and cut her. In the
days after he first came to my office, I tried to fight back. I tried to find
him. But he knew what I was doing; he was watching me the whole time. And I
couldn't find a trace of him. Nothing. His medical records were a sham. His
mobile phone number was untraceable.' He looked around him. 'He doesn’t even
seem to own this shitty house he makes me live in. And about three or four days
after he came to see me that first time, just to prove he was
really
in
charge, he called me and made me listen to her begging for her life.'

    A
long pause. We waited for Markham to continue.

    'I
was scared of him, and he knew it. He'd play on it. I'd come back to this house
and he would have made tiny adjustments to it, swapped my things around, just
to show me he'd been inside. He'd leave new toys on the windowsill, or adjust
the position of the mannequins, or leave rubber masks attached to their faces.
One time, he left Sue's blouse in the middle of the living room, with blood all
over it. That was when I really got scared.'

    He
sniffed. Shifted in his seat. I glanced at Healy and saw him slowly rubbing his
fingers and thumb together again. This time it wasn't his craving for nicotine;
it was the air of inevitability settling around us. The dread and anticipation
that the worst was yet to come. Healy was about to have his heart ripped out.

    'So I
took three of them,' Markham said, looking up into the camera. Beside me, I
felt Healy bristle. 'He told me who he wanted me to take, and I took them.
Because the alternative was him killing Sue. I was… I just didn't

    Another
pause. I turned to look at Healy again. He saw the movement. I could see his
eyes flick in my direction and then back to the screen.

    'You
don't have to watch this,' I said.

    'I
do.'

    'I
can watch it and tell you what you need to know.'

    'I'm
watching it,' he said, teeth gritted.

    On-screen,
Markham repositioned himself. He wasn't a man used to this kind of thing. Even
as his eyes filled with tears there was a strange kind of reticence to him, as
if he was frightened by everything he was feeling.

    Then
he started again: 'I had a lot of guilt left over after Sue and I divorced. The
way she went downhill so fast.' A pause. 'I mean, I had her
committed.
Who commits their own
wife
?' He stopped for a second time. 'And then,
when she got out, I didn't even contact her. I didn't know what I was supposed
to say. I couldn't face her. Couldn't deal with her. And I guess he used that.
He played on that. He used all the guilt, and made me think I'd never get the
chance to say sorry.'

    Healy
shook his head. I could smell the sweat on him now.

    'So I
took Leanne.'

    As
Markham spoke her name a subtle change passed across Healy's face and I
realized something: he hurt too deeply to ever get over what he was about to be
told. He could get his vengeance, but it would never repair the hole left
behind. All the frustration, all the aggression, all the violence to come —
ultimately it meant nothing.

    'He
must have first picked me out through the youth club,' Markham said. 'He must
have been watching that place - watching Leanne and Megan — and seen me there
on a Monday. I had a good relationship with both of them. I suppose they
trusted me. I mean…' He stopped. "Why wouldn't they?'

    I
glanced at Healy. He was absolutely still.

    'He
called Leanne my practice run. I had to make her think I wanted to be with her.
Then I had to take her to the woods and give her to him. He told me that if I
got found out, if I left anything for anyone to find, he would cut me adrift,
and I would never see my wife again.' Markham looked away for a moment. 'So
that's what I did. I made Leanne think I liked her. I forced myself into her
life. And then, when I had her fooled, I just… fed her to him.'

    'Healy,'
I said.

    'It
stays on.'

    'You
can —'

    'It
stays
on
,' he spat, turning to face me. In the dull light, something
shimmered in one of his eyes. And then he fixed his gaze back on the television
as Markham got up from his seat. He sniffed, walked past the camera — and
everything turned to black.

    A
second later, it started again.

    He
moved from behind the camera and headed back to his seat. This time he appeared
more composed. 'I got the sense Megan was more important to him than Leanne. I
don't know why - that was just what it felt like. He planned everything out for
Leanne, but he seemed to be even more meticulous with Megan. Maybe it was just
that

    Leanne
was easier to get at. She wasn't very bright and she'd had a disrupted home
life. Her mother was having an affair, and her father was never around.'

    I
glanced at Healy. Nothing.

    'Megan
was different. She had wealthy parents, and with wealth comes resources. If she
disappeared, they'd use that wealth. They'd use all of it if it meant finding
her. Leanne, I just got for him. But Megan came with a set of ground rules.'

    I
looked at Healy again. Sweat had soaked through his shirt, under his arms, at
his collar. He turned to me, face blank. 'What Does he mean by "ground
rules"?'

    'I
think he means the London Conservation Trust,' I said, pushing Pause on the
VCR. 'Glass set that up to make himself untraceable. He used bogus newsletters
to hide messages in, and the site to give her details of meetings. She thought
it was all being sent from Markham - but it wasn't. It was Glass.'

    'And
Megan didn't think it was a bit weird?'

    I
shrugged. 'Maybe. But remember, Markham was nearly twenty years older than her.
In fact, technically, she wasn't even an adult yet. Glass probably told him to
play on that, made Markham tell her that he had a public- facing job and
couldn't risk any controversy. Markham must have ended up convincing her that
it was safer to use the LCT as cover until she turned eighteen — and then they
could tell people about their relationship.'

    'What
the hell was she thinking?'

    'He
was the first guy she ever fell in love with. Her friend said she'd never been
that way about anyone in her life. She just got swept away by it.'

    'They
never spoke on the phone?'

    'I
doubt Glass allowed Markham to communicate with Megan in any other form but the
LCT No other emails. No messaging. No phone calls. Nothing traceable. Only face
to face at the youth club and via the website. I mean, what would be the point
of going to the trouble of setting up the LCT if they had each other's mobile
number?'

    Healy
shook his head, reached forward and pushed Play.

    'It
was going okay with Megan,' Markham continued, his voice beginning to wobble.
'I'd managed to convince her that what I felt was genuine, like I had with
Leanne. And once she started to believe me, it became easier to fool her about
things like the website.' A pause. Another finger brushed his face, this time
closer to his eye. 'But then the boy turned up at my door, shouting and
threatening me and…' He seemed to shrink a little. 'I know it sounds stupid,
but I think the things he said to me hurt more than anything anyone's ever said
to me in my life. To be called a pervert, a paedophile…'

    Markham
looked down into his lap. Sniffed. Silence descended on-screen. Healy glanced
at me. 'Is he talking about the Bryant kid?'

    I
nodded. 'Charlie, yeah.'

    'How
did the kid know about Markham?'

    I
remembered something Kaitlin said to me about Charlie
.
He was, like,
in love with Megan. Totally in love with her. Sometimes he'd go over the top and
creep us all out… He'd follow her around
.

    'He
must have been watching her,' I said. 'He must have gone to tell Markham to
stay away from Megan.

    Charlie
was jealous. But by then it was too late. Megan was in love with Markham — or,
at least, the idea of him.'

    Markham
cleared his throat, the sound distorting through the speakers on the TV. 'Maybe
he was right about me. Maybe I
was
a pervert.' He cleared his throat a
second time. Then, as he spoke again, his voice started to tremor. 'It was an
accident
,' he said quietly. 'It was just an accident. She was supposed to
be on the pill.'

    Healy
looked at me. 'Do you think the Bryant kid knew?'