What She Saw (35 page)

92

8.57 P.M.

A
s Alec Finn turned the corner into Bream Street, the car he thought was tailing him followed. He pulled up at the main gate of the school and watched in his wing mirror as a man hurried from the car. Alec kept his window up, his instincts twitching.

‘DS Corrigan, London Met. Who are you?' The man appeared at his window and flashed a warrant card.

‘Alec Finn, site manager. Are you responding to the burglar alarm?'

‘Yeah, in a manner of speaking, we are.'

Alec glanced at Corrigan's car and was surprised to see uniformed officers in an unmarked car.

‘We're looking for three missing children.'

‘Well, they won't be in the school.'

‘How can you be so sure, Mr Finn?'

‘There'll be no one in the school. The burglar alarm system's rubbish. It's brand new and I've been called out most nights. Cowboy job.' Alec got out of his car. ‘I'll show you.'

On the way to the door, he asked, ‘Who are the kids?'

‘Macy Conner—'

‘Macy Conner? No! She's a good kid, my little helper.'

‘Chester Adler and a two year old, Luke Booth.'

‘Chester's a head case.'

He keyed in the security code on the electronic gate and Corrigan squeezed through. Finn followed him towards the main door of the school and the uniformed officers came after them.

‘You've not seen it on TV?' Corrigan asked.

‘I only watch the sport these days.' He turned a key in the mortise lock. ‘Macy's my little pal.' Finn became visibly upset. He pushed the door open.

Corrigan's mobile rang out and, on the first ring, he picked up.

‘Corrigan, it's Gold. Macy Conner's just sent the boss a text. She's scared to death. They're hiding in Brockley Cemetery, just behind Crofton Park. Rosen's ordered half the teams off the streets and you're to get back there now!'

‘Are they safe?'

‘Chester Adler's caved the baby's head in with a rock.'

Corrigan sprinted back. ‘Brockley Cemetery!' he called to the officers running behind him. ‘Sirens on.'

‘What's happening?' asked Finn. ‘Is it bad news?'

But no one replied.

Finn stepped into the school and, approaching the system's control panel, was surprised by what he saw. Instead of the usual chaotic flashing on and off of lights, there were just two lights activated: the school hall and the corridor.

Finn keyed in the code to deactivate the alarm and all went quiet. Even the sounds of the siren vanished.

From the large bunch of keys on his hip, Alec Finn opened the door onto the corridor.
Stay where you are and call the police
, said a voice inside him, but in the next breath the same voice said,
And wait here until after midnight for the police to show up!
It was the useless, lousy security system, nothing more, nothing less.

He stepped into the pitch-black corridor. Monday morning, he'd have sharp words with Mrs Price.

Reaching for the wall light, he felt a heavy blow to the side of his head, a blow that made him spin round as he fell to the floor. A foot connected with his head as he reached the ground, the same foot that then stamped deftly on the back of his skull.

As his senses faded towards unconsciousness, he saw the shape of a human being, a silhouette that belonged to the fabric of the darkness. And then his vision failed as his body shut down. The words,
The eye is the believer. The eye is the deceiver
followed him into the void, a voice neither male nor female, young nor old.

Darkness.

A hand reached down, unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his trousers. The bunch of keys fell to the floor. One hand picked up the keys and the other tossed the blood-stained rock, up and down, in the darkness.

Throwing, catching, throwing, catching.

The rock was wet now, and had hairs stuck to it.

The rock fell onto Mr Finn's inanimate form.

We can always add her flesh to the fire and drive her spirit into the underworld for the rest of time
. The voice of Ash.

Do you want that for your grandmother?
The voice of Oak.

Macy headed towards the boiler room, sorting through each of the keys until she found the right one.

Don't forget to make your next phone call!
Oak's voice was thick and angry.

Call Rosen! Call Rosen!
sang Ash, a jolly nursery rhyme.

She unlocked the door to the stairs leading down to the boiler room.

The boiler room door opened. The gentle hum of electricity cables.

She switched on the light and headed for the cupboard where Mr Finn kept his emergency supply of petrol.

93

9.20 P.M.

I
n Brockley Cemetery, Rosen and Bellwood stood at the crossroads of Blythe Route 1 and stared down the grey path lined with Victorian headstones. On either side of the path, overgrown vegetation and ivy-choked trees surrounded forgotten graves. It was the ideal place in which to get lost at night.

Rosen had sealed off the area around Crofton Park, diverting all incoming traffic and flooding the park and Brockley Cemetery with officers as they arrived.

Within a minute of searching, a voice drifted towards Rosen like a whisper from one of the bodies buried beneath his feet.

‘No sign of them, no sign of anything. . .'

An uneasy knowledge dawned on Rosen. She'd manipulated him again and, in turn, he had misled dozens of police officers under his authority. He pictured himself facing the corner of the incident room with a dunce's hat on his head while more competent people got on with their work.

Corrigan walked directly towards him. ‘It looks like they're not here, boss.'

‘Did you get as far as the school?' asked Rosen.

‘I ran into the site manager when we went to check it out. The alarm
was ringing. The site manager put it down to a bum system, newly installed. We were about to go in with him. . .' A look of complete sickness spread across Corrigan's face.

The school, a place of security for her.

‘She saw you coming, from inside the school,' said Rosen. ‘And she sent a text to me to draw you away. Everyone together, together
now
, Corrigan.'

As he ran to his car, Rosen scrolled down his phone for the Pan London Supervisor and was quickly connected.

‘DCI Rosen speaking. I need to order out the hostage and crisis negotiation unit. Bream Street Primary School, Lewisham. There are three children in there and one adult.'

‘Is the adult holding the children?' asked the operator.

‘No, the adult's probably dead by now.'

Rosen got into his car and drew a deep breath as he made his next call, a follow-up call to one he'd made earlier that day.

‘It's DCI Rosen.'

‘Doug Price. CO19. Central Firearms. Where are the kids, David?'

As Bellwood folded herself into the passenger seat, Rosen said, ‘Bream Street Primary.'

‘I know it,' replied Price.

Rosen closed down the call and turned the key in the ignition.

‘She sent me a text,' said Rosen. He sped around the corner, others already following. ‘I should've known better.' He was up to fifty mph. ‘She sent me a text because of the alarm ringing out. If she'd called, I'd have heard it. Corrigan was there!'

‘David, don't beat yourself up. Focus. Come on.'

On the dashboard, Rosen's phone rang. On the display: Stevie. He took a deep breath and connected the call.

‘DCI Rosen speaking.'

‘You're in your car.'

‘Hello, Macy. It's nice to hear from you.'

‘Are you driving fast to catch me?'

‘I don't know where you are. I thought you were at the cemetery.'

‘Not just yet.'

‘Where are you, Macy?'

‘I've come to school.'

‘School.' Rosen echoed her last word slowly.

‘Schoooool,' she echoed back. ‘Who's with you?'

‘Carol Bellwood.'

‘Hello, Carol.'

‘Hello,' replied Bellwood. ‘You all right, love?'

‘Yeah. No. You?'

‘I'd be better if I could see you.'

‘Well, that's not going to happen, Carol. Sorry.'

‘So, I've got Carol here with me,' said Rosen. ‘Who's there with you?'

Silence.

‘Well. . . quite a few people, but not enough.'

‘Quite a few people but not enough? That's a good riddle,' said Rosen.

‘Can you work it out, Mr Rosen?'

He repeated the riddle and said, ‘Let me think about it. Macy?' He listened to the background in a moment of quiet. She was walking in a large space, her footsteps echoing. He blocked the phone with his hand and whispered to Bellwood, ‘Find out where the school hall is in relation to the front of the building.'

‘You sent me a text, told me you were in the cemetery?'

‘I wasn't lying.'

‘You're a girl who sticks to the truth, Macy. Miss Harvey told me that.'

‘It's not lying, it's a game.' Rising anxiety filtered through her speech and he heard unshed tears bottled up in a tangled maze of pain and terror.

‘I see what you mean, Macy. It's a game, it's not lying.'

At a junction, he slowed for a red light, crawled past it. All clear, he powered back to fourth gear.

‘You're driving very quickly, Mr Rosen, I can hear your engine. You're breaking the speed limit. Am I right?'

‘You're a clever girl, Macy. Very observant. I'm not breaking the rules. I'm just very keen to see you. I'm joining in the game.'

‘I think you're driving at sixty miles an hour, you haven't turned your siren on and your heart is beating very fast.'

‘It's as if you're sitting in the passenger seat beside me.'

‘I wish I was.'

‘Well, why don't we do that?'

‘They won't have it.'

‘Who won't have it, Macy? Tell me. They're no match for me. I'll tell them.'

‘It's not that simple. I wish I was. . .'

‘With me, in the car?'

‘Yeah. But if I got into your car, you'd have to drive me to the police station and lock me up for a long, long time. But I would love to sit next to you, Mr Rosen.'

‘I think we need to get to the bottom of this, don't you, Macy?'

‘You're driving too fast, Mr Rosen. Slow down.'

‘I can help you.'

‘You can't help me. That's not the way this works.' Rosen picked up speed, sixty-five, seventy mph. ‘You're the hunter and I am your prey. You are here to hunt me down and you would kill me if it meant saving the life of another human being. Think about it, Mr Rosen.' Her speech shifted and thickened.

‘Who am I speaking to?'

‘I we is Macy Conner. Have you ever been directly responsible for the death of a child?'

He felt his skin tighten into goose bumps.

‘No, I've not done that.'

‘How would that play out in your dreams, Rosen? How about the wide-awake hour at two o'clock in the morning? Did you know that's the hour when many people decide to end it all? You want to sit next to me?'

‘Sit next to you, yes.'

He slowed down to thirty mph. Rosen and Bellwood, at the head of a convoy, were within striking distance of Bream Street Primary School.

‘How about?' said Rosen.

‘How about. . .?' she repeated.

‘We play I-spy.'

‘OK.'

‘You first, Macy.'

‘I spy. . . with my little eye. . .' Fifteen miles an hour and pulling up to the front elevation of the school. ‘. . . something beginning with M.'

‘Macy?' Rosen tried.

‘Yes but no.'

‘I can't think,' he pushed.

‘Mr Finn, the most important person in the school. Though I can't see him now. He's on the roof. We carried him there. M. I know. Monster. Me. Me monster.'

‘You love the truth, Macy. And that's just not true.'

‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with C.'

‘Chester,' said Rosen.

‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with L.'

‘Luke. Can I talk to them?' he asked.

‘No.'

‘Can I at least hear their voices?'

‘Yes. No. Are they dead or alive? That's what you're thinking, isn't it, Mr Rosen? Well, how about this for a good idea. I can't hear your engine. But I think you're right outside school. Why don't you find out for yourself? Come rescue little Macy from herself. Come into the school. Stop her doing the dreadful things she is about to do.'

In his wing mirror, Rosen saw Gold's car pulling up after him.

‘I can't come into the school by myself.'

‘Do you want to speak to Chester?'

A door opened and the sound of sobbing hit Rosen, a young child, terrified and begging, ‘Mummy, Mummy.'

‘Put the towel in his mouth and come here, Chester. I'm sick of the sound of his crying,' Macy screamed.

The sobs and pleas subsided into enforced silence.

‘The policeman wants to talk to you. Talk to the policeman, Chester.' Calm now. Polite.

A pause that felt eternal was finally broken when a babyish voice piped, ‘Hello?'

‘Chester?'

‘We've got the little kid. And we've got Mr Finn.'

‘Whereabouts in the school are you?'

There was the sound of a struggle, the phone being snatched from Chester's hand.

‘Macy?'

‘She's not here.'

‘Then where is she?'

‘She's in grief.'

‘For her grandmother?'

‘She died in the early hours.'

‘Then who am I speaking to?'

‘I am Ash and I am Oak, the eye. . . is. . .'

‘The eye is the believer? The eye is the deceiver?'

‘You've arrived. At the school. And the truth.'