SEVENTY-FOUR

‘Hare knew about Jessica’s tattoo,’ Thorne said. ‘He mentioned it one night when I was in the pub . . . the big “mein host” act, telling me what a lovely girl she was. The tattoo wasn’t in a place he could possibly have known about unless . . . ’ He stopped and reached out to steady himself against the dash as the Land Rover accelerated into a tight corner. In the absence of blues and twos, Helen was improvising; hazards flashing, lights on full beam and the horn blaring any time she approached a bend.

‘He could have heard about it from almost anyone,’ Helen said. ‘The girl’s tattoo.’

‘What?’

‘Come on, you know what this place is like for gossip.’ She glanced at him. ‘Look, I know you’re right, OK? I’m just making the points any decent defence counsel’s going to make.’

Thorne nodded, happy enough to reel off the other reasons he was convinced that Trevor Hare was the man they were looking for. ‘He’s an ex-copper, so he knows all about DNA and how to hide it. He knows about bugs and time of death, he knows the conclusions that Cornish and his team are going to jump to. He was as good as involved in this case from the kick-off, getting info from all the coppers in the pub, feeding them stuff when it suited him. He went to them at the very beginning to admit that those girls’ DNA would be all over his car.’

‘Hiding in plain sight,’ Helen said.

They drew close behind a car whose driver seemed unimpressed with the flashing lights behind him. Cursing, Helen leaned on the horn then swerved to accelerate past.

‘More than that,’ Thorne said. ‘Like he was flaunting it. The alibi he’d given himself for the day Jessica Toms was taken, sitting up there on the wall of his pub. Easy enough to get any old fish stuffed and mounted and any date you fancy inscribed on it. Easy enough for him to get that fag-end as well. Steve Bates smoking in the pub garden, Hare empties the ashtray out at the end of the night, piece of cake. Oh, and let’s not forget that Patterson’s dog knew him well, so not a problem for Hare to go to the farm and steal that piglet.’

‘He knew Bates,’ Helen said. ‘That’s the most important thing.’

‘Yeah, he knew exactly who to set up. Innocent or not, Bates has certainly got the right . . . tastes.’

They were driving north, roaring through the same small villages they had passed five days earlier, and finally on to narrow unlit roads; darkness beyond the treeline and a layer of dirty pink on the horizon. This time there was no diversion to add unwelcome time to the journey. ‘Another ten minutes,’ Helen said. ‘Maybe less . . . then depending on how far off-road we can take the car, maybe another five on foot.’

‘That’s OK,’ Thorne said. He was shifting in his seat, growing increasingly agitated. ‘We don’t want him to hear us coming anyway.’

There was still water on the road, the Land Rover’s wheels spraying the hedges and dry-stone walls. A lone dog-walker with a torch waved and shouted as the car sped in her direction, turning at the last moment to try to avoid the deluge.

‘Shit,’ Thorne said. ‘Torch.’

‘There might be one in the boot.’

‘This is half-arsed.’ Thorne shook his head. ‘I’m half-arsed. I’m half-arsed and I’m an idiot.’ Helen jumped a little next to him as he slammed his hand on the dash. ‘Doesn’t matter that I know it’s Hare, because there’s no more evidence on him than there is on Bates, and he knows that. Less, if anything. So of course he has to kill the girl.’ He slammed his hand down again. ‘Idiot . . . ’

‘You said that, Tom.’

‘Why the hell didn’t I try and take him the right way? Why didn’t I call for back-up and wait? Go in there mob-handed, job done.’

‘We’re not far away—’

‘Why didn’t I at least just march in there and pull him straight over the bar?’ Helen slowed, then braked hard and reversed quickly until the Land Rover’s headlamps lit up a decent-sized gap in the wall. ‘Because the sad truth is I wanted to . . . enjoy it.’

Helen pointed and talked fast. ‘The road swings all the way around, right? It’s another five miles or so, but if we go across country I reckon we can take a few minutes off. It’s what the car’s for.’

She had put the car into gear before Thorne had finished nodding.

Hare closed the hatch quickly behind him, shushing her as he came carefully down the steps. They were steep and running with the water that had come pouring in while the hatch was open. He kept the torch pointed at his feet until he was safely down.

Then he turned it on the girl.

Still screaming, Poppy pressed herself back against the wall as he got closer.

He said, ‘Yes, I should have thought about the tape coming off, shouldn’t I? Got wet, did it?’ He nodded in answer to his own question. ‘Now, I bet it’s been a lot nicer not having that stuck over your mouth, hasn’t it?’ He winced at the screaming, waited until she paused to take a breath. ‘I can easily put it back on, so it’s up to you. You stop making that terrible noise and we can leave things as they are. Or I have to put the tape over your mouth again and I really don’t want to do that.’

He waited, cocked his head one way and then the other; will you, won’t you? He smiled when it became clear that she was not going to scream any more.

He stepped closer and crouched down next to her, watching her eyes screw tightly shut when he shone the torch in her face. He looked at her for a while, then reached out. She flinched when he touched her hair, her head cracking against the brick.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’d be angry too, and I’m sorry, but I couldn’t get here any sooner. I wanted to, I promise. God, you’ve got no idea how much I wanted to come and see you, but things were a bit tricky and it was impossible to get away. Did you feel abandoned? Did you think I didn’t want to be with you any more? Oh, Pops, that’s so silly . . . ’

He stood up and took off his jacket. He used the torch to locate the nail he’d banged into the wall months before, and hung it up. He crouched down again and shivered theatrically.

‘Look, I know that on a magic island, you and me would be in a nice hotel somewhere. There’d be a lovely soft bed and we’d have an expensive meal and some nice wine, which I would have been more than happy to shell out for, by the way. But beggars can’t be choosers, can they, so we’ll just have to make the best out of a bad lot.’ He reached out again and this time, when he laid his fingers against her cheek, she turned her head quickly and tried to bite him, the hand that was not shackled reaching up to try and scratch.

He pulled back fast and stood up. He walked back to where his jacket was hanging.

‘Oh, that’s fine, too,’ he said. ‘Yeah, we can do it like that, if you prefer. Like you don’t actually want it and I’m making you. Like you don’t really love me.’ He nodded and reached into one of the jacket pockets. In the darkness behind him, he could hear her kicking her feet and thrashing at the chain. ‘It’ll be like a fantasy kind of thing, like a game.’

He turned. ‘It’ll be fun.’

She began to scream again as soon as she saw the knife.

They left the Land Rover at the edge of Pretty Pigs Pool and walked.

There was no torch to be found in the car, but a sliver of moon helped and as they made their way through the waterlogged field that sloped away towards the woods, they used the light from their phones whenever it began to feel treacherous underfoot.

Helen led the way, pointing and hissing instructions. Their feet were sinking with each step; an inch or two one moment, a foot or more the next, water soaking their jeans up beyond the knees.

‘You OK?’ Thorne asked.

Ahead of him, Helen nodded and pressed on towards the trees below as quickly as she was able. Thorne could not remember seeing her so determined, so focused. A drive so at odds with how he knew she must be feeling about the place they were trying to find.

‘It’s not far,’ she said. ‘This is the worst bit.’

A few minutes later they had reached the treeline, and though there were a few more inches of water underfoot, the ground itself was firmer and progress was quicker.

Helen moved through the woods as though she had made the journey every day of her life. She stepped easily around the dark trees and chose paths without thinking. Struggling a little to keep up, Thorne could not help but imagine her coming here as a young teenager.

Being led here.

Saying he was sorry . . . still sweating while he tucked his shirt back in . . .

Like Thorne wasn’t fired up enough already . . .

After a few minutes, Helen stopped and waited for Thorne to catch up. She pointed to a clearing a hundred yards or so away. Thorne could see nothing at first, only the absence of trees, then as they stepped slowly closer, he could make out the stumps of brick columns, like uneven teeth. The footprint of a small building.

‘Why the hell didn’t they search here?’ Helen whispered.

‘It was probably under a foot of water,’ Thorne said. ‘Anyway, from what you’ve told me, you’d never know there was anything here. Anything underneath, I mean.’

‘I knew,’ Helen said. ‘I should have thought, I should have said something.’

Thorne took hold of her wrist as they drew closer. ‘Listen. You’ve got nothing to blame yourself for, not a thing. If Poppy Johnston’s dead, only one of us is responsible, and it’s not you.’

In silence they covered the last few feet and stepped across the ragged stone perimeter on to what was left of the concrete floor. There was virtually no water gathered now, though a few puddles in uneven parts of the floor and scattered lumps of sodden timber made it clear that there had been up until very recently. Thorne turned on his phone, switched on the flashlight app and looked around.

He saw the trapdoor straight away. The metal hasp was pulled back and a large padlock had been tossed to one side. Several sheets of corrugated iron and heavy beams that had presumably been used to disguise its existence were lying nearby.

He raised the phone and passed the light across Helen’s face.

She nodded and took a step closer, her chest rising and falling fast beneath her jacket.

Thorne felt the first spatter of rain on his face as he crouched down. Dry-mouthed, he licked at a drop, but it could not wash away the taste of metal in his mouth.

He opened the trapdoor quickly and got to his feet, shone the light from his phone into the blackness. Helen moved across to join him and both of them peered down, their hands over noses and mouths to block the sickening stench that rose from below. There were only steps, cobwebs, water dripping from the edges of the hatch.

Then the voice of Trevor Hare from somewhere in the dark.

‘That’ll be Tom, I presume. Got your mate with you, I’m guessing.’ A figure stepped across to the bottom of the steps and Thorne was immediately dazzled by a torch rather more powerful than his own. ‘Oh, no, I’m wrong, you’ve brought your better half.’

A scream filled the pause. ‘I’m here. I’m down here.’

Hare said, ‘Why don’t the pair of you come down and join the party?’