Local Gone Missing(64)

Charlie shoved his fist in his mouth as Bram drove off. It would take a couple of hundred yards before his tire went flat and the truck listed over. He wished he could see Bram leaping out and swearing but he had to get on. He was still grinning at the thought as he crept round to the back door of his house. Until he realized he’d left the phones in the caravan.

He knelt just inside the front door of the house, watching through the letter box and praying for Pauline to leave before she saw them. It appeared God had been listening when Charlie saw her drive off in the Jag twenty minutes later. But as he opened the door of the house to go and retrieve the mobiles, Dee’s car pulled up and he quickly ducked back in.

Charlie watched her from the hall window as she walked to the door of the caravan. Her dark hair was swinging. Just like Birdie’s. And he was back at the festival. And the face that loomed out of the darkness and he’d felt icy fingers clutching at his heart. Everything from that night was slick with terror. He sat down on the floor and tried to breathe deeply.

Pull yourself together, for Christ’s sake.

But the icy fingers twitched again when he heard the letter box flap open. Dee was at the door of the house. He tried to hold his breath but the panicked wheeze from deep in his lungs threatened to explode into a coughing fit. The flap clattered down before he was exposed and he heard Dee go back to the caravan.

Ten minutes later, the door slammed and he heard his cleaner roar off in her car without locking up. Bloody hell, what is going on? He crept across the drive and inched the door open. Nothing.

She’s probably just late for her next job, he told himself. This whole situation was making him paranoid. He needed to calm down.

And his breathing was slowing after he collected his phone from behind the cushions and picked up the other one in the kitchen. But when he turned it on, there was an old message waiting there. Hello, mate. Why aren’t you picking up?

He turned the phone off, stuffed it in the holdall, and searched for his passport in the drawer. He needed to keep his options open. Charlie had originally planned to meet Bennett in London to keep his new life in Ebbing secret but there was no point now. Bennett was already here. And if things didn’t work out as he hoped, he might have to disappear properly for a bit. He would stash the bag in the shed just in case he had to leave fast. He just had to hold his nerve.

Charlie went back up to his office and sat at his laptop. He e-mailed Addison1999 first: “Meet me at six fifteen tonight in the car park for the coastal footpath a mile out of Ebbing on the Portsmouth road. I’ll wait half an hour.”

The second e-mail was to Birdie, in case it all went wrong, begging her forgiveness for letting her down. He hoped he wouldn’t have to send it as he saved it to Drafts and packed his computer.

At six o’clock, when the crowds of day-trippers and weekenders started heading back to London, he picked up his bag and walked slowly down the stairs. He had an appointment to keep.





Forty-seven


SUNDAY, AUGUST 25, 2019



Four days earlier





Kevin


Kevin had been crouching behind a tree, watching for what felt like an age. He’d been asking himself what the hell he was doing when he heard a click, like a door closing somewhere. He waited, trying to control his breath, an angry pulse beating in his temple. But all he could hear were the tiny sounds of something moving through undergrowth. A rat suddenly emerged into the sunshine. Fucking vermin. He punched the tree. But behind the rat came a shambling figure, glancing from side to side, stooping low and moving fast.

The adrenaline pumped Kevin upright like an inflatable doll. “I think we need a word, Charlie,” he hissed when he’d closed the gap between them.

Charlie looked like he might die on the spot but quickly recovered himself. “My dear man.” Charlie tried the shtick he must have been using successfully for years.

Kevin laughed and Charlie looked even closer to death.

“You can cut that out now. You’re as fake as that accent. You never went to Harrow, did you? You’re a con man. Now, where’s the money?”

“There’s a slight hiccup on that front,” Charlie said, his eyes darting about, and Kevin wondered if he was going to make a run for it. He’d probably done it before but that must have been when he’d been young and fit. He wouldn’t even make the caravan now.

“I bet there is,” Kevin said, and strong-armed him into the nearest shed. “What have you done with it, Charlie?”

Kevin stood blocking the door and the light so Charlie couldn’t see his face. “How much is in the company account?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I’m waiting for a client repayment as we speak. If you’ll just be patient for another couple of days—”

“No, that won’t be happening. You need to show me the account now.”

“My dear . . . Kevin. How can I do that? We’re standing in a shed in the dark.”

“Give me your phone! And where is your laptop?”

“Laptop?”

Kevin slapped Charlie’s face. It shocked both of them. And breached the last pretense that this was going to end in a handshake.

“There’s no need for that,” Charlie said, handing over his phone and feeling his cheek.

“There’s every need. You need to understand that we’re not going to be scammed. We know who you really are.”