Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(100)

61

Jake enjoyed looking through the rock pools with Myra. Even though she was really old—her hair was white and her face covered in deep wrinkles—she was cool and funny, and she knew a lot about sea creatures.

They’d found a long eel floating in the depths of the deepest rock pool, lazily pumping water through its gills, and she’d managed to catch it. She held it up for him while he took a photo and peered at its large eyes and teeth. The only thing he thought gross was when she’d pulled the shell of a mussel off the side of the rock and asked if he would like to try it.

“What? Eat it?” he’d said.

“Yes! You won’t get fresher . . . When I was a girl, this was the highlight of a trip to the seaside.”

“Eating that thing that looks like snot and earwax rolled together?”

“Yup.”

Myra put the shell to her mouth, and with a slurp she’d eaten it.

“Yuck!” he cried.

She smiled. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you?” she said, pulling another huge mussel from a seaweed-covered rock. It twitched in her grip, and he grinned and shook his head.

“I dare you to eat it,” she said.

“How much do you dare me?”

“I’m not a gambling woman, but for you I’ll bet a couple of Mr Kipling’s fondant fancies?”

“If I eat that, I’ll be barfing up fondant fancies all night!”

He screamed when she ate it, and Myra laughed and rinsed her hands in the water. The wind was getting up now, and Jake could see gray clouds rolling toward them from the horizon.

“Where’s your mother got to?” asked Myra. Jake looked back up at the house. He shrugged. “Why don’t you go and see where she is, and I’ll go back up to the shop and see if I can find you a bodyboard to practice your surfing?”

“Okay!” he said.

Jake hurried off up the beach, through the dunes, and up the sandy cliff to the back door. The house was eerily quiet when he came inside. There were books all over the living room floor, and the big china bowl on the coffee table was broken. Then he heard a funny noise by the front door. Like thick tape being undone.

He moved through the living room and into the hall. Kate lay limp on her back in the hallway, and she had a bloodied nose. Her wrists were bound together with masking tape. A huge red-haired man was bending over her and fastening her feet together with the tape. Jake put his hand over his mouth to suppress a scream. The man stopped and fixed his eyes on him. Jake couldn’t move.

“The boy,” the man said in a raspy whisper. He smiled; his lips were large and wet, and he had huge teeth. He looked like a creepy clown. He stood up and he towered over Jake. He took a flick knife from his back pocket.

“If you scream, I’ll slice your mother’s tits off and feed them to you,” he said. His voice low and even. “I killed the policeman outside. Pushed this knife into his ear and BAM!” The huge blade popped out. It was long, sharp, and silver. Jake felt his legs start to tremble uncontrollably. “So stay quiet, and do what I say, okay, Jake?”

Jake’s top lip trembled, and he nodded. He started to cry.

“Don’t cry,” said the man, reaching over. Jake flinched as he stroked his hair with the edge of the blade. “You are the golden child. Do you know how much I wish I could be you? And you look like your father, and your mother.” He ran the edge of the blade down Jake’s cheek, and he felt the cold metal brush his skin. Fear and terror suddenly overtook him, and he yelled out.

The man clamped his free hand over Jake’s mouth and pushed him up against the wall, holding the blade against his throat. It felt cold.

“You are making this difficult, you little cunt . . . If you scream, I’ll do what I said to your mother, I mean it, do you hear me?” he said.

His voice was soft and menacing and seemed to curl around Jake’s ears like smoke.

“Where’s that old woman? Answer me, quietly.”

“She, she . . . she went to her house,” Jake whispered. He saw out of the corner of his eye Kate stirring a little, her eyes fluttering.

“You have the same eyes,” said the man, studying his face. “The sunburst in your left eye.”

Jake flinched as the man took the knife away from his throat. The man then put his hand in his back pocket, took out a neat square of cotton. He leaned close. Jake could smell his breath, horrible and acidic. His body now shook uncontrollably, and he felt his shorts and legs warm with urine.

“Jake. You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve planned for this. I’ve got such a surprise for you,” the man said.

He clamped the cloth over Jake’s mouth and nose, pushing his head back against the wall. Jake smelled sharp, strong chemicals, and his vision flooded with red and then black, and then he was unconscious.



Joseph Castle-Meads had parked the van directly outside Kate’s front door. He loaded Kate and Jake into the back. He lingered a moment, crouching beside them. He put his hand to Kate’s face and felt her breathing, then touched Jake’s face. Mother and son together. He’d seen them on the beach, and he envied their close bond.

His own mother had been a chilly, distant presence when he was growing up. His parents had always been more concerned about their position in society, in his father’s legal career, than their children. He had been packed off to a brutal boarding school at an early age and forgotten. When he did see his parents, he had to fight for their attention.