I Am Watching You(77)

She is trying to scream but there is something over her mouth. Flesh. The smell of sweat. She tries to bite into the flesh but cannot open her jaw. She puts up her left hand to her head. A terrible pain. Blood on her hand as she puts it back down, still trying to move his hand from her mouth.

All the time he is saying things over and over. Mad things. That she is safe with him. Only him.

His voice, muddled and mad. And dreadful. That she needs to let him look after her. Watch over her. That it was much better when they were children. Easier to keep her safe when they were children . . .

She tries to crawl. That brass letterbox.

And then she hears a new sound, a sort of lashing through the air. He has grabbed at something from the coat hooks to their left. For just a second his hold on her is loosened. She lunges forward. The door. The latch. Please . . .

But there is something around her throat now, pulling her back. The smell of leather. Then a new pain. Much worse.

She can’t breathe. Choking, choking. She puts her hands to her neck. Tries to squeeze her fingers between the belt and her flesh.

She sees pictures suddenly, all swimming and changing and blurring. Her dad in the car. You disgust me. Primroses on the lane at home. Sammy, the dog – his head turned to look at her.

She is fighting and squeezing with her fingers. Trying so desperately to get back to them.

Her mother in the kitchen. The smell of cinnamon. Plum slices. Ready, Anna . . .

Squeezing, squeezing with her fingers.

Her father with Sammy on the lane. Walking back to the house. Ruffling her hair. Primroses for Mummy . . .

She is calling out to them, to all of them in turn, but they cannot hear her. Instead, this terrible gurgling in her throat. Pain in her chest. Still she fights and fights and fights . . .

Cartwheels on the lawn. Jenny smiling at her. Sammy yapping at her heels . . .

Please. She has to fight. She has to tell her father that she loves him really. She has to get back to them.

Please.





CHAPTER 47


THE WITNESS

‘I’m telling you he was in Scotland.’ Mrs Ballard is just muttering. ‘I saw a picture on Facebook. Tim in Scotland. You’re wrong . . .’

I am staring at Matthew, bile suddenly in my mouth.

‘Tim has been devastated over Anna. He has always adored her . . .’ Mrs Ballard continues to babble. ‘No. No. Tim was in Scotland.’ All confusion. All terrible and dreadful confusion as Matthew takes out his mobile . . .

He is all sharp focus, and I am both impressed and somehow terrified by this – Matthew’s tone so clipped and urgent and fuelling the terrible dread inside me. He has his contact Melanie Sanders on the phone and is running conversations in stereo.

‘I’ll explain later. New key suspect, Anna Ballard case. Family friend. We have to get round there right now, Mel . . . Tim – what’s his surname?’ He has turned to bark the question at Mrs Ballard, who is still dazed, muttering about how wrong we are. That Tim has always worshipped Anna. Ever since they were little.

‘Tim’s surname. And address . . . now, Mrs Ballard.’

‘Blackhouse. Ryder Lane . . . I can’t remember the number . . . He’s a nice boy, a nice boy. I tell you. You’re wrong about this.’

‘Tim Blackhouse. Ryder Lane. Same village . . . Stay on the line, Mel, and I’ll tell you more as I get it. He was on the train to London with Anna. Other end of the train. Lied about being in Scotland . . .’

There is a pause as Matthew listens . . .

‘Don’t know, Mel. Hang on . . . Is there anyone who might know where Tim is today? If he’s not home. This is urgent, Mrs Ballard. Look at me, please. Really urgent . . .’

‘Jenny, I suppose. Jenny might know. She’s upstairs watching a film. I didn’t want her down here while I talked to you . . . I don’t want her upset.’

‘Call her down. Right now.’

Two minutes later and Jenny, taller and darker than her sister, is standing in the doorway, all angry, confrontational body language. Arms folded.

‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m an investigator, Jenny, and I need to know urgently how to find your friend Tim. I don’t have time to explain. Do you know where he is today?’

‘Devon.’

‘Where in Devon? Why is he there?’

She shrugs at first. Pulls a face. Uncooperative. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘This is really important, Jenny. The police need to know urgently.’

‘Dunno exactly. About a job. He didn’t say. Someone he met at the Ten Tors. He’s been on and on about it lately . . .’

‘About what? The job?’

And now there is a cold tremor through me. I am staring at the photograph from the Ten Tors. The date confirms it was the same year as Luke.

Confusion. A frown.

I am thinking suddenly of that map-magnifier that I found on the floor by the shop. It was given to all of them. All the teams who made good time. Dear God . . .

‘No. The Ten Tors. He’s been going on about the Ten Tors.’ Jenny’s voice, still angry.

I am standing up again now. Bile in the back of my throat.

‘What job?’ The panic in my voice makes everyone turn towards me.

‘Some shop. He didn’t say where. Look – he’s been very upset lately, OK? You need to leave him alone. Leave us all alone.’